Nickolas-1 (4 page)

Gingerly moving her feet to the side of the bed, she rolled and pushed herself into a sitting position in one movement. Stars danced behind her lids as she sat there, her back now to the man. He didn’t say anything, but she heard his hiss of breath, then the deep chuckle. He had to see the other marks she was sure was there.

“There’s a deep contusion on your left thigh that should keep you from standing, but at this point, I’d say it won’t stop you from trying. It has a perfect print of a boot, so I’m guessing that someone kicked you there. The police took pictures. It’s gonna hurt like hell when you get up. I say when because you are just stubborn enough to pull is off. So ... if you stand up without falling over, I’ll kiss you. Damn, but you are one stubborn broad.” Morgan could hear the humor lacing his words. She wasn’t out to prove anything to anyone. And if he came toward her with the intentions of kissing her, she’d make him regret that for many months to come.

Moving closer to the edge, she moved her right leg to the floor. It was tricky as the side rail to the bed was up and she seemed to be about seventy feet off the floor. When her toes touched the tile, she nearly cried with relief. Grasping the rail, she slowly moved her other leg down to be with its mate. She stood with all her weight on her right leg until she could get the pain under some sort of control and slowly, very slowly, began bearing weight on her left foot.

At first it didn’t seem all that bad, and then, suddenly, pain shot from her toes to her hip like a knife stabbing the entire length. She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. Dizzy now, she held onto the rail in a white-knuckle grip until she could breathe again. She opened her eyes and the man stood in front of her, concern written all over his face. She’d never heard him move.

“Let me help you back into bed, Ms. Becky, before the pain overwhelms you.” When he reached out to touch her, she jerked back in terror. Her whimper had nothing to do with the pain this time, but the fear of the man. He must have realized it and took a hasty step back.

“Don’t touch me. I ... I don’t know you. You need to back ... move away.

Please.” He took another step back and folded his arms over his massive chest.

But he didn’t stop watching at her.

Each step was an agonizing, mind numbing haze of pain. Putting most of her slight weight on the bed, she moved to the end, then across the foot to the top again. She had seen the little closet and was now making her way to it, praying that she’d make it without the support of the bed to hold her up. Concentrating on one step at a time, she leaned heavily on the door when she finally made it.

Opening it up, and sobbing with untold happiness at finding her things there, she gathered them into her arm and, holding on to herself, moved to the bathroom.

Even though she knew it would feel wonderful, Morgan didn’t sit on the commode. She didn’t because she was terrified she’d not be able to get up again.

Crying openly now that she was alone, she began the chore of getting first undressed then dressed again.

Taking off the gown, she nearly did sit. The bruises were horrific and many.

She knew that some of them had happened today when Big Martha had attacked her, but some had happened when…well, she needed to get away from here before he came back and finished the job. She pulled her bloodied shirt from the pile of clothes and her bra. There was a little blood on it, but it was all she had.

She put it on; luckily, the hook was in the front.

Morgan heard the man on the other side of the door talking. She couldn’t hear what he was saying and, frankly, didn’t really care. She’d be gone soon enough, and if they thought she was paying for this room, well, she couldn’t afford it.

The loose-fitting pants—who was she kidding? Everything she owned fit her like it was too big—felt good and hardly rubbed the bruise at all. Her shoes were a problem, but she only slipped them on without even attempting to tie them.

She could only brush her hair and let it hang long down her back. As soon as she could find some scissors, the shit was coming off. After brushing her teeth, she felt more human. She opened the door quietly and moved out into the room.

The doctor was sitting in the same chair as before. This time, however, he was positioned in front of the door. Well, fuck, so much for a clean get away.

“Move. You can’t keep me here. I know my rights.” Morgan put as much hardness in her voice as she could, but all this moving and the pain had exhausted her. She was dizzier now than she had been, her leg was throbbing like a tooth ache, and she was pretty sure she was going to be sick.

“Actually, I can, as you see. I can’t let you leave, Morgan. Not like this.

