Page 89 of Wicked Elites

He cracked open a bottle of water and handed me a blister pack of paracetamol, which I took with thanks. Then he got to work cleaning my wounds with sterile water.

Once he had found the cuts Ashley had made with the glass object, he packed them with gauze and wrapped a bandage around my head. After about ten minutes, the pain lessened, and I felt a little stronger.

“Do you have anything to eat?” I asked.

“Only glucose tablets.” He pulled a handful out of the first aid box. “They should tide you over until we get to the hospital.”

Prakash helped me to my feet, and we walked through the hallway. I munched on a glucose bar, which gave me the burst of energy I needed to brave the stairs.

Alcohol, vomiting, and head injuries were a shitty combination. I was just glad that Prakash had been equipped to help me in this madhouse.

“You were right,” I muttered. “This place isn’t right.”

“What’s happened?”

“I walked into Sebastian’s room. He was half-naked and getting mauled by a negligée-wearing Miss Claymore. Didn’t you see the bite marks on his chest?”

Prakash stopped. “You saw?”

My eyes bulged. “You knew?”

“She was his pull-a-pig victim. Only she didn’t take no for an answer when she discovered the truth.”

“That’s sick.” I hurried down the stairs.

“Don’t judge him too harshly. It was a mistake that happened the year his family died.”

“But he would have been thirteen.” I turned and gaped. “But why is he still sleeping with her?”

“He isn’t,” Prakash growled. “Miss Claymore tries her luck every few months, things get rough, and then she backs off.”

“Why haven’t you told Mrs. Benazir?”

“Sebastian’s happy here and doesn’t want to move. And if he told his grandfather, the old man would never believe it, anyway.”

We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I shook thoughts of Sebastian out of my head. Right now, I wasn’t in the right state of mind to deal with this new revelation.

As we passed the infirmary, a memory bubbled up to the surface of my mind. Cormac had implied that someone killed his sister because she had become a nuisance. A nuisance to whom?

Earlier, Prakash had alluded to the same, and now pieces of the equation twisted through my mind, and they were adding up to something sinister.

“What really happened to Corrine?” I asked.

“Why are you bringing this up again?”

“No one’s explained how she died.”

“The coroner said it was alcohol poisoning.”

“But how did she get so drunk on her own?” I peered at him through the piece of bandage slipping down my brow. “Don’t most people pass out before they get to that level of intoxication?”

“Not everyone.”

“She probably wasn’t lucky enough to vomit.” The senior consultant at the hospital had told me my blood alcohol level was 0.2 percentage points away from fatality and that vomiting had made a difference.

Prakash coughed. “When I found you, I stuck my fingers down your throat and made you throw up.”

“You did?” I whispered. “Why did you keep quiet about that?”