Free A Virgin Enslaved (Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male Erotic Romance) by Artemis Hunt

do?”
    “No. Be right back.”
    I walk outside to the patio. The anxiety starts to gnaw at me as I press the ‘Answer’ button.
    “Yes?” I say tersely.
    The voice on the other end briefs me on what I need to know. My heart sinks.
    “OK, I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I promise.

    *

    “So how long has she been ill?” Beth asks as I step on the gas. I’m doing more than fifty on a crowded street on my Lamborghini. I have to stop for traffic lights at each block, but the moment they turn green, I rev my engine into a high-pitched whine and blast down the block, only to be stopped by another traffic light.
    “You got your seatbelt on?” I dart a glance at Beth, who is clinging to the armrests, her knuckles white. Otherwise, she is perfectly calm.
    “If you want to go faster, I’m OK with that.”
    Seriously? I grin despite myself. I'm reminded of the incident with Lisa. Dependable Beth – so new in the job and already displaying the outward stolidity of a much more experienced employee.
    “How long as she been ill?” Beth repeats.
    “Over fifteen years.”
    “It came on without warning?”
    “Yeah. We did notice there was something wrong with her early on. Like, she used to be this wonderful, impeccably groomed hostess. One day when I came back from college, she showed up for dinner with her hair all messed up, as though she’d just woken up. She was dazed. We couldn’t tell what was wrong. So we sent her to the best doctors our money could pay for. That’s when they told us she had schizophrenia.”
    We pull up to a pair of ornate gates, above which are carved the letters: WAVERLY HILLS. The gardens beyond are filled with the green of trees and shrubs, and everything looks utterly peaceful in contrast to what I know we will find there. As soon as the guard at the sentry point sees me, he opens the gates and waves me in.
    “I’m sorry,” Beth says.
    “Don’t be. It happened a long time ago. We’ve had to live with it for most of our lives.”
    The drive is bordered by more flowering shrubs. Above the sound of the engine, birdsong filters through our windows. Here and there, we get glimpses of the inmates ( patients! I should call them patients! ) moving slowly about with their nurses.
    A nurse is waiting for us at the steps to the entrance as we alight from the car.
    “We had to restraint her,” she says to me. “I’m sorry, but she’s been refusing to eat and drink since morning. You’re the only one who can calm her.”
    “You should have called me earlier,” I say as I bolt into the building. I shoot a backward glance at Beth. “Stay here. I’ll be a while.”
    “Don’t worry about me,” she calls.
    I rush to my mother’s room on the second floor, taking two steps at a time with the nurse in tow. From afar comes the sound of shrieking, as though a soul is being tormented mercilessly in hell. My heart wrenches.
    Inside the room, my mother – bedraggled, eyes wild – is in a straightjacket. She’s screaming something unintelligible and trashing around in a berserker rage. Two attendants are with her, looking distressed while they try to keep her from hurting herself. One of them has a syringe filled with some clear fluid gripped in his hand.
    “No drugs,” I say firmly. “I’ll get this.”
    “But – ”
    “No buts.”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the nurse who was behind me nod surreptitiously.
    As soon as my mother sees me, she starts to cry pitifully.
    “Oh Christopher, please, please take me away from here. You have no idea what they do to me. They’re demons, all of them. They’re trying to steal my kidneys!”
    “Mrs. Morton,” one of the attendants say, “we’re not trying to steal your kidneys. We’re trying to give you your meds – ”
    I rush to her and wrap her up in my firm embrace. She clings to me – as much as she is allowed to cling with her arms straightjacketed. Her breath is stale and her lank, greasy hair creeps into my eyes.