Captive Angel Ch 02

Angel turned and glared at the man who'd forced her down here. The room was filthy and the gentleman chained to the cot wasn't much better. She hurried to the cot, staring down at the patient, not sure where to start. Slowly, she put her fingers to his pulse, not surprised to find his skin fever hot.

His pulse was rapid and he moaned at the touch of her cool fingers, turning his head toward her and opening one eye. The other was swollen shut, and blood caked his face. He stared at her for a moment, his eye meeting hers, and hopelessness seeped from him.

"You're going to be okay," she whispered, dropping to her knees next to the cot.

"I'm here to take care of you."

He parted his lips, which immediately cracked and bled. "Let me die," he whispered, before his eyes closed once more, and his head turned away from her toward the wall.

She stared at him in shock, not sure she heard him correctly. Then anger flowed through her, righteous and indignant. She stood, turning to look at her captor. "I want him released, and I want to take him to a hospital."

He laughed. "I do believe we've been through this before, my dear. I brought you here because I can't take him to the hospital. So do what you need to do to fix him."

"Fine, then I want him taken from this cell and put into one of the rooms upstairs. I'll need clean hot water, bandages, towels for compresses. I'm going to need an IV of Saline solution and probably a whole regime of antibiotics. Even then, he'll probably die from the infection that's running through him now."

"Sorry, my dear. He stays here. He's too big to have loose on the premises. I'll have water and blankets brought down, and if you make a list of the drugs he needs, I'll see he gets that too. Anything else you need, let Clyde know and he'll get them for you. I'll have him start with the water and the blankets."

She took a step toward him, and he raised the pistol, pointing it at her threateningly.

"I wouldn't do that, my dear. I've gone to all this trouble to get you here, I'd hate to have to find another doctor that would fit my requirements."

"Fine. If you won't let me take him upstairs then I want those chains off of him. I don't think he's in any condition to hurt anyone." She turned, gesturing at the way he looked.

"I'll allow it until he regains consciousness. But by then, you'll be on your way home and won't have to even worry about him anymore." He started backing away toward the door. "I'll have Clyde come down with the keys and with the water. If you make up your list, I'll see that it's brought to you." He stood in the doorway, his eyes raking over his nude prisoner. "As soon as he wakes, I want to know, my dear." Then he turned and walked out, slamming the door closed behind him.

"Asshole," she snarled as the door closed. She didn't know if he heard her or not, but it made her feel better.

"You can say that again." His hoarse voice barely reached her ears.

She jumped, turning to face him. "You're awake," she said, then lowered her voice when he winced.

"Yeah, on and off," he murmured, trying to clear his blurry vision to see her. "You aren't on his payroll?" he asked, squinting his good eye her way.

"No, he pretty much kidnapped me right from my job." She shook her head, coming over to kneel next to him. "Can you tell me where you hurt?"

He started to laugh but jerked in pain. It started him coughing and she went to the sink taking the small tin cup sitting above it and turning on the water to fill it. The pipes banged and then water trickled out of the faucet in brown drips that grew stronger until it flowed freely, changing from the rusty color to clear. Filling the cup, she brought it to him, holding his head the best she could with him chained the way he was and letting him sip from the cup.

"As your doctor," she said quietly when she let him lie back against the mattress, "I have to tell you that laughing might not be to your benefit right now."

"Ha," he said weakly. "Everything hurts," he croaked.

"Yeah, I can see why it would. What's your name?" she asked him.

He was about to reply when the sound of heavy footsteps came from outside the locked door. Angel turned, shielding him from whoever was outside the door, as if she could protect him from what they planned to do.

It was Clyde, his arms full of supplies including a thermos of soup and another of coffee. He dumped his load on the table, stepping back to leer at Angel. "Hey, doc, I see you already making demands. Just like a woman, thinkin' a man needs coddling." His eyes seem to get even more piggish as he stepped forward. "All a man needs is good food, a warm bed and a soft woman to suck his dick for him." He ran his hand down her arm, yanking her against him, his other hand squeezing her denim-covered ass.

"You're soft enough, doc. Wanna come and play?"

