He looked Mack over, the difference in their sizes a large one, since the doctor stood several inches shorter than Mack and probably a solid hundred pounds less.
“I’m Dr. Lincoln Cooper. I’m here at Mr. Sitnikov’s request,” the doctor told him formally. “He would like me to have a look at Miss Miller so he can be assured that there won’t be any permanent damage. Mrs. Sitnikov is uneasy on her sister’s behalf.” He held out his hand to Mack and Mack looked stonily down at it before snorting. The last thing he wanted was for some stranger to touch his woman when she was feeling vulnerable and frightened, but he could also see the logic in having her checked out. She had technically died while buried in that hole. She should probably have gone to the hospital instead of straight back to Mack’s place, but he couldn’t stand to let her out of his sight.
He grunted, narrowed his eyes at the medical professional, a man he didn’t trust and didn’t like, and waved his arm indicating the doctor should precede him down the hall toward the bedroom. Lucy was still curled on her side facing away from the door. Mack glared at the doctor and approached her, sitting on the edge of the bed and sliding a hand across her blanket-clad hip. She didn’t react.
“Baby, can you look at me?” he asked gently.
She didn’t move.
He sighed heavily and pushed her onto her back, took her chin in his hand and leaned in to check her eyes. She blinked up at him, a slight furrow between her brows as if annoyed that he was disturbing her. He was happy with that tiny bit of feistiness. He would take just about any amount of attitude from her right now.
“Lucy, this man is Sitnikov’s doctor. He’s here to examine you.” Mack finished on a growl, eyes directed towards the other man.
She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the presence of the doctor. Her eyes drifted slightly, losing focus. Finally, she nodded a little and slumped into the pillows behind her. Mack loosened his grip, guessing that was as much as he was going to get from her.
Lucy allowed herself to be maneuvered like a doll for the next twenty minutes while the doctor looked her over. She moved only when asked and was sluggish to answer questions. Mack suspected it was because she had zero interest in answering the questions, rather than because she couldn’t or was too traumatized. He caught the sharp flash in her eye and the quick disgusted curl of her lip when the doctor lifted her arm to press the stethoscope under her shirt and against her bare back. Mack had to cross his arms, clench his muscles and remind himself this was for her health to keep himself from tearing the man away from her. The doctor made short work of cleaning up her face and examining the wound on her forehead where she’d been thrown into the fridge. He told them that it was a shallow cut and wouldn’t need stitches.
After the examination finished the doctor gave Lucy a short, cool smile, helped her back under the covers and jerked his head toward Mack, indicating they should step outside the room. He wasn’t a kind man by any stretch, his bedside manners cold and efficient. Definitely on the mob payroll.
Mack was just glad he was finished with his exam. He stalked after the doctor, pleased when the man bee-lined for the front door. He wouldn’t have to actually toss the guy out on his ass. “Anything wrong with my girl?” he grunted in a tone that suggested if there was something wrong he’d be taking it out on the doctor’s hide, fairness be damned.
The doctor gave him a cool look and shrugged a little, his professional mask firmly in place. “It’s my understanding she lacked a pulse, wasn’t breathing for an indeterminate amount of time and had to be resuscitated, correct?” When Mack said nothing, but continued to stare, the doctor continued. “She should be in a hospital, monitored by medical personnel.”
Mack narrowed his eyes, flared his nostrils and clenched his fists making certain the other man understood his feelings on that statement.
The doctor took a step back. “Since that doesn’t appear to be an option then I can say she appears to be doing remarkably well, considering. Keep an eye on her. There could be physical consequences to the lack of oxygen to her brain, especially since we have no idea how long she was out for.”
Mack nodded, already aware of this possibility.
“She may also experience psychological trauma from her experience, including flashbacks and nightmares. Keep her hydrated and warm. Make sure someone stays close by at all times.”
