Night Game (GhostWalkers #3)(92)
Author: Christine Feehan

“Flame, you know better. Look at me. You know it wasn’t like that.”

She was going to be sick. Her stomach churned and she could hear the silent screams in her head growing louder. There was so much pain. She hadn’t expected it to be so bad, the utter humiliation of knowing he had slept with her to do his job.

Surprisingly she wasn’t restrained. She struggled into a sitting position, batting away his hands when he tried to help her. “Don’t touch me. I never want you to touch me again.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Where’s the bathroom? I’m going to be sick.” It was already too late. He shoved a small tray into her hands and she was further humiliated by throwing up over and over again in front of him.

He left her side for a brief moment to return with a cool washcloth and towel. She took it without looking at him. She knew if she looked, if she saw his face and his lying eyes, the terrible storm inside of her would crash over her and she would break apart, shatter so completely that she wouldn’t be Flame anymore.

Raoul took the small tray from her, dumped it and rinsed it out, returning it to the bed within reach of her hand. The sight of the tray triggered childhood memories. Ugly. Torturous. She felt dizzy and for a moment couldn’t catch her breath.

Control. Discipline. Patience. She repeated the mantra silently. She knew what she had to do. She was prepared; she’d been prepared ever since the first moment of her escape. Death wasn’t nearly as bad as living as a lab rat.

She let her breath out slowly. “I guess you didn’t believe me when I told you I’d destroy everything before I’d be put in a cage again. I’m willing to die here, Raoul, are you? Because you have about two minutes to get the hell out and take everyone else with you.”

“Why warn me, Flame? Why not just do it?”

“Get out, Raoul.” She was tired. Desperately tired and drained. The screams in her head had subsided, but now, somewhere deep inside she was silently weeping. Great terrible sobs that she couldn’t control were shredding her heart. Her body shook with sobs, her chest ached and her throat was nearly closed with the tears clogging it, but no sound escaped. She refused to give that to him.

“I’m not leaving your side.”

“Look, you did your job. You can go tell all your buddies how great you are. You royally f**ked me.”

“Maudit! That’s not the way it was.”

“That’s exactly the way it was. You knew you couldn’t force me back so you pretended to fall in love with me.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I fell for every word you said. Be proud of yourself. Maybe Whitney will give you a nice bonus. Just get the hell out of here. I can’t stand the sight of you.” She pressed the wet cloth over her face, hoping it would cool her burning eyes.

“You would never have come in on your own, Flame. Never.”

“Where am I? The room is soundproofed, but it’s no hospital.”

“I couldn’t risk taking you to Lily’s home. All of us stay there on and off and Lily’s pregnant. If you decided to retaliate, I had to find a way to contain the damage. You can kill me, Flame, but I’m not going to let you take out the others. They only did what I asked them to do because they wanted to help you.”

She looked at her broken arm, at the new cast, unmarred by the rain and water of the bayou. “I suppose you’re going to tell me Lily did this.”

“She had to check to make certain there was no infection from the alligator bite. You’re on strong antibiotics and painkillers, but with the cast getting wet-”

“Where’s Peter Whitney?” she demanded, cutting him off.

“I have no idea. I’ve brought you to a facility where Lily can treat the cancer and we can guard you from Peter Whitney, if, in fact, he’s still alive and is trying to take you back. Peter Whitney has nothing to do with this – or with me. I brought you here because it was the only way to keep you alive.”

“That’s not your decision to make.” She was holding on by a thread, rocking back and forth to try to soothe the pain. How could he have taken away her free will?

“It is my decision, Flame. It should have been. I love you and…”

“Damn you to hell for even saying that.” She jerked the cloth from her face and for the first time forced herself to look at him. It was a terrible mistake. He didn’t look like the devil. He looked like the man she loved with his dark wavy hair and his impossible eyes. His sinful mouth and perfect body. Instead of the anger and rage she so desperately needed, she broke down.

The storm inside her body took over and she heard a long wail of grief break free. It tore through her insides and escaped before she could contain it. Flame buried her face in the pillow in an attempt to muffle the sound of her sobbing. She’d given him something so precious. Not her body, or even her love, but she trusted him. She didn’t want to see shadows in his eyes, or a face ravaged by worry. She wanted to hate him the way he deserved to be hated.

The bed shook with her sobs. The room shook. Gator stood against the wall listening to her crying as if he’d not just broken her heart, but ripped it out of her body. He’d destroyed her. There was no way to comfort her, nothing he could find to say that she would understand. He sank into the small armchair he’d set by the door and covered his face with his hands. He’d expected anger, rage, an emotion he could cope with, but she was killing him with her grief. And it was grief. Her grief was destroying him.

He felt her pain as if it were his own. He’d done the right thing, taken the only avenue available to him. His chest tightened and his throat ached. Tears burned in his eyes. He’d done this to her. He’d made the decision to save her life, knowing he’d probably lose her, but he hadn’t considered the consequences beyond that. He thought he could bear losing her as long as he knew she was alive, but he couldn’t bear being the one to cause her such pain.

Flame felt a hand on her shoulder. Her first reaction was to shrug it off, but the hand was soft and thin, the scent strong of lavender. The hand stroked back her hair and a soft voice murmured comforting words. “There, there, cher. It will be all right. I’m here now. We’ll make it all right.”

“Nonny?” Was she hallucinating? She turned her head to see the little old lady standing beside her bed, her eyes filled with concern. “You can’t be here.” She tried to get the words out between the tearing sobs. Her breathing was so ragged, her throat so sore, she could barely get the words out. Worse, she was going to be sick again.