“You’ve slept with the patients?” I pry, fiddling with the hem of my dress to keep my fingers busy, my jaw tight under the stress of my grinding teeth as I wait for her answer.
“Ezra has never been interested. The man is unshakeable. I bet he has one of those weird kinks where the girl has to be dressed as a horse or comatose or something before he can touch her. I’ve heard it all here.”
I sigh, tension seeping from my limbs. He hasn’t touched her. He doesn’t want her. I shouldn’t be so relieved, but I am. I can’t expect him to be some saint—not with the way he looks, the way he moves. The way his scent alone has me feral. At some point, I’ll have to face reality, take a good hard look in the mirror, and consider what it is that I’m hoping will happen here. Because as I’ve reminded myself every night since I got here: he’s off limits.
“I don’t think the beast of Blackwood plays well with others,” she adds, disappointment at that fact heavy in her rushed sigh as she licks her lips. “Not for lack of trying…”
Green with envy at the mere thought of her succeeding, that irrational urge to grab her by her ponytail and stake my claim sticks in my throat.
Shrugging her shoulders, she adds brightly, “There’s always other options.” The raging temptress inside me puts down herpitchfork. I’m only half listening as Raven launches into a detailed guess who game, the patient fuck buddy edition, as she points out the pairings in the room, some more surprising than others.
“The beast of Blackwood?” I repeat breathily, mostly to myself, unable to tear my gaze away from Ezra as though I’m testing the nickname to see if it truly suits him. “My beast…” I don’t mean for the words to leave my mouth and quickly glance at Raven to assess the damage of my outburst, moving so fast something pulls in my neck. Thankfully, she’s none the wiser of my musings, too entranced with her view of the Knox brothers.
Her voice is liquid silk as she asks the question, “Ever been locked in a Chinese finger trap sort of situation?” She asks, twisting a curl of her black hair around her finger as she chomps around a fresh wad of neon pink gum. Whispering between themselves, one of the brothers smirks back at Raven when she twiddles her fingers in a girlish wave like some 19thcentury lady of a manor.
Rubbing my neck, I ask, “What’s with the cowboy hats?” There is a no-shits-given aura about these two men. Handsome and rugged, I can see the appeal.
“Lenora lets them tend to the horses. Apparently they come from a farm background or something. I had a rummage around the records room when I first got here, but there’s very little in their file. Everyone’s files are a little on the light side if you ask me.”
“So Lenora doesn’t mind you getting friendly with the patients?” My ulterior motives with this question would be obvious as I am the worst liar known to mankind, but thankfully her attention is still directed at theYellowstonehotties in the corner.
“You’ve heard her speech—we’ve all been subjected to it. We’re all family friendly in this place. Besides, we don’t do muchtalking…if you catch my drift,” she comments sweetly with an arched brow as she licks her lips and continues the little eye-fucking session she’s currently lost in.
“Consider the drift caught.” I chuckle awkwardly as I ponder some extracurricular time alone with Ezra. Watching a guy manhandle a sheet of thin leather shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
Jeremy strolls past and drops a basket of crafts on the table between us. I smile up at him as he turns, grimacing in sympathy when I see his two black eyes and busted nose. The smattering of freckles masked by the mottled purple bruising creeping out across his cheekbones on either side of his swollen face.
“That had to have hurt. Workplace incident? Or were you snooping where you shouldn’t be? You could sue, you know.” Raven smirks, the faux concern in her voice betrayed by the amusement in her eyes. It’s clear Raven has zero sympathy for him. I put a pin in it and make a point to ask her about it later.
“I walked into a door,” he throatily replies, refusing to make eye contact with me, wheezing as he struggles to take in air. Before I can wish him well, he hurries off to the next table without even acknowledging my presence. It isn’t my strangest interaction of the day, so I shrug it off.
At least he didn’t wave his cock in your face.
I’m grateful for small mercies.