You’re eyes are glazed over with pain, you can barely walk without help, and you have nowhere to go. My mom will be here in a few seconds, as will my brothers. So pop a squat and we’ll wait for the family to show up.” He leaned his head back against the chair and grinned at her. Arrogant ass.

“This says I don’t wait. Now move or one of us is going back to prison, and the other, the morgue.” She watched as his eyes widened at the sight of the gun she was holding in her hand.

Damon stared at the gun, then at the woman. Damn, but she was feisty. He couldn’t help it. He threw back his head and laughed. Still seemly lounging in the chair, he reached up and snatched the gun from her hand.

“If you’re going to hold a gun on someone, you need to make sure that they can’t see it’s a squirt gun and it doesn’t have an orange tip at the end. Now, get your happy ass in that bed before you fall over.” Damon watched her face. He looked for any sign that she was going to try something equally stupid as the gun, but she just stood there. When he stood up, she scrambled back several steps and he could see the pain this caused her, but he was either going to have to intimidate, or pick her up to get her into the bed.

Neither was she going to like.

“I hate you.” She stood there, glaring at him for a long time. He had to admit that she was pretty good at it, rivaled only by his mother. His mom could tear the skin right off of you with a look.

“Bed, Morgan, or I pick you up and put you there.” The anger and fear that came into her eyes nearly made him relent, but he needed her to lie down before she fell down. She turned around and hobbled to the bed, her posture stiff and hard.

Morgan had just managed to get across the room when her door flew open.

His brothers never made anything but a grand entrance. His mom came in right behind them, fussing at Byron about his lack of pants without holes in them. She took one look at Morgan and turned her attention to her.

“Oh you poor baby. Come on now. Let’s get you back to bed. Why is she dressed? You can’t think you’re going anywhere, not like this. Why, you can barely walk. Damon, what have you been doing to her?” He just looked at his mom and scolded. “Me? I haven’t done anything. I told her to stay in bed, and then she got up anyway. Which, I must say, impressed the hel…heck out of me. She is one stubborn little girl.” Damon grinned at Morgan when she looked ready to hit him. He simply couldn’t help himself. Damn, but that girl had spunk.

“He didn’t do anything but keep me here and I’m sure that wasn’t his first idea. I want you people to leave me alone, damn it! I am a grown woman! You have to have another person you can annoy the shit out of because I have had enough. Now, get out! Fucking get out!”

Damon shifted his astonishment between the two women. His brothers were doing the same. He was sure at any moment the fireworks were going to start.

And, damn, Nicky boy was missing it all.

