Dollars (Dollar #2)(8)

“Are you tired? We’ve been at sea for a while; it’s almost dawn.” His eyes turned to sharp flint. “Are you hungry?”

His questions went unanswered.

The drip gave my body whatever sustenance it needed—keeping any tummy pangs at bay. Even if I were hungry, how would I eat? My tongue refused to move, and Michaels had warned me not to insert foreign objects into my mouth. No doubt that rule included food for the time being.

I glanced away, clicking the pen open and closed as Elder stopped pacing at the foot of my bed. “I suppose Michaels has already thought about the hunger and hydration issue.” He rubbed his jaw, his fingers scratching day old stubble. Indecision etched his handsome face. “In that case, I’ll let you sleep. I have a big day tomorrow and need to rest, too.”

Striding to the door, he narrowed his eyes in my direction. “I suggest you relax and let me take care of you. You’ll need your energy.”

My heart stopped siphoning blood, filling my veins with igloos.

What do you mean?

Energy for what?

The sudden tension in my muscles signalled another problem I’d become mildly aware of but was suddenly desperately uncomfortable.

My bladder.

Oh, no.

My gaze darted around the room, looking for a bathroom.

You might have a catheter.

My arms flinched to lift the sheets and inspect below. The thought of peeing while in bed horrified me, but I had been unconscious for a long time. When I’d had my tonsils out at fifteen, the operation had endured a complication. They’d kept me overnight with a catheter so I didn’t move from a lying position and disrupt the seared wound at the back of my throat.

Is this like that?

How could I tell?

I could pee and find out the messy way, or I could struggle out of bed and somehow manhandle the drip until I found the facilities.

Either option, I had to wait for Elder to leave before embarrassing myself.

I waited for him to go.

Only, he didn’t.

Cocking his chin, he stared at the tension in my shoulders and my bunched hands on the sheets. Slowly, he moved away from the door back toward me. “Are you okay?”

My head didn’t bobble; I didn’t answer his question—it wasn’t insolence, just a lifetime of self-preservation.

He sighed angrily. “You can give me clues, Pimlico.”

Not about this, I can’t.

It was too embarrassing.

Leave.

If Michaels returned, I’d write a request for a female nurse to help, or I’d manage myself. I felt strong enough to clamber out of bed. I’d be wobbly from the operation, but I would make do.

Like I always do.

Arching my jaw, I stared at the door.

I owed him my utmost thanks, and he would get it. I would pay him back. I would find a way (even if that way was abhorrent to me) but not now.

Elder growled. “Goddammit, you don’t have to be silent with me.”

In case you’ve forgotten, my tongue isn’t operational.

A dark smile twisted his lips once again following my train of thought. “I know your tongue prevents you from speaking for now, but your body isn’t damaged.”

My eyes fell to the ugly bruises and scars.

Not damaged? How can you say that?

How did he look past the grotesque marks on my skin and see someone I’d long since forgotten?

He chuckled harshly. “I didn’t mean that you’re not injured and that f*cking bastard didn’t do a number on you. I meant you can wave your arms and shake your head. You can reply to me now you’re safe.”

Am I safe?

He glowered, lowering his jaw. “Don’t look at me like that. If I say you’re safe, you’re safe. Understand?”

The urge to nod was stronger this time. I ignored it.

Safe from Master A but am I safe from you?

The unspoken question hung like cinnamon smoke, matching the rich spice of his aftershave.

He knew where my thoughts had trailed but didn’t answer. Giving me a piece of my own medicine.

Fair enough.

I could empathize with how frustrating it was to converse with someone who didn’t reply. I’d been the receiver of that frustration from Master A long enough.

Alrik.

His name was Alrik.

He’s not your master anymore.

I jolted as Elder suddenly strode to the side of my bed and touched my forearm.

My skin tightened and heated beneath his touch.

“You’re not telling me something.”

I’m not telling you many things.

“I think I know what it is.”

I doubt it.

I squirmed a little as his fingers clenched my wrist. The tension in my body squeezed my bladder, reminding me I’d better remove him from my presence soon or risk wetting the bed.

“I didn’t let them put one in.”

My eyes flared.

One what?

“After everything you’ve been through and the molestation you’ve suffered, I didn’t want you to feel taken advantage of.”

I frowned. I had no idea what he meant.

He huffed, letting my wrist go. He ripped back the sheet covering my yellow nightgown and mottled legs. “A catheter. I didn’t let him insert one. And it’s been hours since you were in surgery. I know why you’re tense and keep staring at the door.”