“That all?” Mack growled, annoyed at the doctor’s cold delivery. This was Lucy they were talking about, yet the man looked as though he cared about her as much as he would care about a rock. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
The doctor didn’t need to be told twice. Mack closed the door after him, checking his urge to slam it, not wanting to startle Lucy. He locked the door, reset the alarm and traced his steps back to the bedroom. She was once more laying with her back to the door. The move was beginning to feel somehow significant, dismissive. Like she wanted to be alone. Fuck that.
Mack climbed into the bed behind her, shoving her over. She didn’t protest, and didn’t move on her own, allowing him to maneuver her. Like a doll, she lay limp as he arranged her, tucking his knees behind hers, wrapping his arm under her waist and holding her tight against his body with his other arm over top of her shoulders, his hand tucked under her face. After a time, he felt her tears begin to roll into his palm and the gentle heave of her body as she cried herself to sleep in his arms.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lucy’s eyes flew open, a strangled scream leaving her lips. She shook in a cage that held her pinned to the bed, her body hot and cold in turn, a light sweat covering her. Her frantic mind tried to disengage from the nightmare that was burying her alive again and again. A slight moan of despair escaped her mouth and she lifted shaking fingers to her lips to trap the sound. Her chest heaved as she shoved the tears back.
Lucy could feel a faint stirring at the back of her neck and turned her head to look, already knowing what it would be, whose cage she was trapped in. Mack’s heavy arms were wrapped around her in what used to be comforting, but now felt horrifically claustrophobic. She wanted nothing more than to shove him off the bed and scream at him to stop touching her.
She knew it wasn’t fair, knew that he’d saved her life and that she should be grateful. But she couldn’t feel anything… except a fear that threatened to consume her whole. And that fear was doing something to her, making her angry inside. The anger was eating up all the happiness she’d known at discovering a new world filled with phones, shopping, friends and fun. Now when she thought about those things all she felt was fear and anger. She didn’t want the city any more. Because with the phones and shopping malls came screeching cars, guns, kidnappers and death.
Slowly she pushed herself up on one elbow so she wouldn’t disturb Mack and studied him. Her hair drifted around their faces, cocooning them in what could have been a beautiful moment if she could just feel something. Some speck of the love that she’d felt for him before those men had grabbed her. He still looked the same; so handsome, even the cold thing in her chest began to beat a little faster and her lady parts began to warm involuntarily. But she couldn’t bring herself to want him the way she had before, to hope for a future with him. No, he was a killer and any thoughts of love died in that hole along with Lucy.
She traced his square jaw with her eyes, taking in the stubble he hadn’t shaved away before climbing into bed with her. His hard lips, high, sharp cheeks and the slight flare of squint lines around eyes that didn’t soften, even in sleep. She wondered if the lines were from squinting through the lens of his rifle before he made a kill shot. Before he took a life. Like those men who had tried to take hers.
She wasn’t stupid. Innocent, yes. Though less innocent now than she used to be thanks to the life that Mack, Sitnikov and all of their associates introduced her to. She knew that Mack murdered people. She’d seen the paperwork when she’d organized and transferred Jane’s and Mack’s files into the new file cabinets she’d bought for them. All those months ago
she’d just been curious about the big, handsome bounty hunter. Now she understood what dead or alive meant. He had a choice when chasing people, when he was hunting them down. He could choose to kill them. And she was under no rosy illusions now. Mack killed people. Probably a lot of people.
Did he care about the lives he took? Did it bother him? Probably not any more than it would have bothered the men that were going to take her life. The lost lives were business as usual to men like Mack.
She narrowed her eyes, suddenly furious at him. She no longer cared that he was asleep, she pushed herself up on to her knees and slapped him across the face, the sound ringing in the room. He came instantly awake, his eyes flying open and his palm connecting hard with her wrist, snapping around her flesh like a handcuff. She glared at him.
“Killer!” she hissed.
“Lucy, honey,” he said, his voice groggy from sleep, even if his actions indicated he was alert. “Are you having a nightmare?”