"Leave me alone," she hissed. "Your boss told you to leave me be. He wouldn't be too happy with you if he found out you're molesting me like this." Even as she spoke, she heard the soft sound of the chain rattling against the metal frame of the bed and knew her patient was about to speak up. Before she could think twice, she lifted her knee, striking the huge man squarely in the balls.

Either because of his size or because of the smallness of his brain, he didn't go down, but he did let her go, stepping away from her. "You bitch!" he hissed, his hand cupping his throbbing parts. "You fucking bitch!"

"I warned you." She backed away until she was close to the edge of the cot.

He growled at her, stumbling over to the doorway and pushing open the door. "You shoulda been nice, doc. Now, when jerk off over there dies and the boss turns you over to us, I ain't gonna be gentle with you. Not like I could have."

"I'd rather be nice to a rabid dog," she snapped, feeling her body shake.

He slammed the door behind him, and Angel collapsed slowly against the cot, her body curling up on the floor as reaction to what he'd done to her set in. She thought she'd throw up or faint, or both. Pressing her head between her knees, she tried to concentrate on her breathing, almost screaming when someone spoke close to her ear.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, yeah." She laughed almost hysterically. "I'm just ducky." She lifted shaking hands to her hair, pushing it out of her face before turning to look at him. "You know, for a man who was supposedly close to death, you seem pretty spry."

"Is that your professional opinion?" He groaned as he tried to shift his body to look at her easier.

"Damn, he didn't unlock these." She reached up and grabbed the metal bracelet circling his wrist, seeing how it was cruelly digging into his flesh. "Unless, he threw the keys over on the table with the rest of the supplies." She pushed herself from the floor to go to the table and rummaged through the bandages, gauze and hydrogen peroxide amongst the other things until a clink of metal caught her attention.

"Success!" She smiled and held up the keys. It took all of two seconds to open the bracelets, and she carefully moved each of his arms from over his head to next to his side, seeing the pain in his eyes. She knew it was about to get worse as his circulation returned, the pins and needles sensation turning into agony. But there wasn't much she could do.

"What's your name?" she asked him again, seeing him gritting his teeth. She went back to the table, pulling out one of the two blankets Clyde brought and covering him with it.

"Hunter," he managed to grind out.

"Is that your first or last name?" she asked him from over her shoulder as she went to get more supplies, including the soup and bucket of hot water.

"Yes."

She turned, her supplies in her arms, amused by his answer. "Okay, Hunter. My name is Doctor Angelina Carter. You can call me Angie or Angel, whichever you wish." She sat the bucket down, reaching out to push the hair out of his eyes.

"I thought you were an Angel when I first saw you," he said, a little clearer now that the pain eased up.

"Oh, you aren't going to throw one of those tired lines at me, are you, Hunter?" She smiled, before rinsing out one of the clothes in the hot water and, starting with his face, washing off the dried blood and gore.

"Would it work?"

"In your condition, probably not." She chuckled, unaware of how sexy the husky sound was to the injured man who'd only had Clyde as a companion for so long.

"What is today?" he asked, trying not to flinch when she found a particularly sore spot.

"Well," she said, rinsing off the rag. "If I can trust that jerk who has us imprisoned, I was in that coffin they transported me in for a full day before I came to, so that would make today Friday, the fifteenth."

"Of what month?"

"October. Wait, are you telling me he's had you in here for months?"

"I was grabbed from my office on the sixth of September," he said, his voice full of hatred.

"Why don't you just tell them what they want to know?" Angel asked him, the cloth forgotten in her hand as she stroked back his thick shaggy hair.

"As soon as I do, they'd kill me. Of course, it might help if I knew what he wants me to tell him."

"You don't know what he wants?"

Hunter tried to move to make himself more comfortable. But it was impossible. There wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt from bludgeoning fists and stomping feet that had tortured him for days. He moaned as his body protested the movement.

"I'm sorry," Angel whispered, going back to working on him. "Here I am, talking and you're hurting. I'm going to get you some pain killers and start some antibiotics to help the infection."

"Don't bother," he moaned. "As soon as I'm healthy, they're just going to do worse. Sebastian has quite the torture chamber. I'd really rather die than have to go back in there."

There was such defeat to his tone that Angel sat back on her heels, the cloth dropping into the bucket. Guilt ate at her, even more now that she'd met her patient. If she healed him, he went back to being beaten and tortured for information he didn't have. If she let him die, as he wished, she ended up as Clyde's plaything.

