Page 10 of Blind Devotion (Letters of Ruin #1)

“No lifting the bandage.” Her voice was commanding but gentle, not the least bit aggressive. I relaxed a tad. “Not until your eyes have time to heal, and even then, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s no guarantee you’ll see from your right eye again.”

Again? I wasn’t sure whether or not that was reassuring.

“You had open globe surgery on your right eye almost three weeks ago. Your left underwent amniotic grafting to repair chemical burn damage. Can you tell us what happened?”

I didn’t remember anything about a chemical. My head flopped back and forth, and my lip quivered as I tried to remember. Why wouldn’t it come? Who was I? Why me?

The cup in my hand tipped, and the ice chips scraped along its side. Then I felt plops of them fall onto my cloth-covered legs.

The doctor sighed heavily. “Don’t be in such a rush. Slow and small movements. Your muscles have atrophied and need time to build back up. We’ll need to plan physical therapy.”

The cup was stolen away, and a single ice chip was placed in my palm.

“Best if you don’t chew. Suck on one,” the woman stated simply.

Slowly, I sucked on the ice chip melting in my hand. The liquid dampened my lips and gums, soothing a little of the ache in my throat.

“How about your name? Let’s start with your name.”

“I…” There was nothing but darkness to answer that question.

It was such a simple thing. A name. Mine.

Yet when I tried to search, there was nothing but bleak black and gray to sift through.

My teeth clacked. My breath quaked. My jaw clenched as my head pounded.

I wanted to remember. I needed to. Just my name, at least that.

Why was this so hard? I grunted long and hard.

“Calm down. It will come back on its own.” The woman patted my shoulder. “This can be very normal with a head injury.”

Normal? This didn’t feel normal. I felt lost. Alone. Frightened. My skin prickled, and alarm bells rang in my head. I unwittingly admitted weaknesses in front of strangers. These people didn’t know me; that much was clear. Could I trust them? My instincts warred between yes and no.

The snap of metal clipping against wood broke me out of my panic. I strained to make out what it could be.

“Margaux, leave us.” I shuddered from how close my boat-savior stood.

His harsh, gruff command was delivered without feeling.

Maybe I should have been worried about the lack of care in his tone, but what I focused on instead was the steadiness of his voice.

Something about him centered me. There was no venom in the delivery, no hidden malice, it seemed.

For some reason, that mattered more than whatever power this man had.

“Monsieur De Villier, this is highly improper. She has only just woken up. I need to perform a proper evaluation.”

“Now.”

His tone was so cold, I understood the way the doctor’s breath hitched. I didn’t need to see to imagine her fear, but I didn’t share it.

The room went quiet for a few seconds before heels clicked on the tile.

The twist of a door handle. The swish of the opening and closing door, followed by more clicking footsteps.

Then I was alone with this strange bear of a man who spoke with as few words as possible.

Perhaps that should have scared me, but somehow it didn’t.

There was something calming about his huffing presence that commanded the air from the room.

I was in a bed, cushioned, bandaged, and yet in better condition than I remembered. Surely in the time since I reached that boat and its loud music and voices, he had had ample time to hurt me, should he wish to. Maybe I wasn’t safe, but I didn’t feel in danger either, only wary.

The mattress dipped on both sides of my head, his arms caging me in. Warmth radiated off his body, even though we weren’t touching.

“I’m not a patient man. I’m not a forgiving man either. When I ask you something, you will answer. Are we clear?”

My brows furrowed from the apathy in his voice, something not even the doctor had received. Something so contradictory to how he’d spoken to me while holding me. Had I misjudged him?

“Your hospitality is lacking.”

“My hospitality is the only reason you still live. Your name.”

My answer had not changed from earlier, but now I felt trapped. I exhaled shakily and tried to sink further into the pillow and mattress. That lack of fear from earlier was gone. His voice no longer calmed me.

“I have no qualms about snapping your neck. In fact, it would simplify a great deal for me to do so right now. Give me your name.”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“It’s in your best interest to try damn harder. Or things will become very unpleasant for you.”

His sudden switch to English was giving me whiplash, especially with how perfect it was with just a hint of an accent.

“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t have a clue who I am. Your doctor lady got it. Jump on that ride.”

“An act.”

I snorted with a chuckle. “Yeah, I’m not that good of an actor.”

“Oh? You said you didn’t know yourself.” His shoes scuffed along the tile as he moved around the bed.

Some of the bed sheets followed the movement.

“Yet somehow you managed to convince my sister to proclaim your personalized treatment by the De Villiers while half-conscious and half-drowned. Somehow you know my name.”

There wasn’t a question there, so I let him stew.

His groan made it clear he didn’t like my avoidance.

Well, too fucking bad. I didn’t like being harassed and yelled at while trying to make sense of everything else.

How he expected me to remember his name when I didn’t remember my own was beyond me.

