Free Recovery (Doctor Dom Volume 5) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) by Tara Crescent Page A

ges tured towards the kitchen table. I took a seat there silently, my heart pounding and my palms clammy with fear. My eyes never left the large knife in his hands.
    Not for the first time, I gave silent thanks to Canada’s relatively stringent gun laws. The knife was scary enough. I would have been in a complete panic had Liam had a gun in his hand.
    Gl ass was everywhere on the floor. The painstakingly installed patio doors were completely wrecked. Stewart is going to flip out, I thought inconsequentially, suppressing a slightly hysterical laugh at the thought of the expression on his face.
    “Hand me your phone,” Liam ordered, and I extended it out silently towards him. I could see my hands shake as he took the phone from me, and I tried not to gag at the smell that emanated from him as he came close to me. A mix of alcohol and unwashed staleness, Liam had clearly been living rough.
    Way back when Andrea had first been attacked, Rock, the young man who was following me around to ensure my safety had shown me a photo of Liam. He’d been mostly good-looking, with a slight air of untidiness. Now, he just looked unkempt, like he’d lost the ability to care about his appearance. His clothes were grimy. He was unshaven, and there was a slightly wild, unsteady look in his eyes. He didn’t look entirely sane.
    He has no reason to hurt me, I tried to reassure myself. He hadn’t come to my house. He’d come to Patrick’s. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But then he glanced at me and a surge of terror flashed through me. He looked detached. Out of control. Unpredictable.
    Keep calm, I told myself through the rising fear. Think. Will he let you go?
    He broke the silence first. “I wonder what I should do with you?” he asked, looking at me with vacant eyes.
    “ Please, let me go,” I pleaded. “You have no beef with me.”
    He didn’t respond. His hands just played restlessly with the knife, one finger running down the blade. He watched with interest as blood welled up on his finger, where the blade had sliced the skin.
    “ Please, you don’t even know me,” I begged again. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here.”
    There was more silence, and for one hopeful minute, I thought my plea had swayed him. I kept my eyes on the floor. I didn’t look at him, so I didn’t see his hand fly towards my face. The impact of the blow nearly made me fall out of the chair. Panic clawed at my throat, and I whimpered in bone-curling fear.
    “ Shut up,” he said flatly. “You bitches just talk all fucking time. Talk, talk, talk. Good for nothing.” He reached his hand out towards me. “Give me your purse.”
    I extended my bag towards him, and he rummaged through my wallet, leafing through its contents and pulling out the cash I had. I had two hundred dollars on me, money just in case Stewart had needed cash to buy supplies. Liam took the money and stuffed it in his back pocket.
    “ Fucking Anderson,” he continued bitterly. “I had that bitch Andrea primed for months. I played her so carefully. Had her exactly where I wanted her. She fucking did every single thing I asked, and he had to interfere. Stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong.”
    I bit back my retort that Andrea was thinking of leaving him anyway. It hadn’t been anything Patrick had said or done that had caused that. Shut up, I warned myself. This guy is not stable. Don’t antagonize him. I kept my eyes determinedly on the floor, and resisted the temptation to rub away the ache in my jaw where he hit me.
    I heard footsteps. He walked over to the refrigerator, and peeped in, grabbing a container filled with mac and cheese. A surge of anger ran through me. I had made that macaroni the previous night, and had sent Patrick home with leftovers so he’d have something homemade for dinner. He had teased me about how domestic I was, but I could tell he’d been touched at the gesture.
    And now, Liam was eating that mac and cheese. I felt my