She shook her head furiously and tugged on her wrist, trying to wriggle backwards out of his hold. He gentled his grip so he wouldn’t hurt her, but refused to let her go. He brought his other hand up and took hold of her other arm, pulling her half on top of him, frowning. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“Don’t you baby me!” she snapped. “And stop touching me.” She shoved uselessly at him, but he refused to let her go. “I don’t want you to touch me anymore. You’re just as much a killer as the rest of them. You take lives and you don’t even care. Dead or alive, right? How many were dead? How many lives have you taken, Mack? Was it worth it? How do you sleep at night?”
He looked completely stunned by her tirade. He shuttered his expression, maneuvered her more fully into his arms and tried to soothe her with a hand at the base of her neck, massaging. She tossed her head back in annoyance.
“Shh, Luce, you’re safe now,” he said softly, misunderstanding her outburst. “They can’t get you.”
“I’ll tell you how you sleep at night,” she hissed in his face. “Just fucking fine. Because you don’t care about the lives you take.” His hand tightened on her neck, the only indication he gave that her words drew blood. They stayed that way for a long moment, just staring at each other, then she said, “Let go of me.”
Mack lifted his hands and she quickly scrambled off the bed and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She flipped the lock and leaned against the door praying he wouldn’t come bursting in after her. She held her breath and waited, only letting it out a few moments later when she heard nothing more than him pulling on some clothes and leaving the bedroom.
Lucy sank to a crouch against the door and cradled her head on her knees, allowing the tears to fall. She desperately wished she could stop crying. That she could feel something other than this crushing despair and numbing anger. It wasn’t like her to feel this way; to behave this way. She’d hit Mack without any provocation. She was lucky he hadn’t retaliated.
Lucy stood on shaking legs and splashed cold water on her face. She thought about having a shower but decided she didn’t have the energy. She’d taken a long, hot shower after coming back from the scrap yard to wash away the dirt. If only she could wash away the memories and nightmares just as easily. She took several calming breaths and decided she should probably face Mack before he came looking for her. He couldn’t seem to leave her alone for long.
She looked at herself in the mirror, making sure she wasn’t too much of a mess. She didn’t look like the same girl. Her face looked longer somehow, drawn and more grown up with blue smudges under her eyes. She hated her hair. It wasn’t fun anymore. It was too wild, too untamed, the multi-layered streaks in tangles around her head. Her lips trembled, and she swiped a wet hand across the mirror, streaking her image before turning jerkily away.
“I’m only twenty-one,” she whispered, gripping her hair. Too young to die. But old enough to get married back home with her people.
She opened the door and left the safety of the washroom. She found Mack in the kitchen, attempting to make food for them. She knew his weak attempt at cooking should have been funny, would even have made the old Lucy laugh. She would likely have slipped between him and the counter, taken the pan from his hand and taken over, kissing the scowl off his face. Instead she dropped into a chair and watched him make a mess, only lifting a brow in slight surprise as he finally gave up and dumped whatever it was he wasn’t cooking into the garbage. Instead, he placed two bowls on the table, a box of cereal and a carton of milk.
“Eat,” he ordered, pouring cereal into a bowl and pushing it toward her.
“No,” she said, without looking up.
“You need to eat something Lucy,” he insisted, pouring the milk over the cereal.
She lifted her head and glared at him. “No,” she growled and shoved the bowl. Milk and cereal spilled in a wave across the table.
She saw the instant tension in his shoulders and the tightening around his lips. He was getting pissed at her. She didn’t care. In fact, she was glad. Maybe then she’d feel something. She watched his face closely and was disappointed when the tension subsided, and he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and hair, spiking it up in the way she used to like. His blue eyes pinned her.
“Don’t be a brat, Luce,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of annoyance. “You need to eat. You haven’t had anything since the wedding reception last night. That was seventeen hours ago.”
“Don’t care,” she told him. “I’m not hungry.” And she realized it was true. She wasn’t hungry. In fact, she was positive that if she put the food in her mouth, chewed and swallowed, she would throw it right back up.