The bed creaked as he leaned in close. His hot breath fanned my cheek as he wrapped his hand around my throat and gave a little squeeze. I should have been scared. Maybe I was because my heart was pounding, and yet I still arched into his touch and pressed my hand over his.

“What did you say to Alizé?” he rasped.

“Who?”

He gave my neck another little squeeze. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. I’m not shy about killing. I enjoy it. Man or woman, we all bleed the same. We all break. The weaker, the faster.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that.”

He snorted, my hair lifting with the exhale. My heart roared in my chest as I waited for his retaliation to the insult. My fists tightened, regardless of the pain. I was going to fight if I had to. No matter what, no one would take advantage of me ever again.

Again ? The thought unsettled me. As if someone had before? I couldn’t visualize it. There was nothing there to remember. I shook my head in frustration and muffled a cry.

“The best of compliments.” I could’ve sworn that was said with a tinge of humor, but Mr. Snappy came right back on the heels of that small reprieve with added pressure to my throat. “Talk. And talk fast.”

Our breaths mingled, his blended between a mix of wine and his woodsy aftershave. Wetness seeped through the blankets over my lap. The ice chips must have melted. Something clattered softly to the floor with a light rebound. Probably the cup.

My head spun. My thoughts spiraled as my chest heaved. I had no idea what was happening or why. Trapped in a nightmare of my own making and walking a tightrope, ready to go down swinging.

“Is this some kind of sick game?”

“I don’t play games. I don’t need to.”

“Then why are you toying with me?” My body dragged with fatigue. I’d have given anything right then for him to simply leave me be.

“I want answers.”

“Or what?” I snapped. “You’ll do what? Threaten me? Hurt me? Kill me?” Would he? Did I care? “Get away, or I’ll make you.”

Another snort. “With what? You can barely move.”

I hated the mocking in his tone.

“Listen, asshole. I’ve woken up somewhere I don’t know. With someone I don’t know. Trying to recall something I don’t. Fucking. Know.”

His hold on my neck tightened. I wasn’t a fool. I knew I wasn’t even half as strong as he was. That didn’t mean I couldn’t turn the tables.

He was close. I could still feel his breath against my face, even though none of his clothes touched mine.

And his voice was clearly coming from slightly to the right, exactly where my sheets were pulling.

I quickly padded a hand over where I thought he would be.

I hit buttons and fabric, then firmness—his chest, I presumed.

I skated my hand upward to where his shirt collar parted, my fingers skimming along warm skin, past his clavicles to his throat.

Thick and strong, his pulse thumped against my thumb.

Then I squeezed too. My hand didn’t last there long before he shoved it away, but neither did his hand remain on my throat.

“Don’t do to others what you wouldn’t want done to yourself.”

The words were familiar, spitting out of me as if reflexively. It seemed to stun us both because he didn’t argue.

His hand still held mine. He was trembling, and yet his thumb skidded back and forth along my skin. Not unfriendly, yet not sensual either, and for that I was grateful. I couldn’t say why.

“Who are you?” His words were softer now, barely louder than a whisper. Was that confusion?

I hated how the switch in him from aggression to gentleness was messing with my head. I hated it even more when his weight and warmth pulled away and left me cold and clammy. He didn’t attack me. Didn’t punish my rebellion. Didn’t spout hurtful words. All things I expected, with no idea why.

The bed creaked under his weight as he shifted away, and suddenly I was panicking again. He was going to leave me alone in this unknown place, with only the beeping for company, with no idea who I was, where I was, what I was doing here. I grabbed for him.

“Wait,” I rasped, latching tightly onto a thick bicep at least twice the size of my own.

His arm stiffened, his muscles bulging beneath the fabric of his sleeves, smooth and supple in contrast to the hardness beneath. Taut and sinewy with veined ridges pressed against my palm.

He didn’t move or say anything, but his exhales chopped through the silence between machine beeps. I waited, fingers clasped tight around his arm. My tether. I wished I could see his face. I wished I could understand this weird connection I felt deep in my chest.

The air, aside from his scent, smelled lemony and clean yet a little heavy with humidity. I could nearly taste the sea salt on my tongue.

His palm slipped over the back of my hand holding his forearm. Warm and strong despite how his thick skin trembled. For a second, I expected him to squeeze my hand in shared comfort. Instead, he wrenched it away and dropped it unceremoniously.

I couldn’t help my gasp. Something pulled at me deeply when he ripped me away from him. Loss. My chest ached as if he punched his fist clean through it. All for something as silly as shoving me away.

His throat cleared, loud and guttural, as if it were close to my ear. His clothing rustled. Probably adjusting himself as I sat there, head aching, shoulders and neck throbbing, arms itching, not sure what I had to look forward to. I was cast away and drifting off. Not a guiding light in sight.

The rattle of a handle followed by the swivel of a door jolted me from my moment of self-pity. Wrong time, wrong place for that anyway.

“What is going on here?” a new woman’s voice asked, and I braced myself for whatever fresh new wave of hell this was.