Blackness Within (28 page)

I assess the rest of my body and notice a pulse ox on my finger, electrodes stuck to my torso and chest, but other than that I feel whole…like shit, but whole.

I must have a concussion.

My head is killing me.

I need a CT scan.

I think I already said that.

Oh, I’m hazy.

I’m nauseous.

Doors are clanking and banging as my bed continues to roll. I want to open my eyes and get a sense of what’s going on, but I can’t. It hurts too bad. I get the feeling I’m getting worse. Doom is looming around me as my bed comes to a stop.

I hear rustling and murmuring, until I hear nothing but his voice, “I’ve come to take you home, Natasha.”

Roman.

My pulse jumps and my monitors begin to alarm. My eyes snap open and I find I’m in a loading bay for supply receiving. I move. Adrenaline pushing everything to the background. I sit straight up and rip my IV from my hand and all the monitors from my chest. It burns as blood pours from my hand. I don’t care and I don’t stop.

Roman and Igor are trying to maneuver to stop me as I swing my legs off the bed and pin them to the wall on the other side, smashing the bed diagonally across the narrow space. I lock eyes with Roman’s midnight gaze and pause for a moment, trying to remember what the hell is going on. I can’t. All I know is my body is in fight or flight and we’re getting ready to blast off.

I sprint to my left, back into the hospital corridor. I don’t know where I am or where to run so I just move as quickly as my legs can carry me, all the while screaming for help. I can hear them chasing me. Their footsteps pounding the tile floor, gaining on me with each second that no one comes to my rescue.

I make a hard right and race toward another set of doors just as powerful arms grab me from behind. I kick and flail, wailing at the top of my lungs. I struggle mightily before throwing my head back and connecting with something hard.

Then I stop fighting. I feel my body begin to sag to the floor, my limbs limp and unresponsive. My eyes droop, lids heavy like sandbags. As the light fades, I see his face begging me to hold on. Sully!

I feel like I’m floating. My head seems to be hovering as my body struggles to catch up. I’m so tired and I feel bile rising. I turn my head to the side and wretch violently. As I empty my stomach, a bucket is instantly in front of my face and a soothing hand on my shoulder.

I collapse on my side as the hand leaves my shoulder and moves to clean my face with a warm washcloth. I peel my eyes open to be met with the concerned midnight black gaze of Roman.

What the hell happened?

I close my eyes almost as soon as I open them and try to find a coherent thought.

I hurt all over, but my head is absolutely killing me.

My left hand feels bruised and smashed and my right has an IV in it.

There are electrodes covering me and the quiet beep and hum of the monitors attached to them.

I’m dizzy.

I’m nauseous.

I’m exhausted.

I’m confused.

A crash.

Cold.

Water.

Blake.

Sully?

I’m definitely confused.

“What happened?” I croak.

“Why don’t you tell me what you remember, Natasha,” Roman replies emotionlessly.

Great. Now I have to deal with him on top of feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. Was I hit by a truck? I pause for a moment and consider that.

I don’t think so.

“I don’t remember much. A crash. Water maybe. I know I was cold,” I give him the safe bits and pieces while I try to pull up a real recollection of what happened.

It’s a fruitless effort that exhausts me even more.

“The car you were in crashed off the New Paseo Bridge into the river. Do you remember that?” Roman encourages me in a somewhat kinder tone.

“I remember…water. I think…I don’t know. I’m sorry, Roman. It’s so hazy.”

I must have a concussion. I quickly begin to scan my reflexes and vitals as best I can with my eyes closed, trying to assess how I’m doing.

“I have a doctor and two nurses here to do that. Just rest, Natasha. I’ve got you,” Roman assures me and my stomach turns.

As he says those words, I feel Sully’s hand holding mine. Shit. I definitely have a brain injury. I try to push the dangerous thoughts from my mind. I can’t be hurt and fooling Roman at the same time.

I was in a car crash off the New Paseo Bridge? That’s a long drop, maybe eighty feet. I’m lucky to have survived. If you can call a life with Roman surviving. Death would have been better. No. I’m not going there. I don’t want to die. Although, I feel like…no. I don’t want to die. I have Blake. I have a little bit of my mother. I don’t want to die.

Roman’s fingers interlace with mine and I take comfort in his tender touch. I want my brother. I want someone that loves me. Roman doesn’t love me. I remember being furious with him and try desperately to place that anger when it comes.

Him in Carmine’s treating me like the whore he believes I am. That’s why I’m mad…enraged…hurt. What happened after that?

I got in a car.

Then what?

Nothing.

Shit!

I can’t remember a damn thing.

I remember what Roman did though and I pull my hand away from his grasp and curl into myself as much as I can.

“Natasha?” Roman’s voice is gentle in his request.

“No, Roman. I don’t remember the wreck, but I remember what you did to me before it happened. I’m just a whore to you. I knew it. I’m so fuckin’ stupid to have believed anything else. You don’t need to sit here with something as useless as me. I’ll be fine,” I drone coldly.