"I don't have a choice," she whispered, a tear streaking down her cheek. "I have to make you better."

Hunter stared at the bleary image of the woman next to him. From what he'd been able to tell, she was beautiful. "Just go and tell Sebastian I'm too far gone. Tell him I'm in a coma. I've got brain damage. I don't give a fuck what you tell him!" He lifted his hand from under the blanket, reaching out and grabbing the front of her tee shirt in his weak, shaky grip. "Tell him what you have to, and he'll let you go. He has no reason to keep you if I'm dead."

Angel didn't even try to push him away. He was so weak; his hand fell from her shirt only seconds after he grabbed it. She lifted it, put it back along his side and covered him once more. "You don't understand," she whispered. "If I tell him something like that, my life becomes worthless. He gives me to Clyde and his brother, who I'm presuming to be just as horrifying, to do with whatever they want. That's why Clyde felt free to touch me like he did. He thinks I'll fail."

He closed his eyes tight, fisting his hands as impotent rage ate at him. "Do what you have to do," he said finally, defeated once more.

She reached out and put her hand on his forehead, making him open his good eye and try to focus it on her. "Listen, we're both intelligent and resourceful. You have to be to have lived this long in these conditions. We can come up with some way to get out of here. We just have to get you healthy without letting who's-its upstairs know the score. But it's going to have to be something we do together, understand me? You can't give up on me, you've got to fight."

"Have you seen the size of this place? To get into the elevator alone you have to have the pass code. From there, finding an exit unspotted would be a miracle. If we managed that, how the fuck are we getting off the property? Then I suppose you'll what, want to go tell the cops? For all I know, he's got them in his pocket." Hunter's anger grew as he stared up at her and he fought to move, to try to sit up on the cot to face her. "How the hell do you expect us to stay out of his sight after that? Are we going to hide out?"

Angel rose, stood over him, easily pushing him back to the cot. "I don't know! All I do know is that it's better than staying here and being beaten to death or fucked to death because that's what they have in store for me. I can't do it alone though, so you're going to help me." She glared at him, her face not far from his.

He lay on his back, panting from the exertion of trying to get off the cot. "Fine," he finally said. "I guess we'll have to play it by ear."

"I guess we will." She walked away from him, running her hand through her hair, frustration making her entire body tense. After counting to ten and then ten again, she turned around to face him. "First, we can't let him know you're awake. If he finds that out, then the game's over before it even had a chance to start."

"Okay." He crossed his huge arms over his chest with a barely stifled moan of pain.

"Then, what?"

"We get you healthy and then, we wait to find a way out." Angel crossed her arms waiting for him to argue or to tell her what a lousy plan it was. She knew it was lousy, but it was just the best she could do on such short notice.

"Okay."

"Okay?" she echoed, her tone suspicious.

"Yeah, I really don't want to die, but it's the better alternative to getting beaten again and again. But better than that is getting the fuck out of here. If you think you can do it, get us out of this hellhole, then I'm all for it."

She stared at him, waiting for him to drop the boom. There had to be more, but he just laid there, his arms crossed, favoring his side while he waited for her to say something.

"Okay, then." She crossed the room toward him and knelt next to him. "Then, the first thing to do is to get these wounds cleaned and make sure there aren't any other injuries to impede your recovery."

Her hands dipped into the water, finding the cloth she'd dropped in there earlier. Carefully pulling down the blanket to his waist, she started cleaning off his wounds once more being incredibly gentle around the dark bruises and raw looking scrapes.

She flinched when he hissed at a particularly nasty bruise on his chest. Dropping the cloth into the water, she pressed gently against the bruise, feeling the unmistakably sensation of broken bones under flesh. "They're broken. You're lucky you didn't puncture a lung." She pressed again, moving down his side carefully.

Hunter grabbed her hand when she pressed against something too painful, groaning and putting his other hand up to hold against his ribs. He kept her hand in his even as he fought off the results of the pain shooting through him, setting off all the other aches, screaming muscles and sore bruises. "Damn," he groaned, gritting his teeth.

