“I’ll be right back,” she said, nearly groaning when she realized that he was going to take this opportunity to try to get out of this. Knowing that she didn’t have a choice, she pulled the wheelchair to a stop and headed for the back closet, telling herself that she’d get back before he could come up with a way to make her life a living hell and get out of this.
She really should have known better.
Chapter 9
“Let me out!”
“What’s the magic word?” Chase asked, chuckling as he leaned back in his wheelchair and settled in while the woman who’d been foolish enough to get herself locked in a linen closet continued trying to break the door down.
“Chase,” Sloane snapped, which of course, was not the magic word, so he had no choice but to ignore her.
“I’m not kidding!” she added a minute later.
“Really?” he asked, looking for something that he could wedge under the door to keep her locked in there so that he could take a break, maybe grab a soda and a sandwich, watch a movie or two before fitting in a nap this afternoon, but unfortunately there was nothing within reach that he could use.
“No!” she snapped, sounding angry for some odd reason.
“You sound mad,” Chase said conversationally as he leaned back in his wheelchair, closed his eyes and settled in for that nap he’d been thinking about since that little prick that his sister had sent to disrupt his morning started crying.
“Pissed! I sound pissed!” Sloane snapped as she slammed her body against the door in a sad attempt to break free, but with his wheelchair locked in place the way that it was, she wasn’t going anywhere.
At least not until he grew bored, had to use the bathroom, or found something more entertaining than keeping her locked in the closet.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Chase asked, really enjoying himself.
“No, I want you to open the door!” she snapped, further expressing her desire for freedom with more pounding.
“Why would you want me to do that? Don’t you like it in there?” he asked innocently, starting to see the benefits of having an aide.
“No,” she bit out evenly, making him smile.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
“Oh,” he said, making sure to sound confused even as he continued to smile.
“Are you going to let me out?” Sloane asked after a slight hesitation.
“Probably,” Chase said around a yawn and a shrug, wondering if she’d notice if he rolled away for a few minutes to grab a drink.
Then again, he could probably get her to grab him a drink if he let her go…
“Chase,” Sloane bit out his name coldly, absolutely making his day.
“Yes, Pookie?” he asked, deciding that she needed a nickname.
“Let. Me. Out.”
Chuckling, he flipped the locks off his wheelchair and rolled away, wondering what other fun things that he could do with his aide.
*-*-*-*
“You know what I’m in the mood to do?” the epitome of evil asked while Sloane sat there, glaring at the man whose wheelchair she wanted to shove in front of an oncoming train.
“No, no, I don’t,” Sloane said evenly as she slowly sipped from her water bottle, seriously contemplating suggesting a ride to the train station to work out some of the uncontrollable rage leftover from her time spent in the linen closet.
Smiling, Chase reached over and plucked the bottle of water out of her hand and took a sip. “I could really go for a walk, couldn’t you?” he suggested, sighing long and loud as she shifted her glare from him to the kitchen window that she could barely see out of thanks to all that rain beating against the glass.
“It’s raining,” Sloane said as though she really thought that would make a difference.
“Perfect weather for a walk,” Chase said brightly while she sat there, staring at the window and wondering where she’d gone wrong. One minute, she’d been reaching for a blanket on the top shelf and the next, she found herself pressed up against the shelves, trying to negotiate with a mad man for her release.
“It’s raining,” Sloane found herself repeating, because really, what else was there to say?
“It will be refreshing,” Chase said, looking happier than she’d ever seen him, which of course, scared the hell out of her because she honestly wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.
She could deal with asshole patients, depressed patients, belligerent patients, grouchy patients, demanding patients, but she drew the line with patients that started exhibiting the signs of the devil. He was still an asshole, but now he was an asshole who was going out of his way to torture her for his own sick, twisted pleasure and she really wasn’t sure that she was going to survive this without giving in to the urge to slap the bastard.
“No way in hell,” Sloane said evenly, barely aware that she’d started rubbing her temples to alleviate the tension.
A heavy sigh immediately followed, sending a chill up her spine. “I guess I could go for a walk by myself,” the manipulative bastard said with a heartfelt sigh as he reached down, released the brakes on his wheelchair and pushed away from the table.
When she just sat there, rubbing her temples and glaring, he shrugged and released another sigh, this one smaller but no less effective as he slowly rolled his way toward the front door. She should just let him go, Sloane thought, rubbing her temples a little faster. He wasn’t really going, she told herself as she watched him disappear around the corner. If anything, he was just trying to screw with her head and even if he wasn’t, he’d be fine.
Just fine…
In a wheelchair, in the freezing rain with muscle loss, no real physical therapy since his accident, which meant that he probably wouldn’t make it far before he had to give up, but with his muscles spent and locked up from the cold he would probably be stuck out there where he would catch pneumonia and die a miserable bastard. It would serve him right, Sloane told herself even as she pushed her chair back, grumbled about cranky assholes, and headed toward the open front door, noting that he was nowhere in sight.
