Page 19 of No Asylum Here

In any case, the promise of never getting jumpscared by Lauren again was tempting. Tempting enough to roll the dice on Rook’s mystery solution. Plus, a calmer mind probably meant no more wild dreams.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. There was a mystery there that I needed to uncover, and it started with the black file I’d seen in Rook’s office.

Rook took a step toward me with a glint in his eye that had my mind racing. I glanced behind me to see Fredrick inching closer, as if he intended to grab me from behind and force me to take the shot.

I swallowed, making up my mind fast. “I’ll make a deal with you, Doctor,” I said, keeping my voice firm and steady. I really didn’t have the upper hand here, and I had a sickening feeling they’d make me take the shot no matter what.

Still, I had to maintain some control, somehow.

Steeling my nerves, I stepped closer to Rook with a coy smile. He was attracted to me; it was obvious in the way his eyes lingered. I also had a feeling that Dr. Rook wasn’t exactly a benevolent man.

I could leverage his soft spot for me to my advantage… Perhaps I could finally get answers to the most pressing questions that had gone unanswered, the ones eating me alive from the inside.

“A deal?” Rook’s gray eyebrows rose with intrigue as I approached.

“I’ll be a good girl for you, and I’ll take your injection…” My inflection turned flirty, and I sent him a smile that had the front of his pants swelling with his appreciation for the direction this had taken. “If you assign me as the primary physician for the patient in the black file.”

The air between us buzzed with tension.

Rook’s demeanor instantly shifted as his eyes narrowed. “Why do you care so much about Patient Seventeen?”

“I have something to prove.” I didn’t bother elaborating. “Besides, you said this Treatment will help me be at my best. So why not put that to the test by assigning me Saint Bartholomew's most deranged patient?”

Rook’s jaw flexed as he contemplated my offer.

I was more than tempting him. I was challenging the bastard. It wasn’t the first time I’d manipulated a male superior by using his own ego against him.

Then, just like that, his disposition once again was that of a kind, cheery man. I was starting to think that it was as much a part of his uniform as the lab coat and stethoscope he wore.

“Alright, Dr. Beckett. Have it your way. You may provide care to Patient Seventeen. However, you’ll regret it, mark me.”

My nerves lurched as the doctor came so close that I could see all the way into the hollow cavity where his nose had once been. Given the chance, would Patient Seventeen do something like that to me, too?

Catching where my attention had dropped, Rook leaned closer yet, his hot breath slithering over my skin. “We’ll keep him restrained, but sometimes the devil pulls a Houdini and slips free. If that happens, he’ll do far worse than this—” he tapped his nasal bone “—to someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Yes. A beautiful, educated young woman. He’ll eat you up, given half the chance. Now—” The doctor pressed the syringe’s plunger, forcing a bright bead of fluid to the needle point. “Pull down your trousers, and bend over.”

Chapter Nine

Patient Seventeen

Ever since Tuesday wriggled into my mind through whatever dark corner of hell she'd spawn from, I craved sleep.

When the orderlies entered my cell to strap me to my rusty bed frame, I didn't fight them. It was tempting, since I needed more blood to finish my little nightmare’s portrait. Lucky for them, I had more pressing matters at hand. I hungered for the sight of her more than the screams and suffering of my captors.

"Looks like someone finally learned that there's no use fighting us. Rook always wins, Mal.”

Hearing that nickname had my blood sizzling through my veins like acid. That’s not who I was anymore.

My thoughts drifted back to Tuesday, and a strange zen washed over me as they slammed a needle into my antecubital with enough force to make anyone else scream in pain. I only smiled as the drugs dragged me down into the murk of my rotted psyche.

The black gauze wrapping my brain faded, and the scene took shape.

I wasn’t strapped to my bed anymore. Wasn’t even in my cell in solitary. Instead, I was standing in one of the operating rooms, dressed in surgical scrubs, the white fabric soiled with still-warm blood.

Before me was an operation table, with a woman splayed on top, sliced open from her sternum to her lower pelvis.