She watched as he moaned, sympathy shining in the emerald of her eyes. When he quieted, she pulled on her hand. "Can I have this back?"

"Oh," he said, quickly letting her go. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Hold still, I'll try not to hurt you, but I've got to see how bad it is. I'd give a lot for an x-ray machine right now."

"They're broken, doc. Bind 'em up and let's go on from there." He growled the words but she just ignored him, continuing with her examination. By the time she finished, he was clean, and his body shook with fatigue and fever.

She crossed to the table to find out what else Clyde had brought, grabbing the bandages as well as a small bottle of aspirin. She shook her head as she stared at it but until she got the drugs she needed, this would have to do. Angel flipped off the top, shaking a couple of the white tablets into her hand.

"Here," she said, holding out the aspirin.

"What's that?" he asked, glaring at the pills suspiciously.

"Aspirin. Take them. They might help some."

"That entire bottle couldn't help me any, doc." He lifted his hand and let her drop the two tablets into his palm. He threw them into his mouth, groaning as his lips split again. Angel grimaced as he started chewing the chalky white pills.

"I've never understood how anyone could do that," she said quietly, sitting on the cot next to his chest. "Can you sit up any?"

He managed, using her shoulder to hang on to, while she wrapped the bandage around his ribs, taping them tightly to his chest. She finished as quickly as she could, but by the time she'd taped the last bandage down, his face was white around the mass of bruises, his eyes, or eye, drooping.

"Sleep," she said. "When you wake up, we'll get some of this soup in you. Hopefully I'll have some more pills for you then."

Working as quietly as she could, she tiptoed to the sink and ran the water as cold as it would go. Taking a clean cloth, she let it sit under the water, finally squeezing out the excess and folding it. Carefully, she laid it against the bruised and swollen side of his face.

She'd seen beatings at the ER, and some of them severe, but she'd never have believed anyone could survive the kind of beatings Hunter had taken without more serious injuries than a few broken ribs and some bumps and bruises. The infection worried her, as did the swelling on his face. Concussion was a definite conclusion to his bleary eyesight.

Making a list in her mind of everything she'd need for his care, she walked to the table and idly sorted through the things still there. Band-aids, hydrogen peroxide, aspirin, all were wonderful for your home medicine cabinet, but she needed morphine and antibiotics, sutures and gauze, iodine and a clean, sterile environment to keep him in until he healed.

She drew one of the small plastic chairs closer to the bed, sitting down in it and staring at his face. He might be handsome if his face wasn't so bruised and swollen, his lips cracked and bleeding every time he spoke. His hair, while shaggy, was thick and black, falling back from a high forehead. His tan was still evident, even after his time spent here in this cage, so she knew he must spend all his time outside.

Standing, he probably towered over her, well over six feet in height and with his physique, she knew he must have been hell to take down.

Powerful shoulders and arms, a wide chest and ribs just beginning to be too prominent, long legs with thighs almost as big around as her waist, she couldn't help but wonder what he did for a living. Was he a hired killer? He seemed the type, argumentative and dismissive of any thoughts but his own.

But in the end, it didn't really matter who he was, or what he did. She'd taken an oath to save lives. What did it matter to her if the life belonged to a scumbag or the next pope?

Ill content with her thoughts, she rose from the chair, quietly pacing the floor behind him. There wasn't much floor to pace, which made her feel slightly claustrophobic.

Her thoughts kept circling until she had to clamp down upon her fear hard, fisting her hands and gritting her teeth until she could get a hold of her emotions. It wouldn't do for her to run and shriek at the door, punching and kicking at it in her bid for freedom.

No, it definitely wouldn't do for what little respect she'd managed to install in Hunter for him to see her in the midst of a psychotic panic attack. Now her only problem was, if she were to stay here, day in and out, to see to his recovery, she'd go stark raving mad. She had to have something to do with her time. She was used to being busy. Working long shifts in the emergency room had the habit of getting a person used to being on the move at all times. Sitting wasn't her strong suit.

She stared around the small room, noting everything about it, from the dirt and dust, to the small vent in the wall over the toilet. It was barely a twelve feet square, with just enough room for the built-ins facilities along with the small table and chairs. The walls were dingy white, the floors were cracked and stained white linoleum, even the ceiling was white.