Page 21 of Bound By Thorns
Tyka grunted in annoyance but complied, helping me lower Logan from the ceiling. The clink of the chains as we unhooked him echoed ominously in the chamber.
“Get this done quickly,” Tyka barked, his patience thinning.
I caught Noel’s eye for a brief moment; his expression was unreadable, indifferent to the suffering before him.
“It takes however much time it takes,” I mumbled and Tyka chuckled darkly.
As I gently laid Logan on the cold, stone floor, he winced sharply. I maintained a neutral facade, my face giving away nothing. Logan continued to watch me, his eyes intense, trying to decode my actions. It was crucial that I gave nothing away, not with Tyka and Noel watching my every move.
I inspected one of the stab wounds dangerously close to the kidneys, “You couldn’t have aimed an inch higher? Now I need to check for kidney damage.” I faked an exasperated sigh, and Tyka just groaned in response.
“Infirmary?” Noel’s voice cut through, ever the indifferent brute.
I nodded, and they carried Logan, who grunted and howled in pain, upstairs. I maintained a look of irritation, but inside, panic was setting in. If the wound had reached his kidney, I’d be forced to operate with those filthy surgical tools. The risk of infection was high, not to mention a potentially extended recovery.
Shit.
He might not even be able to walk when our escape plan was set to roll out. Now my irritation wasn’t just an act; it was real, fueled by worry and frustration.
Alone with Logan in the infirmary, I grabbed the ultrasound transducer and applied gel to it. Carefully avoiding the wound, I scanned the area around it, praying they hadn’t hit anything vital. Relief washed over me when the scan showed the kidney was intact; it was just the surrounding tissue that was damaged.
When I looked up, Logan was staring at me intensely. “What?” I snapped, momentarily dropping my guarded demeanor.
He rolled his eyes in disgust and muttered something under his breath.
“How do you do it?” he asked after a beat, his voice thick with contempt.
“Do what?” I was genuinely puzzled for a moment.
“Fix us prisoners only to send us back to be tortured the next day.” He clarified.
“They call you residents,” I replied mechanically.
A snort escaped him, almost a laugh. “You mean ‘we’. Don’t you count yourself among them?”
“I’m just their doctor,” I responded dryly.
“And Garret’s whore,” he added sharply.
His words felt like a physical blow, slicing through the facade I’d maintained. The transducer slipped from my fingers, dangling comically by its cord. I was aware of the whispers, that I was Garret’s whore, but hearing Logan say it so bluntly felt like drowning.
He frowned, perhaps sensing he’d crossed a line, and turned away. “So, did they slice open my kidney or what?”
I shook my head, afraid that my voice might crack if I spoke. I regained my composure, rehooking the transducer. He hummed in response, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. As I stitched him up, a heavy silence settled between us. I realized then, no matter what I did to save him, in Logan’s eyes, I would always be nothing more than Garret Tyson’s whore. Even though he lived because of my care, and even though he would soon escape because of my efforts, to him, that was all I was.
A whore.
Logan
She was quiet after that, and I couldn’t shake off the image of the pain that had flashed across her face when I called her that word.
Garret’s whore.
My intention was to provoke her, to break through her usual iciness and maybe, just maybe, get her to contradict me and reveal something more about herself. But I didn’t expect her to look so wounded, then fall into such a deep silence.
As she meticulously and skillfully stitched up each of my stab wounds and wrapped them in bandages, I found myself watching her closely. I tried to read any emotion that might flicker across her face, but after that initial show of hurt, she had completely composed herself.
I realized after a while that I wasn’t just observing her out of curiosity anymore. I found myself caught up in the details—the subtle twitch of her gray eyes, the faint dark circles under them, the way her lashes brushed her cheeks when she closed her eyes to recall where something was in the infirmary. These little details drew me in, against my will, making me notice her in a way I hadn’t intended.
