Page 13 of Don’t Hate Me (Secrets of Ravens Hollow #2)

“Sloane, this is Doctor Harrison.” Orlando introduces me to the distinguished looking man coming through the main doors to the living room, where I have been sitting since I got up this morning, staring out over the ocean since it was too hard to get back up the stairs with my screwed ankle, and I wasn’t going back to his room.

On shaky legs I stand and hobble through the room toward him, trying not to put too much weight on my sore ankle. Orlando holds out a hand for me, offering assistance, but I shove him away.

Doctor Harrison looks amused at my dismissal of Orlando as he holds out a hand, and I shake it. “Nice to meet you,” I say, looking him over. He’s in a well-tailored suit, likely in his late fifties, with a kind, weathered face and a warm smile. He carries a doctor’s bag.

“Is there somewhere we can go so I can do a thorough assessment?” he asks Orlando.

“The den is probably the closest.” He motions for us to follow him.

I hobble along, kind of surprised he’s willing to let us into his private space. But as he unlocks the door with his fingerprint, it’s obvious this room is more for show than use. I wonder why he bothers to lock it when no other room is locked.

The den is pristine, staged like a magazine spread.

A sleek, oversized white-oak desk anchors the room, its clean lines and matte finish a subtle nod to modern luxury.

Behind it, an ivory linen-upholstered armchair sits untouched, perfectly centered.

Against the opposite wall, a low-profile cream boucle sofa stretches beneath a piece of abstract ocean-themed artwork, more sculpture than comfort.

Two accent chairs in light rattan and white cushions frame a minimalist marble coffee table, their placement precise, like no one’s ever dared to move them.

A hint of salt air drifts through the partially open sliding doors, their sheer curtains blowing slightly in the breeze.

“I’ll leave the two of you to it,” Orlando says, but the way his eyes linger on me for a second longer, it’s as if he’s warning me. He mouths “ Behave,” and I know it’s a warning.

I smile back at him, trying to play it cool. Fat fucking chance that’s going to happen. This man might just be my way out of this place and back to Ravens Hollow, so I’m going to try everything I can.

Orlando leaves, shutting the door behind him with a click.

Doctor Harrison motions for me to take a seat on the sofa, and I gratefully do, my ankle throbbing in pain from all the movement. He finds a footstool and helps me prop up my ankle so he can take a look at it.

He unwraps the bandage carefully. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asks as he inspects the damage.

“I was a little lightheaded, and I tripped on a rock down at the beach and toppled over backwards. I must have sprained it on my way down.”

His eyes meet mine, a seriousness in them. “Ehm,” is all he says, but I can see he’s not convinced that’s how it happened.

I sigh heavily, feeling the weight of the last few days pressing down on me.

“I was trying to get away from Orlando,” I whisper, knowing how dangerous it is when this dude works for him, but fuck, I have to try.

He’s a doctor, isn’t he supposed to care about the wellbeing of humans?

In this case, me. No matter who is funding his paycheck.

His brow rises as his eyes run over me with doctorly concern.

And with good reason, I’m a mess. Cuts and grazes line my arms, and my knees are purple from my fall in the trees.

There are also faded red marks from where my hands and ankles were bound and the rope bit into my skin.

It’s pretty damn obvious I have been through some shit in the last few days.

“How about the bruising and cuts on your knees?” he asks, touching them as he inspects the damage.

“I fell, in the forest.” My eyes plead with him to understand what’s going on here and to save me.

He grasps my ankle, his touch surprisingly gentle as he rotates it, testing its range of motion. Each movement sends a searing pain through me, making me wince. “You did a good job of it.”

“Is it broken?” I ask, watching him, feeling like it has to be with how painful it is.

“It’s hard to say for sure without an X-ray,” he explains, his brow furrowed as he examines my swollen, discolored ankle.

“But I can feel significant ligament damage, substantial bruising, and edema. I would say you’ve got at least a grade-three sprain.

There could also be a fracture in there.

That means no weight bearing for at least a week.

I want you to keep it elevated, ice every half-hour, and keep it strapped with the compression bandage.

If you need to walk anywhere, you will need this brace.

” He takes out a black wraparound brace and shows me how to use it as he fastens the brace in place.

