Page 47

Tests and Talks

E verything happens so fast after that. My father talks to some soldiers and then tries to reassure me with a smile and a few soft words.

I’m taken to a medical room, with all sorts of machines and technology that, to be honest, I don’t have a clue about and didn’t know still existed.

I grit my teeth, try to play nice, and not be a bitch.

I know my father is trying to help. It's the only reason I haven't stabbed the asshole examining me in his pretty boy fucking face.

“Arm out,” he orders, his short sweepy brown hair falling in his eyes as he stands.

He doesn't look like any doctor I remember. Tattoos, tribal lines and dots cover his neck and continue into his shirt. Letters cover each knuckle, and a rose graces the backs of each of his hands. He has piercings through his eyebrow and lip, the craziest green eyes I have ever seen, and a too perfect face. Clean shaven. It makes me feel dirty, and compared to my guys, the difference is noticeable. His black top sticks to his muscles as he moves, and the doctor’s coat covers him to mid-thigh.

He has on army boots and tight jeans. He’s hot, but his attitude has me wanting to chop off his arm and beat him with it.

“Why?” I snarl, so bored of being poked and prodded already.

He glares at me as he shuffles a metal table to my side. “To take blood, obviously.” He says it like I am a fucking idiot and I upgrade my threat to debating cutting off his balls and feeding them to him.

I drop my arm, and he grabs my wrist and turns it over. He freezes at the scars, his eyes raising to mine. He looks curious; I don’t even see any revulsion there. I’m betting he's never seen someone so heavily scarred. Wait until he sees the whip marks on my back, along with my brands.

“You do these?” He tilts his head, watching my reaction, his warmth seeping into me from where he clutches my arm .

I blink at him, my face empty. “No. Some I let be done though.”

That seems to throw him off, and I take great pleasure in watching him try to figure out what to say. He goes with a grunt before grabbing his needle.

“This might hurt,” he warns, more like he feels he has to than he actually cares if it does.

“Don't worry, I won’t move. I’ve had pints of my blood drained before.”

He stares at me in shock again. I think this might be my new favourite game. Trying to shock the asshole doctor.

“What for?” he eventually asks, obviously deciding to believe me.

“The man who stole me from my father thought it would be fun to see the effects of blood loss on my body during extreme torture and pain,” I say happily, pushing away the memories that rise with that.

He makes a noise and then swears before concentrating on trying to draw my blood.

“Done,” he mutters, throwing me a look as he takes the blood over to the counter.

I roll my sleeve back down. I had quickly gotten rid of that horrible dress.

I demanded a shirt and pants, and they surprisingly fit quite well.

The black cargo pants let me move without being easy to remove, something I learnt early on is important.

It will give you the extra time to fight off your would be rapist. I am so stealing them.

“Stop playing with him, will you?” Thorn says with a smile from where he stands at the wall. I wink at him and sit up on the examining table.

“That all, doc?”

“It’s doctor, or Evan. Pick one,” he mutters, looking through some of his notes.

“Whatever, anything I need to be worried about, doc?”

“You really think I would have your results straight away? No, I will inform your father when I know what we are,” he looks me up and down, “working with.” With that, he turns back to his notes. He misses the glare I throw his way. Thorn quickly steps to my side, stopping my next threat.

“Okay, time to go,” he says around a laugh as I stroke my knife, imagining using it to rearrange the asshole’s perfect face.

Thorn grabs my hips and pulls me from the table, his hand twining with mine as he pulls me out the door of the medical room, and into a frazzled woman who is waiting on the other side.

“Oh, there you are! Come on!” She grabs my arm, and I move quickly, slamming her into the wall with my knife at her throat. Her legs dangle mid-air as I hold her there.

“What do you want?” I growl out .

Her brown eyes widen in her plump face and her red painted mouth opens in an ‘o.’

“Tazanna! Misty here is coming to cut your hair,” my father calls as he jogs down the hallway towards us.

I step back, letting her slump down the wall, and drop my knife.

Misty stays plastered to the wall, her small plump figure flattened.

She holds a hand over her chest before stepping away and fluffing her extremely large curly red hair.

“Sorry about that, dear, I thought it had been mentioned,” she says around a laugh. I blink at her as she goes to grab me again, only to hesitate. “Come along, time we trim that monstrosity you call hair.”

