Page 19 of Redemption (Favorite Malady Duet #2)

ABIGAIL

T he enormous weight of my failure makes my chest ache.

Or maybe that’s the bruised ribs.

I barely managed to sleep through the night due to the fact that my entire body feels battered.

And the anxiety of sharing a bedroom with my assailant made me afraid to close my eyes. Even if Dane slept on a cramped, antique chaise that’s far too small for him and doesn’t look remotely comfortable.

When he stirred a few minutes ago, I closed my eyes and feigned sleep until he disappeared into the bathroom. I scarcely dared to breathe until I heard the shower running, and I knew that I’m mercifully free of his presence for a short time.

I’m not ready for another confrontation. I’m not sure what he plans to do with me now that I tried to run away from him.

He’ll probably find some other unfathomably sadistic way to make me suffer for daring to defy him.

I’m alone with him again on this vast estate. I have vague memories of another man hovering around my bedside yesterday. A man who closely resembled Dane, other than his auburn hair. They share the same striking, deep green eyes.

His brother was here.

And now, he’s gone.

Did Dane hurt him? Did he make him disappear?

I shudder at the thought and suppress a wince at the answering flare of pain in my chest.

Surely, Dane’s not capable of harming a member of his own family, even if they are estranged.

The latch on the bathroom door clicks, and I quickly close my eyes again.

“Abigail.” He’s using his disarming, bedside manner voice again. It’s horrifically tempting to find comfort in it. “I need you to open your eyes. You hit your head hard enough to black out. I’ll have to run some cognitive tests for a few days.”

“I’m fine,” I insist.

I don’t want to interact with him at all if I can avoid it.

I hear him inhale deeply, as though he’s struggling to maintain his calm demeanor.

“I need you to cooperate. Please.” The last word is short and sharp, as though he’s unfamiliar with the shape of it on his tongue.

I finally open my eyes and meet his gaze with defiance. “No commands this morning?” I ask bitterly. “What new mindfuck game do I have to endure now?”

His eyes flash with green fire, but his face remains impassive. “This isn’t a game. You’re injured. I’m going to take care of you.”

“If I was hurt so badly, why am I not in a hospital?” I challenge.

He’s too selfishly possessive even to take me for emergency medical care.

“It was too far away, and I ascertained that I’m capable of treating you here.”

I glower at him. “At least be honest with me. You’re too scared that if you take me to a hospital, I’ll tell someone what you’ve done to me. You’ll go to jail, and you don’t want to risk that.”

A shadow flickers at his jaw. “No one will care for you like I do.”

I scoff. “Is that what you’re telling yourself to justify this? I could’ve died, Dane. And you wouldn’t have?—”

“I know you could’ve died!” he thunders.

I cringe back into my pillows. I’ve never seen him so…feral. He’s more unpredictable than ever, and fear prickles down my spine.

His entire body stiffens, as though he’s willing himself not to move a muscle. I note that he hasn’t approached the bed; he’s maintaining several feet of distance between us.

Because he thinks he might hurt me? How tenuous is his control over his anger?

“Do you know how I…” He trails off and rakes a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration I’ve rarely seen. “I can’t lose you, Abigail.”

“You mean you won’t let me go,” I counter acerbically.

He shakes his head, but it’s not a denial. He looks almost weary. “I can’t.”

That’s the only answer he offers me before he finally steps toward me. I flinch away. A scowl tugs at his handsome features, but he quickly smooths it away to a more clinical, calm expression.

“I’m going to do some tests now.” It’s a declaration, not a request.

So, we’re back to subtle commands. He might try to pretend he’s a good, compassionate man, but it’s far too late for me to believe that carefully curated lie. He’ll never ask me for anything; he’ll simply tell me what to do. He expects mindless obedience, a pretty pet.

The pounding in my head is becoming too acute for me to argue further. Dane is a doctor, and there’s no one else here to help me. After the crash, it would be stupid to deny medical treatment.

There will be time for defiance later. I won’t try to physically attack him again, but I can go back to my original plan: make him grow bored of me.

I allow him to carry out the cognitive tests, and he seems satisfied with my responses.

“Where’s your brother?” I dare to ask once he’s finished.

His lips twist with distaste, but there’s not so much as a flicker of guilt in his eyes. Either he’s deeply psychopathic, or he didn’t hurt his own kin.

With Dane, it’s difficult to judge the situation. He’s made it abundantly clear that he’s a psychopath. What I’m unsure of is the depth of his condition. At times, he does seem to mean it when he’s tender with me.

But that could be another part of his elaborate ruse, his sick mind games.

“James is back at his lodge in Wensleydale,” Dane replies coolly. “He won’t bother us again.”

My brows lift. Maybe Dane isn’t the only crazy one in the family.

“And he didn’t care that you’re holding me captive?”

The tiniest hint at a frown ghosts around his mouth, but he quickly catches it and returns to his calm demeanor.

“I didn’t give him the details of our arrangement. He knows that you’re mine, and he knows that you were badly hurt. We’re safe to stay here until you fully recover.”

“And then what?” I press. “What happens once I recover?”

He fixes me with a level stare. “That’s up to you.”

I press my lips together. I know he doesn’t mean that I’ll have the option to leave. He thinks he’ll break me in the time it takes me to get better, and then I’ll meekly follow wherever he leads.

“What do you plan to do to me in the meantime?” I challenge.

I won’t give him a reason to assault me again, but that doesn’t mean he won’t expect sex.

“I plan to take care of you,” he grits out. “You have nothing to fear from me. I’ll prove it to you. Let me.”

I huff out an incredulous breath. Is he really commanding me to trust him?