“Just fucking eat it,” he snapped, pushing the bowl and what was left in it back toward her.
“No!” she yelled.
This time she picked up the bowl and she hurled it across the kitchen, not even looking to see where it landed. She heard the spoon hit something metal, maybe the sink, and the bowl shattered against the side of the stove. She flinched but refused to look away from Mack who was finally giving in to the fury he was attempting to bank for her sake.
Why was she pushing him? She knew what happened when she pushed Mack. He usually exploded with sexual tension, grabbed her and fucked her senseless. That wasn’t what she wanted from him now. It couldn’t be. She’s been murdered the night before and then brought back to life. Buried in a hole in the ground and suffocated to death. She couldn’t possibly want to be rough fucked. So, why was she pushing him?
Unless she needed that from him, just so she could feel alive again. Was she really that stupid? Was she really poking the bounty hunter in an attempt to get herself roughed up? Maybe she didn’t need to piss him off, maybe she just needed to tell him what she wanted. Now that her sluggish brain seemed to have caught up with the program.
Lucy shoved against the table, pushing her chair back, scraping it against the kitchen tile. Mack watched her like a hawk, his furious gaze intent on her every move. She knew if she bolted down the hall toward the bedroom he would be after her like a shot. But would she get what she wanted? He seemed intent on treating her like delicate porcelain after her ordeal. No, she liked the idea of demanding it. Especially now that she despised him and everything he stood for.
She lifted the hem of her shirt and rolled it up her body, flipping it over her head and letting it fall to the floor. She reached for the waistband of her sweatpants and pushed them down her legs. She wasn’t wearing a bra or panties, having pulled on the first things that came to hand the night before after her shower. Now she stood naked in front of Mack, reveling in his clashing looks of confusion and lust.
“What are you doing, Lucy?” he demanded, shoving his own chair back, the cereal now completely forgotten.
“I want you to fuck me, Mack,” she told him, walking toward him and parting her legs on either side of his knees. She wobbled against him. His hands came up automatically to brace her so she wouldn’t fall. She sank down onto his lap an
d looped her arms around his neck. “Fuck me hard, Mack. Make me forget.”
Make me remember, make me feel.
His eyes narrowed while his big hands clenched around her hips, dragging her up his lap as though he couldn’t help it. She could tell he was fighting himself, fighting instinct, and blew out a breath in frustration. Seducing a man shouldn’t be this difficult.
“You need time to recover, baby,” he told her, running the knuckles of one hand over the cut on her forehead. “You fucking died a few hours ago. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She growled and jerked back on his lap, taking him by surprise. “Yeah, I died! And now I’m alive. Fuck me and show me how alive I am.”
Mack shook his head before the words had even finished leaving her mouth. She could already tell he wasn’t going to give in to her. For once in his miserable life, Mack Hudson had decided to do the chivalrous thing and give her time to recover before making sexual demands. To hell with what she wanted or needed. She braced a hand on his shoulder and stood, shoving back hard enough to rock the chair, despite his size. His face registered surprise and she felt a flare of pride. She was a fucking farm girl, she’d pushed thousand pound horses around.
“Well if you won’t fuck me, I’ll go find someone who will,” she hissed in his face, whirling around and heading for the bedroom. She bent and grabbed her shirt and sweatpants along the way. She didn’t hear him leave the chair and assumed shock at her declaration glued his butt to the wood. “I think Alexandr was beginning to develop some real feelings toward me and if he won’t… well I know I’m not too hard to look at. I’ll just go to a bar and wait until someone picks me up… ouch!”
Mack swung her around, lifted her right off her feet and slammed her into the wall so hard her head bounced. She was a little shocked he was being that rough considering he was pretty clear that he wanted to give her time to heal. A smile began to tug at her lips when his lips crushed hers, stealing her smile, her breath and any trace of thought she’d had. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, matching his brutality, kiss for kiss, accepting it like a drowning woman.
In His Sights Page 21