Monstros––I look from my wavy hair to hers in shock.

She grabs my hand and tugs me along, surprisingly strong for such a small lady.

I can’t stab her and I bet hitting her wouldn't work.

I look at Thorn, begging him with my eyes for him to save me.

He laughs, leaning against the wall as he watches me be manhandled by Misty. I narrow my eyes at him as he waves.

“Now, don't pull that face, dearie, we will have you looking like a supermodel in no time, well, maybe not a supermodel but who wanted to be those skinny weirdos anyway...not that we have them anymore...” Her eyes get a faraway look, one that everyone has when they think about the past before she snaps herself back with a clap.

“How about we dye it, oh, I bet you would look amazing with blue hair,” she blathers on, yanking me down the hallways as she speeds away.

It’s my turn for my eyes to widen, as I search desperately for an escape.

“No,” I growl.

Misty’s eyes narrow, her plump face flustered and her hair bigger than before as she points the comb at me. “Now behave, young lady,” she warns, slightly out of breath as she comes at me again, ignoring my dirty look. Fucking woman even tried to take my knife off me!

I growl and grunt as she tugs and pulls at my hair. She starts muttering under her breath as she ‘tackles the horror’––in her words––that is my hair. Half an hour later, she throws her now broken comb at the wall with a yell, making me laugh.

“It’s time for extreme measures,” she huffs, her hands on her rounded hips.

She toddles away, talking to herself the whole time as I finally get a chance to look around the room we are in.

After she pulled me halfway through the compound, she pushed me into a chair, which I’ve been in for the last half an hour or so.

Instantly, she started playing and touching my hair before trying to comb it.

I never knew so many creams, mousses, and I don't even know what that last one was, existed.

There is only one chair in the room, the one I am sitting in.

The floor is the same as the rest of the building.

Three of the walls are white, but the one I’m facing is a mix of pinks, yellows, and blues.

I almost grin at the mish-mash of colours, as if someone took whatever they could find and flung it at the walls to make them less depressing.

A large mirror is pointed at the chair, which let me watch what the little she-devil was doing to me the whole time.

A table and storage containers sit next to the mirror.

She turns back around with an ‘aha,’ and when I bring my eyes back to her, I see silver flash in the lights. Instantly, I roll from the chair, crouching on the other side with my knife in my hands and a hard expression on my face as I wait for the attack that never comes.

“Oh, you poor dear. What did they do to you out there?” she cries, clutching her chest, and the...scissors there. Straightening, I start to feel foolish, but I don’t show it. I simply slip back into the chair, sitting stiffly.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she asks cheerily, as she starts cutting my hair. I force myself to sit still, which is hard with a blade so close to my face.

“So, is that delicious hunk of man meat out there your boyfriend? Let me tell you, that boy could have a nun’s vag wetter than a fish in a pond.”

My mouth flaps open, making me look ridiculous. I stare at the woman through the mirror in shock.

“Erm, yes?” I ask slowly.

“Yum. What about those other ones you came in with?”

“How old are you?” I ask, wincing as she tugs on my hair.

“Oh, don't you worry about that, dearie. I like them young and fit!” She laughs as my eyes widen again. I thought nothing could shock me anymore, but sands below, I was wrong.

“I mean, you know what I’m talking about. Oh my, when I saw you with them! This little thing, walking between these big hard men like a complete badass, as they watched you hungrily.” She wipes her forehead “And you! I think the people here are more scared of you than they are of them!”

She talks, and talks, until my head feels like it’s about to explode and I debate impaling myself on her scissors just so I have an excuse to leave.

“Done,” she says proudly, standing next to me in the mirror, her face full of happiness and hope. Sands below, what has this woman done to me?! Before I can demand she rectify my hair, she pulls me out of the chair and into the hallway where Jax and Thorn are waiting.

“What do you think?” she asks excitedly, her hands outstretched to showcase my hair. I grimace, and Thorn rubs the back of his head, his mouth twitching. I narrow my eyes at him, daring him to laugh.

“She looked better before,” Jax mutters.

Misty's mouth flaps open as she spins and trains her laser glare on him.

“Hmph, well you are perfect for each other. See if I care. No, thank you, Misty, no...” she mutters as she toddles off.