When we were told today’s class would be taught by Felicity Finesse, I imagined a pole dancer in a sequined bikini and some sort of aerobics show. I’ve known a few Felicitys in my time, so when the aging lady draped in a kaftan with grey beaded braids strolls in, her arms decorated with bangles up to the elbows, I snort a laugh that commands the attention of the entire room. The walls feel like they are closing in as all eyes fall on me. My cheeks flush crimson,the heat crawling up my neck as I tug at my collar. Where’s Mr. Greenblat with his mini toaster strudelwhen you need him? “My mortification could use a dose of elderly man with his dick out for the room to gape at right now.“
It takes me a second to realise I’ve said the second half of that thought out loud. My mouth running off while my brain scrambles to hit the brakes—like a sane person would. Clearly, reading a room and shutting the hell up aren’t my strong suits. Raven’s violet eyes are wide, her mouth agape in shock.
“Today’s therapy will be creating something with someone else in mind. Giving is the best medicine—it rejuvenates the soul,” Felicity croons, her jewellery jingling like wind chimes. Soothing, in theory, but as I shift uncomfortably in my seat, awkwardly grinning every time she looks my way—waiting for my next bout of word vomit—I feel anything but calm. I don’t risk a glance at Ezra until the tinny murmur of conversation amongst the patients in the room picks up again. Even gurgling Greta, who hasn’t stopped making that god awful noise since I arrived, had gone silent long enough to watch me die a social death. When I finally look his way, I swear I see his lips twitch—laughter lurking just beneath the surface. But, thankfully, he doesn’t pin me with that hooded gaze this time. Instead, he sets to work focusing on his leather creation, deft calloused hands moving with effortless skill.
I grab for the stained glass inserts from the basket and a paint palette.
Colour by numbers—at least this is something I can’t fuck up.
“Well, that was embarrassing,” Raven splutters, hiding her face behind her hand as though my humiliation is catching. Someone stating the obvious the way she has would usually annoy me, but instead, I laugh along with her. Shouting about cock is hardly the most embarrassing thing i’ve ever done and i’m sure as fuck it won’t be the last.
CHAPTER NINE
CARA
After the long morning of crafts and an interesting lunch, I find myself back in my room and freshly showered following the food fight that had the patients relegated into lock down and half the staff sent to their rooms to clean up. Towel drying my hair, I cross the room in my robe and tap the butterfly glass trinket hanging in my window that’s made up of various shades of green and amber—it seems I certainly could fuck up a simple colour by numbers suitable for a five-year-old, but I like this better; the comfort of the melding colours swells inside me as I imagine the man I haven’t been able to push from my mind—two eyes: one green, one amber.
Watching how the low-slung sun beams through between the bars, I smile at the wash of colours now painting my walls. Maybe I could hang this over my bedside lamp when it’s dark out, falling asleep with these colours splayed across my ceiling. A boisterous knocking at my door shakes the mirror that hangs on the far wall, and I hurry to the door, tying the belt of my robe closed as I patter on bare feet across the room.
My gut lurches as my hand hovers on the door handle. “Hello?” I call with my mouth almost pressed up to the beaten wood. No one answers, so I open the door enough to peekout into the hallway. A heavy boot suited for a marine or, in this case, more likely a Unabomber, slides in to stop me from closing the door, and I take an unconscious step back, as though the distance might protect me should I need it. My gut somersaulting—if it had a voice, it would be yelling“stupid bitch”at me full pelt. Because opening the door wasn’t the finest decision I’ve ever made.
“Cara, as always, a pleasure.” The wordpleasurefrom his lips has a zap of unease skirting up my spine. There is something unnatural about Simon’s smile; too forced, too wide, like a predator trying to coerce its prey into a trap. Of all the people I’ve met here, he has me most on edge; I’d happily take the willy wavers while wearing a blindfold over this guy. The silence around him as he waits for me to speak is too loud, as though the universe is blocking out all other distractions and begging me to take note of the roiling disgust shifting in my belly.