Great.
She should be happy that he wanted to do something besides sitting in front of the television all day, Sloane reminded herself as she stepped outside and found herself immediately drenched. She just wished that his sudden need to leave the confines of the living room didn’t involve her developing pneumonia.
She also wished that she’d made sure that he was outside before she’d stepped outside, Sloane thought when she heard the telltale sound of the front door clicking shut behind her, followed by the sounds of the deadbolt being thrown.
“I really hate that asshole,” Sloane said, nodding to herself as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the front door to wait out the storm, deciding that perhaps sleeping in a room full of boyband memorabilia wouldn’t be so bad after all.
*-*-*-*
“I quit,” his little ray of sunshine growled somewhat viciously after he’d so kindly opened the front door so that he could get a better picture of her freezing her ass off for the group following tonight’s events on Twitter.
So ungrateful, Chase thought with a chuckle as he uploaded the latest picture before dropping his new phone in his lap so that he could move out of the way of the furious woman who was completely soaked.
“Is something amiss, Pookie?” he asked, feigning innocence even as he continued to smile.
There was just something about fucking over this woman that put a smile on his face. He couldn’t put a name to this overwhelming feeling of joy, but it was definitely something that he could get used to. Hiring her was the best decision that he’d ever made.
Granted, it hadn’t been his decision, but that didn’t really matter, not when he was enjoying himself for the first time in months. As he watched the woman standing in front of him, trembling with rage or hypothermia, whatever, he couldn’t help but take in the sight before him. Knowing that it w
ould piss her off, and only because he wanted to piss her off, he took his time looking her over from top to bottom and everything in between.
He took in her normally spikey short hair matted against her head, the homicidal gray-eyed glare, the gray T-shirt clinging to her skin and emphasizing the full curves of her perky breasts, the hard nipples pressed against the wet material and his favorite part on a woman, the soft underside of her breasts. Somehow, he forced his eyes away from those enticing curves to the flat belly, the cute little navel ring decorating the lightly tanned skin peeking out from beneath her shirt to the slight curves of her hips, and finally down to the decent legs that she probably wanted to kick the shit out of him with. When he was done, he decided to do it all over again.
“Are you done?” Sloane bit out, rudely interrupting him.
“No,” Chase said, smiling, but he was done for now, especially since she’d decided to turn around and storm off, ending his fun for the night.
He considered following her, but he didn’t want to press his luck. She’d entertained him for the night and as much as he’d love to continue with tonight’s festivities, he was actually pretty tired. Yawning, and not really all that concerned that she was going to quit, he rolled into his room, grabbed a pair of boxers and headed to the bathroom, ignoring the rather violent sounds of his new favorite person in the whole wide world packing.
Thinking about the look on her face when she’d stumbled out of that closet, Chase chuckled as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside. It took him a few minutes and several tries, but he finally managed to get his shoes and socks off. His pants took a little longer, but soon they joined the rest of his clothes on the floor. His boxer briefs quickly followed. Still chuckling, he unlocked the armrest, shifted it out of the way and reached over and placed his hand on the shower bench.
“Shit,” Chase grunted as he pushed himself out of the wheelchair and with some effort, he shifted to the shower bench on trembling arms.
Once he was settled, Chase leaned forward, turned on the shower and couldn’t help but smile when he heard his favorite nurse curse his name.
*-*-*-*
She was done.
There were a lot of things that she’d put up with for her job, but the bullshit that he’d pulled tonight wasn’t one of them. Normally, Sloane prided herself on her ability to work with the tougher patients, but even she knew where to draw the line and tonight, she’d been shoved about a mile past that damn line.
She didn’t care that she was out of a job or that she was going to have to stay with one of her brothers, live off her savings for a few weeks, and that her next job might end up being in Alaska. She was done. His sister could throw his ass in a nursing home for all she cared. She’d tried and the asshole had decided to play with her.
He didn’t want help, then that was more than fine with her, because there were plenty of people out there that did. She’d just pack up her life, call the agency, and get assigned to someone who wasn’t a direct decedent of the devil, and that’s exactly what Sloane would have done if she hadn’t heard something fall in the bathroom.
Frowning, she opened the bathroom door and got the shock of a lifetime. Chase was in the shower, making an attempt at taking care of himself.
“Damn it,” Chase groaned as he placed his hand on the wall and tried to lean over to pick up a bottle of shampoo that had landed on the bathroom floor just a few inches out of his reach.
“Here,” Sloane said, picking up the bottle and handed it to him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled around a yawn as he accepted the bottle from her and tried to open the cover, but his fingers kept fumbling with the top.
“Want some help?” she asked, shocked when he actually nodded and handed the bottle back to her.
With a smile, Sloane popped the bottle open, squeezed some shampoo in her hand and set to work, deciding that perhaps she’d give him another chance.
Chapter 10
One Week Later…
“It’s Sunday,” Chase groaned into his pillow as he pulled the covers back over his head.