I place my foot on the ground, testing it out. My ankle feels stronger already. I meet his gaze, straightening my shoulders. “Can’t you tell Orlando I need to go for X-rays?”

A thin, grim line forms on his lips, the tension in his jaw muscles obvious. “Sorry, Sloane. You’re not getting off the island.”

My hands tremble. I want to burst into tears, but I swallow them down.

“I might have a break. Isn’t it in your duty of care to make sure I get the correct medical treatment?

” I snip back, sounding bitchy as all hell, but I’m about to lose my shit.

This is my chance, and I’m not letting him take it from me.

His face hardens, and I see where his loyalties lie. He will probably be killed for even trying to help me. “My duty of care is to keep you alive. You stay on the island with Orlando. He’s a good man. In time, you will see he only wants the best for you.”

Fuck. The way he looks at me as he says it makes me feel sick; he believes in his own words. “He fucking kidnapped me. You know who I am, don’t you?” I can’t hide the panic from my voice. I’m running out of options. Can’t he see how desperate I am for his help? How can he leave me here with him?

His head drops, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world is on them. “I’m aware of who you are. It makes no difference to me.”

“But… then you know who my brothers are,” I cry, unable to keep the tears inside anymore. I’m losing control. “Help me. Or I will make sure you regret it.”

He stands before me, his gaze heavy with pity, his eyes scanning my form. “I’m sorry, Miss Stryker, you’re safe here. Take care of yourself, I’ll be back in a week to check on your progress.” He walks toward the door.

“When my brothers find out you didn’t help me, they will come for you. You’re as good as dead already,” I warn him, poison in my voice.

Without another word or even looking back at me, he sighs heavily and closes the door behind him.

I stare down at my hands, trembling so violently that my vision blurs.

I feel so damn sick, and sweat drips down my forehead.

I swipe it away, trying to swallow down the nausea rising.

I drop to my knees on the soft plush rug, grabbing for the trash can as I empty the contents of my stomach.

Over and over again until I’m dry heaving, hugging the bin close to stop myself from falling to the ground.

Outside of the room I hear their muffled voices, talking not far from the door.

“Is it broken?” Orlando asks.

“Hard to say without X-rays, there could be a fracture. You really should get her to the mainland if you can,” the doctor answers him. They sound close, too close. That’s why he wasn’t going to help me, there is more going on here.

“We both know that’s not an option, Doc,” Orlando replies. “What do I do to take care of her. I knew she was going to be hard to manage, but she’s more difficult than I thought. Yesterday she threatened me with a butter knife.”

“She also just begged me to get her out of here and threatened me when I didn’t comply with helping her.

If you want her to stop freaking the hell out, you need to get her back on her medication.

If she doesn’t take them, her nervous system basically goes into overdrive constantly.

She will experience an elevated heart rate, dizziness, even blackouts, especially under stress.

Without the meds, her body reacts like it’s in constant danger, even if it’s not.

She will keep running from you, and she’s never going to trust you.

She won’t be able to think clearly or focus.

I will leave this bottle of pills with you.

We both know what she means to you. If you’re really doing this for her like you say you are, do the right thing, boss.

The poor girl is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. ”

I sit back on my ass, leaning my back into the sofa for support. That’s why I’m freaking the fuck out. On top of this pressure cooker of a situation, I need my anxiety pills.

Their voices muffle out to nothing, and I’m left alone staring at my shaking hands. I slump all the way down to the plush rug, pulling my knees up to my chest, hugging them as I rock back and forth. My head feeling too heavy to keep up another second.

It’s not too long before the door opens, Orlando’s eyes coming to mine. “Fuck, Sloane.” He shakes his head when he finds me curled up on the floor. He moves quickly, scooping me up in his arms carefully. “What the fuck am I going to do with you?” he asks like he really doesn’t know.

I stare up at him, his face too kind for the man I know him to be. For the man who hurt me. “You did this to me. You made me this way.”

“I know,” he agrees, his voice a low murmur, heavy with shame.

He carries me to a powder room and sits me on the countertop, handing me a warm washcloth to clean up my face. My cheeks glow with embarrassment. I can’t believe I just vomited up my breakfast in his den. I scrub the washcloth over my face, the warmth bringing me back to life ever so slightly.

He then fills a glass of water and hands it to me.