“I…Natasha…Please look at me,” Roman’s usually strong voice sounds weak as he makes the request.

I comply even though it makes my head pound louder.

“I had business associates testing my resolve. You being with me is now widely known and I had a point to prove. I used you to prove that point and nothing more. If that hurt you, know that wasn’t my intention,” he attempts to apologize.

I search his face for any sincerity and find a possible trace before my gaze finds the dragon on his neck. I remember how imposing it looked while I sat like a child in Roman’s lap in Carmine’s, humiliated and ashamed.

Roman’s words don’t make me feel better and the dragon’s lifeless gaze makes it worse.

“I’m tired,” I mutter as I close my eyes.

“Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he assures me. It sounds more like a threat at this point.

I let my exhaustion take me. Just before I fall over the edge of sleep, I see Sully’s face. He offers me a sad smile before urging me to take his hand. But he doesn’t call my name. He whispers, “Grey.” I don’t understand, but I feel a small smile on my lips as dreams replace my confused thoughts.

“Natasha,” Roman’s deep baritone requests me to wake up.

I groan and move a little, hating myself for it instantly. That fucking hurts!

“Doctor Hassan would like to do an examination and I need to go tend to some business,” Roman informs me.

“Okay,” I rasp.

I need a drink.

As the thought processes in my dopey brain, a straw is at my lips. I suck gently, knowing I need to take it easy. Nurses are horrible patients. I’m a horrible patient. I need to do my best to cover that up with Roman. I can’t be chained in a basement in my condition. I don’t know how heartless Roman is, but I wouldn’t put anything past him at this point.

His large hand brushes some hair from my face. I want to lean into his gentle touch, still craving that softness. I’m weak and injured. It’s normal to want that in times like this. I still feel disgusted that I want that from Roman after what he did to me.

“I’ll be back shortly,” he whispers before brushing his lips across my cheek.

He lingers in my space and I crack my eyes open to find him staring intently at my face.

“I almost lost you,” he says quietly. Sadness flickers behind his midnight gaze.

I don’t respond. He has lost me. He had that sick dysfunctional part of me before Carmine’s. That’s gone now or at least seriously damaged. As we peer into each other’s eyes, I see his recognition of what he’s done.

Roman closes his eyes tightly for a few moments before opening them and all of the emotion I just witnessed is now replaced with business Roman. I sigh in response before shutting him out.

“Goodbye, Roman,” I mumble.

He moves away from me without further incident.

Dr. Hassan and his nurses come in the room and professionally tend to me. I ask appropriate questions and respond well to the neurological tests. I’m informed I had a CT scan and my skull is intact, which is good. I’m confused how I had a CT scan without remembering it. I’m also blown away that I was in a hospital. I suppose Roman could have had me transported to a private clinic for a work-up before he brought me back to the warehouse.

I imagine the authorities were involved if we crashed off a bridge, but knowing the connections Roman has with them, I’m sure he covered those bases. I’m stuck here. Not even a movie-worthy wreck or a head injury got me to safety. This is my life.

“Accept it, Natasha,” I chide myself once I’m alone again.

I wish I could. I need to forget everything, not just the crash. I need to wipe my mind. The only things roaming around in it at this point are Sully and Blake. I see them so vividly…like they’re here with me. I know it’s the concussion, but it feels good. I hold that good feeling as I drift away, dreaming of Sully urging me to come back to him.

O’Sullivan

Late March

I lost her again.

It’s been a month.

Four weeks since I watched her wheeled away.

Natasha never came back and when we went to look for her, we quickly realized Roman Vojtech’s reach is wider than we considered.

Apparently, Natasha Reynolds was “transferred” to a private facility. That’s the story the hospital and the cops told us. We know it’s bullshit. We know that’s not what happened. We know he took her and then paid off the right people to make it look legit. We know all of this and can’t do a fucking thing about it.

So I’m drudging through my life and trying to make the best of it until Butch can make something happen. I’m not a patient person. It’s not going well.

“You need a fight,” Kav informs me with a cocky grin smeared on his face.

“You wanna get your ass kicked?” I snort back.

“The only thing you can do to my ass involves your lips, buddy.”

“Dude, you want your salad tossed, I’m not your man. Hit Karl up for some of that action,” I suggest from across my desk as Karl scowls at me in return from his seat next to Kav.

“Just because I’m gay, I’m the one that has to eat his ass?” Karl questions with a brow raised.

“In this room, you’re the more likely candidate for the job,” I retort.

“I have standards,” he dismisses.

“Hey, what’s wrong with my ass?” Kav asks genuinely offended.

“Seriously?” Karl asks with a pointed look.

“I’m fuckin’ hot, Karl. You know you’d love to get some of this,” Kav says with a suggestive eyebrow waggle.

“I’d love that as much as I’d enjoy the round of penicillin I’d need after I touched you,” Karl says, shaking his head with a smile on his lips.