Chapter Three

Dorothy

My head ached. So did every bone in my body. My abdomen felt like someone was twisting my insides in a wringer, and my mouth tasted like a cat had shit in it. And I needed water like I needed air to breathe.

"Ohhhh…" I groaned. I rolled over on my side, expecting the stench to hit me. This place wasn't exactly sanitary, and the only bathroom we had was the bucket in the corner. Not only did the air have a clean, fresh scent, but I wasn't lying on the hard floor.

I opened my eyes and blinked. I was in what looked like a decent-size room. The bed I was in was a queen. The sheets smelled cleaner than anything I'd smelled since my ordeal began… How long had it been? Sunlight filtering in from the window created dust motes that glistened like diamonds.

"Where am I?" I wasn't sure who I was talking to, the words coming out on their own before I could censor myself. Was anyone even with me? I tried to convince myself that the last few weeks had been a nightmare, but the way my body ached and my stomach cramped told the truth. I didn't have a whole lot of experience with drugs, but I was willing to bet I was starting withdrawal. It all depended on how long I'd been out and how long it had been since they'd shot me up.

"Evansville, Indiana." The deep voice answering me sounded like it was across the room. "You been out a while. Stitches checked on you to make sure you'd respond but didn't think it was a good idea to wake you as long as you were sleeping peacefully. Sorry 'bout the catheter."

"What?" I tried to sit up, but any movement made my head swim and pound with pain. I groaned.

"Careful," the man said. Then he was at my side, helping me to sit. He put a couple of pillows behind me so I could sit comfortably before moving away. For some reason he sat in the far corner of the room. Trying not to scare me?

I sat there for several minutes just trying to not puke. That's when I realized what he'd been talking about. Between my legs, a rubber tube sprouted, draping over my leg to a bag hanging on the bed frame. Half full of urine.

"Fuuuuck." I picked at the rubber tube, but the man moved back to me and gently removed my hand.

"Be careful. Stitches said you'd hurt yourself if you didn't get it removed properly."

"Who did this? You?" It felt like a violation, though considering what I remembered, maybe it was this was the lesser of the evils.

"No. Stitches. Our doctor." The guy seemed not to say anything not strictly necessary. It was damned frustrating.

I sighed. "Can I have some water?"

Instead of replying, he crossed the room to a small fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, bringing it back to me. He opened the top and held it out. I took it eagerly, gulping down several swallows before my stomach protested.

He gently took the bottle from my hand and set it on the nightstand. "Not too much."

That's when I noticed the tube in the bend of my arm. "What's this?"

"IV."

I gave an exasperated sigh. "Yeah. I know what it is. What I meant was how'd it get there and why?"

"Stitches."

"Right. He's the doctor," I snapped at the guy. I thought I should know who he was but couldn't quite place it. His voice was familiar. Though looking at the guy, I was pretty sure I should be afraid of him, but I wasn't. "You know, words don't cost you anything."

The guy grunted, then scrubbed a hand over his face as if he was weary. "You've been out for almost two days. Stitches started the IV and put in the catheter because he thought it would be better to do it while you slept. He said you'd probably go through some withdrawal and that the longer you could sleep, the less you'd suffer. You also needed to hydrate, so he did it with the IV."

"Yeah," I said, forgetting my ire. "My belly's cramping and I'm nauseous."

"I'll get Stitches."

"Wait!" I reached out and grabbed his wrist. He looked down at my hand before slowly covering it with his own large hand. His skin was warm and as I looked up at him, I could see something in his face. To me, it looked like… awe? But why? I lowered my gaze, tugging my hand, but he didn't let me go. "I'm sorry," I said. "I just wanted to know who you are." I frowned, trying to remember. "I feel like I know you."

He shrugged. "I carried you out."

"Morgue." I said the name absently. His name came to me like a distant memory. "Because you've put more people in the morgue than all of your friends combined." Again, it just came to me. "You got me away and fought off the men following us."

"I helped, yeah."

"You made me feel safe."

Morgue sat up straighter, his chest going out like he was proud of himself. Like making me feel safe was some kind of an accomplishment. "Good. You trust me?"

I thought about it. Did I? The only thing I knew about this guy was he was a killer, but he'd taken care of me when I was in a really bad way. I nodded slowly. "Yeah. I do."

"I'll be back. Stitches needs to look you over and decide what to do next."

He patted my hand before releasing me and standing to leave the room. He opened the door but stopped and turned back to me. "Do you want something? Something other than water to drink? Something to eat?"

I looked down at myself. I was dressed in a man's oversized shirt and nothing else. I cringed, though I figured it was probably Stitches who'd undressed, washed, and redressed me. My hair felt grimy, so he'd only hit the high spots. But there was no denying both men had taken care of my needs as best they could. Hopefully while preserving my dignity, but really, beggars couldn't be choosers. "Well, I'd really like a shower and some clean clothes. Tell whoever lent me his shirt that I appreciate it."

"Mine." Was all he said. OK. We were back to one-word sentences.

"Thank you, Morgue. For everything."

He just grunted, then left. My chest tightened the second the door shut behind him. I wasn't ready to be on my own, and this guy felt safe. Maybe it was how he'd carried me out of hell, how he'd protected me when we were being chased. Or maybe it was because Morgue was a known killer, freakishly huge, and he was fixated on protecting me. Whatever it was, the thought of him leaving and not returning was about to cause a panic attack. I took a breath and closed my eyes, trying to center myself. I was developing an unhealthy attachment to a man I didn't know. I wasn't even trying to fight it that hard.