I don’t bother to tell him that’s not how trust works.

“I scared you yesterday,” he says quietly. “I understand that now. You weren’t ready, and I pushed you anyway. I didn’t know how being together like that would upset you.”

“You think I like it,” I fling his sickening words back at him. “I don’t.”

His jaw tightens. “Now’s not the time for this conversation. I don’t want to argue. You need to rest and recover.”

I bristle at the fact that he’s essentially telling me to shut up again, but I swallow more defiant words.

He’s right. I do need to recover. I can’t get out of this nightmare if I’m injured.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” he says. “Food, then painkillers. I don’t want to see you suffering.”

Again, it’s all about what he wants. Not the fact that I’m in pain. He’s incapable of true empathy.

I close my eyes again, shutting him out in the only way that I can. He doesn’t make a sound for several long seconds, but finally, I hear him stomp out of the bedroom.

I know my reprieve will be short; he’ll come back with breakfast in a few minutes. Without his infuriating presence to draw my ire, pain consumes me.

After breakfast, the painkillers finally start to take effect. I ease back into the pillows, cushioned in fluffy clouds. The absence of pain is almost euphoric, and some part of me registers that I’m probably a little high from the strength of the drugs he gave me.

But I’ll take the dulled awareness over the pounding in my head and sharp stabs at my ribs with every shallow breath.

“Screen time is inadvisable,” Dane says. “I’ll read to you so you don’t get bored.”

I blink and manage to focus on him. He’s sitting on the too-small, pale blue chaise, his massive body almost comically oversized for the delicate antique.

I instantly recognize the book he’s holding, even though his big hand conceals most of the title.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue.

My favorite book. The one we bonded over.

I choose the dark god too. His remembered words torment me. At the time, they’d been a revelation, a miracle. The man I wanted so desperately understood my desires. It’d seemed like a dream, too impossible to be real.

I should’ve trusted my instincts.

“What made you pick up Addie LaRue ?” I ask, even though I’m reluctant to hear the answer. “You never did tell me.”

He cuts his eyes away. “I think you know.”

Yes, some part of me did already know. He’s broken into my apartment. He must’ve seen the book at the top of my stack.

Uncomfortable silence stretches between us. I don’t have to reply or ask more questions.

He’s my stalker, my attacker.

And yet, when he starts reading my favorite book aloud in that deep, rumbling voice, I sink into the familiar story.

It’s so much easier than facing the horrors of my reality.

“You’ll want a bath. You’ll have to be careful with your stitches, but you can get properly cleaned up.”

My stomach turns. “I have no interest in getting naked with you.”

His nostrils flare with irritation. “I didn’t ask you to get naked with me.”

“No, you didn’t ask at all. Do you even know how to make a request? How to ask for my consent?”

He sighs. “I’m tired of arguing. It doesn’t have to be so contentious between us.”

I lift my brows at him but don’t say anything in response. I will not make life easy for him.

“I don’t intend to bathe you, as much as I would like to.” At least he’s honest enough to make the admission, even if he is making a concession for once. “You need to rest and recover. I’m not going to cause you distress.”

“Of course,” I say dully. “This is about making sure your pet recovers.”

He sighs again, a more exasperated exhalation. “I do want you to recover, Abigail. Is that so terrible?”

“Depending on your reasoning, yes. It can be.”

“My only desire is to see you healthy and whole. Your pain is unbearable to me.”

I eye him with suspicion. It almost sounds as though he truly cares.

But I can’t trust a word that leaves his sensual lips.

I am in pain, and I do want a bath. After the crash yesterday, I was too woozy take care of myself, and Dane was merciful enough not to bathe me.

“It’s been over twenty-four hours since you hit your head,” he says, the reasonable doctor.

“I’ll need to monitor you closely for the next few days, but you’re well enough to see to your own essential needs.

However.” That one word fills me with dread.

“I don’t intend to leave you completely on your own. You’re still a fall risk.”

I eye him warily. “What are you planning to do to me?”

Something like pain tightens his features. Have I managed to wound him?

“I’m going to help you walk to the bathroom,” he explains, soft and placating. “Nothing more.”

I grit my teeth and accept his help getting to my feet. After a brief dizzy spell, I’m able to walk the few steps to the ensuite. He hovers at my side, allowing me a modicum of personal space while remaining close enough to catch me if I stumble.

It’s almost as though he’s keeping a respectful distance.

I don’t know how to process that, and my head hurts too much to puzzle it out.

When I enter the bathroom, he doesn’t leave, but he does turn his back.

“I’ll be right here if you need me.” He says it like a reassurance.

And maybe it is. I don’t want to be with him, but he’s not forcing himself on me. He’s remaining nearby in case I get dizzy again.

I can’t succumb to his tender care. It’s rooted in selfishness, not true concern for me. If he really cared, he would take me to a hospital. He would walk away and never show his face again.

But I know that won’t happen.

So, I strip and carefully step into the bathtub, which is already filled with warm water. Dane set it up for me.

He doesn’t care, I remind myself.

I can’t forget his true nature for one second.

Even when he retrieves the worn copy of Addie LaRue where it was waiting on the sink and begins to read to me.

It’s not my own copy—I’ve memorized every crack in the spine of my beloved book.

That means Dane’s the one who’s worn down the book in his hands. It was brand new when he brought it into the café, I’m sure of it. I clearly remember the perfect condition when I first saw it tucked in his hand.

How many times has he read it since then?

It’s another puzzle that I can’t bear to contemplate for long.

He’s not the only one who’s tired of arguing.

I relax into the warm water and allow my mind to drift as his voice fills the room in a cultured, soothing cadence.