Page 53 of Alpha Bond
“But—” Jagger’s expression grows thunderous.
“Don’t make me strike you, Jagger Law!”
For a moment, I think he’s going to argue, but then he reaches out a hand, strokes the back of his knuckles down my cheek, and moves away toward the door. “I’ll be right outside. You need anything, you call.” When it closes behind him, I swallow hard and stare up at the doctor.
“I think it’s time we got to the bottom of this, don’t you?” Her smile is gentle.
I gnaw on my lip. I don’t know what to tell her. I’m afraid to let yet another person too close, but I’d be a fool not to admit that I’m not getting better. I’m getting worse. Jagger’s hot enough to sweep a woman off her feet, but passing out cold in his arms is a bridge too far. And I’m sure that half the reason I got so frantic when he was gone was because I was fighting a raging fever. My eyes are still throbbing with it even though I’m sure the doctor’s given me something to bring my temperature down.
“So?” she presses.
I heave a sigh and raise my torso, reaching for the zipper at the top of my dress.
No turning back now.
Sitting awkwardly, I peel the black fabric down my shoulders and arms and then lift my hips and wriggle out of it before stretching out on the examination bed.
Doctor Bea’s eyes narrow as she sucks in a sharp breath. Moving her hands to my shoulder, she brushes my hair away from my neck. “How long has this been here?”
I pinch my mouth into a tight line before releasing a breath. “About a month. Give or take. I think.” I’ve lost track of time. The days had blurred while I was locked in that cage; thirst and hunger combined with sitting in darkness had stolen countless hours from me.
“A month…” She leans closer. I aim a glance down and try not to flinch. There’s a vicious red ridge of flesh that’s grown darker since I’ve been here. It’s circled by tendrils of red that trace down my chest. They burn when she touches them. “This isn’t good, Sierra. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid.” I lick my lips.
“Of what?” Her brow is furrowed when she looks at me.
That I couldn’t trust you. That you’d throw me out. That you’d sell me back to Rack…
“Of everything,” I say.
“Oh, honey.” She sighs. “You know I’m going to have to get in there and clean that up, right?”
I nod.
“It’s going to hurt.”
That doesn’t bug me as much as what this might all mean to me. What if I tell her about the tracker I took out? Will she think it means I belong to someone else? That I’m someone’s property? Someone who has the right to take me back?
She’s busying herself with a metal tray that’s lined with neatly laid out equipment. Scissors, wads of dressing, cotton wool…a gleaming scalpel. My eyes are drawn to it.
“I’ll give you a local anesthetic,” she reassures me. “But I can’t say how far I’ll have to probe to get to the root of the infection.”
“It’s fine.” The words are clipped. Now that I’ve reached this point, I just want to get it over with.
She pulls on a pair of rubber gloves and reaches for a swab. “Lie back.” The fine needle she’s directing at my skin barely stings as she carefully injects the area around the wound. I turn my head and look away, trying not to think about what she’s doing. It’s not easy when she keeps punctuating the silence with little humming sounds, followed by tutting.
When she finally stands straight again, her eyes are clouded. “There’s something inside, Sierra.”
“Oh!” I choke out the sound. I didn’t get it all?
Fuck! What if they can still track me?
“And I’m afraid it doesn’t look good,” she continues. “From what I can tell, something has been wired into the muscle of your shoulder…with silver.”
My eyes shoot wide. “Silver?”
“That’s why you’re sick, honey. It’s been poisoning you.”