There was a heavy sigh and then his blankets were once again taken away by the bitter woman who was clearly struggling to accept that he’d won this little war of theirs. “It’s Tuesday.”
“Whatever,” he said, blindly reaching back until he found the soft blanket that he would marry if he could, yanked away.
“You need to get up.”
“I really don’t,” Chase informed her, wondering how she was having such a difficult time understanding that she needed to see to his needs as he pulled the blanket back over his head.
Maybe he needed to lock her in another linen closet, Chase thought, chuckling only to growl when the evil woman stole his blanket again. When he reached back for it this time, he came up empty.
“Blanket!” Chase snapped, only to have his demands ignored.
“Get up,” Sloane said, nudging his arm.
“Not happening,” he grumbled, determined to go back to sleep now more than ever simply because it would piss her off, and god, did he love pissing her off.
“It really is,” Sloane said as she placed her small, yet surprisingly warm, hands on his shoulder and arm and made him do a little sighing of his own because this was just fucking pathetic.
“What are you doing?” Chase couldn’t help but ask when she began jostling him.
“Moving you over,” she bit out as she struggled to turn him over onto his back.
“By yourself?” he had to ask because even she had to realize that he had a good sixty pounds or more on her.
“Yes!” Sloane snapped, sounding winded as she continued jostling him, lulling him back into a deep sleep.
Deciding that he was too comfortable to explain the difference between dead weight and using momentum and gravity to help move him, Chase kept his eyes closed and continued to lay there while the woman that was proving to be the most entertaining part of his day continued to manhandle him. One of the first lessons he’d learned from the academy was all the ways that a patient could fuck up your back.
They could fight you, kick you, move when you told them to stay still, weigh a fucking ton, but as long as they were conscious, they could be moved without throwing out your fucking back. It didn’t matter if they weighed fifty pounds or three hundred pounds, trying to move someone when they were unconscious was going to have you reciting every curse word you ever heard and inventing some of your own. A conscious person could center their weight, be forced to move against their will with momentum, and correct themselves when they were thrown off balance, but an unconscious person…
That was just dead weight.
The same could be said for someone that was passively laying on a bed, keeping their muscles relaxed, forcing the hundred-and-twenty-pound woman trying to drag him out of bed to work ten times harder.
“Chase!” Sloane growled, making him chuckle as she gave up on trying to pull him onto his back and switched to trying to push him over.
“Yes, Pookie?”
“Get up!” she snapped, obviously determined to see this thing through.
“Sorry. Can’t,” he said, shrugging into his pillow.
“We need to go,” Sloane said, sounding winded, pissed, and nowhere near ready to give up.
“Oh, and where do we need to go?” Chase asked mockingly, deciding that the poor thing needed a break.
“We need to–Oomph!” but whatever Sloane was about to say was cut off by a surprised squeal, a grunt, and a gasp when he suddenly turned over, admittedly a bit awkwardly with his legs not cooperating and all, grabbed her by the waist and yanked her onto the bed next to him.
Much better.
Sighing, long and loud for the pure joy of fucking with her head, he pulled her closer, tightened his hold around her and settled in for what promised to be a wonderful nap. When she tried to wiggle free, he simply ignored her, deciding that was for the best.
“Don’t make me kill you,” Sloane
simply said as she gave up trying to wiggle her way to freedom and focused on trying to remove his arm from around her waist.
“Is something amiss, Pookie?” he asked, carefully shifting onto his side, careful to keep his hold on her.
“We need to go,” Sloane said, trying to shove his arm away.
“No, we really don’t,” Chase said, smiling as he once again closed his eyes and settled in for a nap.
“If we don’t go now, then we won’t get another chance until next week,” she argued as though he knew what the hell she was talking about.
Since he didn’t, Chase decided to give her a chance to clarify things simply because he was feeling generous. “Where is it exactly that we need to go? And why won’t we get a chance to do it until next week if we don’t go now?” Chase asked, not because he cared, but because he liked to know all the plans that she had for him so that he could destroy them one by one.
He was starting to see it as a hobby of sorts.
Giving up on her ineffectual shoves, she folded her arms over her chest and glared at the ceiling, and he only knew this because he peeked. While she glared, Sloane said, “Your sister has decided to fill up your schedule with therapy, neurosurgeons, doctors, chiropractors, and about a million other things that you don’t need at the moment. I was hoping to get you to pick out a new wheelchair since yours is–”
“There’s nothing wrong with my wheelchair,” Chase grumbled, cutting her off because the mention of his sister and her bullshit attempts to run his life was wrecking his good mood.
“It’s warped, one tire wobbles, the seat is worn, the back is ripped, the footrests don’t lock, and if I didn’t know better, I would swear it was a hospital wheelchair,” Sloane said, finishing with a stubborn sigh while he laid there trying not to laugh.
Since he’d stolen it from a hospital, Chase decided not to argue the point. Besides, getting a wheelchair that didn’t cut into his ass might not be such a bad idea.
Furious Page 6