Chapter 6 6

Jane lay perfectly still on the hospital bed. The numbing medication was fading fast. Every time her heart beat, a wave of fire pulsed through her stitched cheek. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth.

The door opened quietly. Dr. Freeman Morales walked in, holding a small penlight.

"How are you feeling, Jane?" Freeman asked, his voice gentle. He clicked the light on to check her pupil response.

Jane's eyes widened in terror. She grabbed the edge of the thin blanket and dragged herself backward, pressing her spine against the bedrail.

Freeman noticed her extreme flinching. He lowered the light.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Freeman said softly. "I need to ask you about your old injuries. The broken ribs and the burns. Who did that to you?"

The memory of the dark isolation cell flashed behind Jane's eyes. The smell of burning flesh. The sound of Tasha laughing.

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. She shook her head rapidly, refusing to speak. She knew Carson controlled this hospital. Anything she said would just be used to mock her.

Freeman sighed. He opened his mouth to try again, but the heavy door was suddenly shoved open.

Carson walked into the room. His presence sucked all the oxygen out of the space. His face was a mask of pure ice.

The moment Jane saw him, her heart rate spiked. The heart monitor beside the bed started beeping in a rapid, frantic rhythm.

Carson glanced at the machine, then looked at Freeman. He tilted his head toward the door.

Freeman hesitated, looking back at Jane's terrified face. But Carson's stare left no room for argument. Freeman walked out and pulled the door shut behind him.

The heavy click of the latch sounded like a vault locking.

Carson walked to the edge of the bed. He looked down at her pale, bandaged face.

"You have a thick skull," Carson sneered. "I guess cockroaches really are hard to kill."

Jane's body shook violently. She was trapped. This room was just a cleaner version of her prison cell.

Survival instinct took over. She threw her blankets off. She grabbed the IV line taped to the back of her hand and ripped it out.

Blood instantly welled up from the torn vein, dripping onto the pristine white sheets. She didn't care. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to run.

The moment her bare feet hit the floor, her weak knees buckled. She pitched forward.

Carson moved with terrifying speed. He grabbed the back of her hospital gown and yanked her upward. He slammed her back against the wall, pinning her there with his forearm across her chest.

"You aren't going anywhere," Carson growled right against her ear. "Not without my permission."

Jane struggled weakly. The rough wallpaper scraped against the fresh wounds on her back. Tears spilled from her right eye.

She turned her head. She looked at him with absolute desperation. "Please," she choked out. "Let me go."

Her shaking hand reached into the pocket of her dirty coat, which had been tossed on a chair nearby. She dug her fingers in.

She pulled out the crumpled, blood-stained dollar bills-the change from the daisies.

Her hand trembled violently as she held the pathetic amount of money up to Carson's chest.

"This is all I have," Jane sobbed, her voice breaking. "Take it. Please. Just let me live."

Carson stared at the dirty paper money. Instead of pity, a blinding rage ignited in his chest.

She thought she could buy her way out of Blaire's suffering with pocket change? It was the ultimate insult.

Carson slapped his hand out. He struck her wrist hard. The dollar bills scattered across the floor like worthless trash.

He moved his hand up and wrapped his long fingers around her throat. He squeezed, forcing her chin up.

"Your life isn't worth a single cent," Carson spat, his eyes burning into hers.

He leaned in closer. "Walking out of that prison wasn't freedom. It was just a transfer. Your parole officer?" Carson added, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "My assistant already handled him. On paper, you are a ghost who skipped town. Legally, you don't exist anymore. You belong to me now."

Jane's pupils dilated. The last tiny spark of hope inside her chest was crushed into dust.

Carson saw the exact moment her spirit broke. A sick sense of victory washed over him, followed instantly by a hollow ache he refused to acknowledge.

He let go of her throat. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers, acting as if touching her had infected him.

Carson turned and walked to the door. "Guards are outside. If you try to run, I'll make sure you never find a corner of this earth to hide in. Your name is already poison. You step out of line, and I'll ensure you can't even get a job scrubbing toilets. You'll be forced right back into the gutter where you belong."

The door slammed shut. Jane slid down the wall, collapsing into a heap on the floor among the scattered dollar bills.