“No, I don’t have anyone right at the moment. You’ll just have to put up with me. Boys, leave us, please. I’d like to talk to Morgan alone.” Damon looked over at Morgan and saw her turn her back on them. He wasn’t sure if he should have been pissed or impressed with her. Once in the hall, he walked down to his brother’s room to fill him in. Grinning like an idiot, he walked in Nicky’s room and bellowed, “You are not going to fucking believe that girl!”

~~~

“Nicky, what the hell are you doing now?”

Damon had just relayed the fight between Ms. Becky and his mom and he expected him to just lie there? Not bloody likely.

“I’m going down there and kick her ass is what I’m gonna do. Move.” Nick was out the door and down the hall before he had the last button done up on his robe. He was ten feet from the room when he heard the yelling. He nearly kicked in the door, but paused.

“I only want to help you! What is so hard to believe...?”

“Help me? Help me? I needed help five years ago, Mrs. Parker. Not now. I needed help when that bastard had me tied to the wall. When he raped me every fucking day for nine days. I needed help then when he sold me to his friends, giving them the opportunity to rape me as well. ‘Have a little fun with the little cunt she has,’ he said as a selling point. And when he tired of using his dick, he’d ram whatever was around into me, over and over until the blood would soak his hand. Do you know what this is? It’s a perfect imprint of his teeth; yeah, he’d bite me hard enough to leave a reminder. I have several of them all over my body.

Then there are the cigar burns, the lighter burns. He tried to set fire to my pubic hair once to see if it would burn faster than my head hair. Good thing the blood was too fresh to get it going, huh? Help me? I want to die, Ms. Parker. Will you help me with that?”

“That’s enough.” Nick didn’t remember walking into her room, but was there suddenly. His mom looked like she had been pole axed, and Morgan looked defeated.

“Oh, Nickolas, I...I think...” He encircled his mom in his arms when she threw herself at him. He held her while she cried. He watched Morgan move to the bed and slowly work her way onto it. When she was able to get atop it, she pulled the sheet up to her chin and looked off into the room.

“Mom, go outside with Damon and the others. I’d like a few words with Morgan in private please.” He pushed her along into his brother’s arms and waited for them the close the door behind them before going over to the chair by the bed.

Nick didn’t know what to say. No words, no thought, nothing. He sat there for several minutes before he thought he could speak.

“Do you need anything right now?” He winced at the question. How was she supposed to answer that? he wondered.

“Go away. I want to be left alone. Just, please go away.” His heart clenched at the sound of her voice. It was broken and low, defeated and sad all at once.

“All right. For now. I’ll be back as soon as I see to my mom. Morgan, I...” He watched as she rolled over to her other side and huddled under the blanket. She moaned softly, and he could tell that she was crying. Her shoulders were trembling.

For reasons he didn’t want to think about, her tears bothered him more than his mother’s had.

It was dark when Morgan woke up the next time. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she’d been crying and must have dozed off. Her whole body hurt, including her heart. She moved her leg gingerly and cried out at the pain shooting from the muscle in her thigh.

“Damon said you could have something for pain if you wanted it.” Nickolas Grant. What did she expect? He’d said he’d be back. His voice was coming from behind her, so she needed to turn over, but didn’t really want to.

She’d never been one to hide from something, but face it straight on. She moved slowly and stopped at her back; the pain was too much.

“I don’t want anything. I can only go this far right now, and I don’t know how long it will take me to get the rest of the way over, so if you wanna begin...”

“All right. There’s a tray of food in front of you. Eat it while I talk.” The light flared on and she shied away from it as best she could without moving too much. He was suddenly standing in front of her opening covers off of food.

Morgan wasn’t going to eat anything, but didn’t say anything. He’d just argue with her; she knew it, so she watched. When he had everything arranged, he slid the half table over in front of her, sat on the bed and picked up the fork.

She turned her head from him.

“No. Say what you have to say then leave, Dr. Grant. I’m sure you have other things to do. I know I do.” She heard him growl and nearly turned toward him, but didn’t.

“You’re not stupid. I’ve seen your transcript from college. So I won’t even go into the reasons you need to keep your strength up by eating, how you’ll heal much faster if your body isn’t fighting starvation too.” She heard the authority in his voice, the one that said,
you’ll listen or else.
“This is the way this is going to work. I’m going to feed you this dinner and you’re going to eat it or I call the nurse and we tie you down and put a tube down your throat and feed you that way. Up to you.”

Morgan slowly turned back to him and glared. He was smiling with a sneer and still holding the fork. There was a small bite of something white on the end of it.

Opening her mouth, she took the bite. She decided she wasn’t speaking to him. He could feed her, tell her off, because she was sure he was pissed at her treatment of his mother, and then he could leave.

“Damon will release you tomorrow morning. Byron will be here to pick you up and take you to an apartment that is in the Grant building that I own. He lived there up until a few months ago when he purchased his own home and had a studio built. The furniture is still there until the decorator he has doing his house decides what she wants to incorporate into the new house. I haven’t the slightest clue what happens to the rest after he’s finished.

“You’ll also see a psychiatrist once a week starting next week. If she says you need more or less sessions, then you can work from there. If she says you need help and could benefit from others, then you’ll get it. She will report to me every week on your progress and whether or not you show. She will not share what you talk about. I could care less anyway.”

Morgan glared at him. What right did he have treating her like this? She wanted to scream at him. Just when she was opening her mouth to blast him, he jammed a forkful of food into her. Damned man.