Once I was alone, I lifted the covers and looked down at myself. My legs were covered in bruises, as were my arms. Pulling up my shirt, I saw that my torso hadn't been spared. I raised my hand to examine my face and head only to wince. My cheek was swollen, and there were at least two knots on my head. I thought I had a split lip but couldn't tell if it was from where someone had hit me or dehydration.

There was a soft knock at the door, and I automatically answered. "Come in." As the door opened, I recognized the man entering. Morgue was right on his heels.

"I remember you too," I said. I thought I trusted both these men, but I still felt at a pretty big disadvantage. I was practically naked, alone with two men I didn't know, and one of them, at least, had seen and touched my naked body while I was unconscious.

He gave me a kind smile. "I'm sorry about the medical stuff, but you and most of the other women were in a pretty bad way."

"You could have taken me to a hospital."

He nodded. "Yeah. But it took us a few hours to get to Texas. Most of you were still unconscious, but no one was in imminent danger. Some of those girls aren't from the States and we thought, since I could treat you, we'd take care of you until you were able to decide for yourselves."

"So, you're saying that if I want to leave now, I can?"

"Absolutely." His response was immediate. When I glanced at Morgue, though, he was frowning at Stitches.

"She's not ready to go yet."

"It's her decision, Morgue." For some reason, Stitches looked amused. I wasn't sure if it was on my account or something Morgue had said.

"She's not ready." He lifted his chin stubbornly, like his word was law and he meant to enforce it. For some odd reason, his attitude was comforting when otherwise I might have really decided to leave. I didn't think I was ready to leave their care. Not yet. I was hurting enough to know I couldn't make it anywhere on my own. Let alone all the way to Kansas.

"He's right," I said softly. "I'm not ready, but when I am, I expect you to let me go." It sounded as stupid as I felt, but I meant every word.

"Absolutely."

"I'll follow you." Morgue looked angry. Not like he was about to kill someone though. More like someone was trying to take away his favorite toy or something. Gun, maybe. His favorite gun.

"Morgue."

"I'll. Follow. Her." Yeah. No compromise there. I probably should have been horrified, but it kind of settled something inside me. I was sure I'd chafe at this strangely possessive man, but for now, I might need him. Just the thought of willingly leaving him made me nauseous. Yeah. I was fucked.

"I won't leave," I said softly. "I don't want to do this alone just now."

"She doesn't want to be alone."

"Jesus, Morgue. What the fuck's wrong with you? I know you can sound like a non-Neanderthal. I've heard you."

I looked from Stitches to Morgue and back. "This is amusing to you?" What was I missing?

Stitches snorted. "Not sure amusing is the word I'd use, though it is kind of funny listening to him trip all over himself. It's annoying. Not to mention embarrassing as hell. I'm not sure I can be in a club with a man who can't even hold a conversation around a woman." Morgue took a threatening step toward Stitches, clenching his fists and making his biceps threaten the material of his shirt. "See?" Stitches hiked his thumb over his shoulder at Morgue. "Just call him Captain Caveman."

Whoever that was. "Look, I trust you to take care of me and I thought I might like you, but if you don't quit trying to make Morgue look stupid, I may have to stab you in the eye with a spork."

Stitches barked out a laugh and winked at me. "Keep him on a short leash. Man needs to be tamed before he hurts himself. Now. I'm sure you don't want me poking around to fish out this catheter. So what I'm going to do is deflate the balloon holding it in place. After that, all you have to do is pull it out. There'll be some pressure and maybe a little sting, but it shouldn't hurt. I want to keep the IV fluids going and have you drink as much water as you feel comfortable with. You need to use the bathroom before I can leave you alone completely."

"Why? Can't we go on to wherever we're going? Though, I really need to go back to Kansas."

"Right," Stitches said. "I remember. Liberal, Kansas. You got family there?"

"No. But everything I have is there. I was with friends for Spring Break. We were going to Cancún."

"Did you make it there?"

"Yeah. We got there, but she took me to a really poor part of town. It's where Maria lived and where we were staying while we were there. The last thing I remember was going with her to a rave. Whatever happened, happened there because that's where my memory ends."

"You're pretty calm about this whole thing. Do you often get kidnapped?"

Had he slapped me, I wasn't sure Stitches could have surprised me more. If I'd been able, I'd have attacked him. I wanted to strike out at his callousness as much as the implication none of this had affected me or that I wasn't terrified out of my Goddamned mind.

The strength of my emotions must have shown on my face because the next thing I knew, Morgue had Stitches by the throat and slammed up against the wall. "Morgue!" I cried out, stumbling out of bed and toward the two men.

"Dorothy, stop!" Stitches croaked. As he let out his breath to speak, I saw Morgue's grip on his neck tighten. Stitches wasn't struggling. In fact, he'd gone almost limp.

"Morgue! He's not fighting back! Stop!" Morgue looked over his shoulder and gave me a pained look. I wasn't sure if it was because I was denying him a kill or because he wanted to defy me but knew he wouldn't. "Please!" I got tangled up in the damned catheter tube and tripped. I would have hit the ground, but Morgue moved so fast he managed to catch me. I was relieved, but not so much because I hadn't fallen as I was that with Morgue's arms around me, it meant he wasn't busy strangling Stitches to death.