Lucas and Cass would take care of Seph, I knew that. Even if I was dead, they'd continue to protect her just as fiercely as I knew they were now.
Zed... shit. I didn't know what to think. At face value it seemed a whole lot like he'd stabbed me in the back, totally betrayed me and our friendship. But I wasn't so stupid as to take things at face value. There had to be an explanation. But if there wasn't and he really had betrayed me? Well... karma could take care of him.
I'd rather die trying to escape than live under Chase's control for one more day.
He hadn't shot me up with any other drugs through the IV, thank fuck, and it gave me an opportunity to use my brain without the noises of paranoia and delusion. Based on how feverish I felt and how infected my shoulder was, I'd need more than one bag of IV antibiotics. That meant I had some time to plan and to regain some strength if Chase was inclined to feed me while I was hooked to the medicine.
I'd vomited so damn much since he started his abuse. The mixture of drugs seemed to have me constantly nauseated—not to mention my own disgust at the things he'd done to my body. I knew I was malnourished, but I wasn't hanging around to try and regain any weight. The second I saw my opening, I was gone. No matter what condition I was in.
Except sometimes, no matter how determined the mind was, the body simply wouldn't—or couldn't—cooperate.
So I closed my eyes and slowly, deliberately put myself through the mental exercises I'd learned all those years ago. The careful compartmentalizing that had allowed me to survive the first round of abuse I'd suffered at Chase's hands. The same coping mechanisms that’d seen me forge my path of blood and bodies as the leader of the Timberwolves without totally succumbing to insanity. It'd kept me safe then, and it was keeping me safe now. Just.
Piece by piece, I took all the recent torture and abuse—no matter how patchy the memories—and tucked them into a box. Then I locked the box, wrapped it in chains, and dipped it in molten steel. Crack that, motherfucker.
I had plenty of those same boxes littered through the infinite darkness of my mind, each neatly labelled with the damage they contained. But sooner or later, I knew they'd become too heavy to hold.
With that mental exercise complete, I could breathe easier. My pulse slowed back to normal, and the hurt in my body eased. It was an illusion, but I was okay with that. Any reprieve was welcome, and this one allowed me to slip into a restorative sleep. One unsullied with chemicals and blissfully dream-free.
It was the fullest sleep I'd had since being arrested by stupid fucking Jeanette. FBI my ass, there was no way that woman had passed any kind of psych evaluation. Or if she had, they'd left her undercover way too freaking long and she'd cracked.
I wondered what had happened to that yappy little dog she had. The one that peed when it was excited. Damn, I'd laugh if that was the future of their K-9 unit.
A couple of times I roused when Chase returned to my cell, but surprisingly, he didn't touch me. He just changed the IV bag, then sat there beside my bed, staring down at me for ages. Then he'd check his watch and leave without a word. Psychological warfare was basically his middle name.
At some stage my fever broke, and the whole-body chills and aches subsided, allowing me to rest easier between Chase's visits. But as was inevitable, after maybe the fifth or sixth dose of antibiotics, his patience seemed to run out.
I woke from a deep sleep with the suffocating knowledge that he was back, and I blinked my eyes open, then stiffened when I registered how close he was. How close his knife blade was to my eye.
"How easy it would be," he murmured, his single eye glittering with madness, "to carve out this pretty blue eye of yours. Even the score a little. An eye for an eye." The knife in his hand didn't waver, his grip strong. I barely dared to breathe, it was so close to taking my sight—even partially. But I also refused to blink.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Chase remained frozen there, his blade point a millimeter from my pupil and his breathing rough. Then he licked his lips and gave a low chuckle, withdrawing the threat. For now.
"Nah, we'll save that for later. For now, I like you being fully aware of everything happening." His knife tip scraped the skin of my throat, and I swallowed back my disappointment. Maybe if he'd been weaker, if he'd given in to his urge and stabbed me through the eye... maybe he'd have gotten carried away and pushed too deep. That'd end it all.
"You're looking so much healthier, Darling," he murmured as he continued dragging the knife tip over my flesh, circling my nipple and pushing hard enough that it broke the skin. Hot blood trickled down my side, but I clenched my teeth to ignore the sting. "I gave you a little boost in the drip. You're more fun when you can fight back a bit, and lately I'm thinking you just aren't trying hard enough."
I said nothing but couldn't hold back a small grunt of pain when his knife bit into the skin over my ribs. Ever so slowly, he dragged the tip through my flesh, slicing me open in a shallow cut. It was intended to hurt, not maim or kill.
"See what I mean?" he muttered. "Nothing."
He sat back, tapping the bloody knife tip on his cheek as he pondered his next move. Me? I might as well have been a statue. He wanted a reaction? Well fuck that.
But then... goddamn it.
"Did you give me fluids?" I croaked out, my voice rough from a whole lot of involuntary screaming under his care.
Chase arched a brow at me in question, then smirked. "You need to pee, Darling? How uncomfortable."
I scoffed. "You say that like I won't just pee myself right here. I don't give a fuck, Chase. It's you who will either need to clean it up or suffer the smell."
He scowled like he wanted to call my bluff. But I guess urine wasn't one of his kinks, because he put the knife down and started unhooking my IV line. The attached bag was almost empty, anyway.
As unhurried as he was in removing the IV equipment, I was damn close to peeing the bed by the time he returned to unstrap my wrists. He left one wrist cuff on me but removed it from the bed frame and hooked it to the wall chain instead.
"Can't be too careful," he told me with a smirk as I eyed the wrist tether. Did he expect me to protest it or something? Fuck if I knew. He'd literally had me collared and chained up like a dog for fuck knew how long. Days, certainly. Weeks? Maybe.
"You gonna watch, Chasey?" I murmured with my rough, abused voice as I struggled to push myself upright. Holy shit, I was a mess. Blood coated my side, sticky and wet, but the cuts themselves were only seeping, not deep enough to really even acknowledge.
He didn't answer me, just stood with his arms folded over his chest, watching as I forced my limbs to move and make my way over to the toilet in the corner. I wasn't fucking around with false modesty, so the second my butt hit the cold metal seat, I let go.
There was a lot to be said for the relief of a good pee, and I needed to bite my own cheek to keep from groaning out loud as my bladder emptied. Goddamn, it was good, though.
When I was done, I wiped with the scratchy toilet paper Chase had provided—what a prince—then returned to my cot. With a yawn, I lay back down in exactly the same position I'd been in for... however long I'd been on the IV.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Chase demanded, his scowl tugging his eye patch slightly askew and revealing thicker scars. It warmed me inside to know I'd put those there.