Page 2 of The Hand Surgeon's Housewife
”See, I have a hard time believing that.” His expression changes, the smile turning into a sneer. “Only whores paint their nails red to lure men. Are you a whore?”
“You know I’m not,” I say, trying to pull my hand away. The pain shoots up my arm as his grip tightens. Suddenly, the pressure increases to an unbearable point. I gasp, tears springing to my eyes. “Raymond, please,” I beg, but it’s too late.
There’s a sickening snap of bones, and I cry out in pain.
Raymond abruptly releases my hand, watching me with cold detachment as I cradle it against my chest, tears streaming down my face.
“Look what you made me do,” he says softly while I struggle not to sob. “You just forced me to punish you.”
The pain in my hand throbs in tune with my racing heart. The room spins, the surroundings blurring into a haze.
Raymond's expression shifts as he sees the tears streaming down my face and the way I hold my now limp hand. His cold demeanor softens, replaced by a feigned concern that only makes me feel sicker.
”Let me have a look," he murmurs, reaching out to take my injured hand. I flinch again, but force myself to stay still. He gently turns my fingers over, examining the damage. "We need to get you to the hospital."
I nod weakly.
He stands, pulling me up with him, and guides me toward the door. His touch is suddenly tender, as if he’s trying to make amends, but it makes me hate him even more.
”I’m going to have you fixed. Can’t have you defective," he says. "Not my beautiful Pamela."
We reach the front door, and he pauses, turning me to face him. His hand clasps my chin, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to look into his eyes. They’re pale and menacing.
”Remember," he says softly, ”that you can’t put the blame on me for this. If anyone asks what happened, you’ll tell them it was an accident. Understood?”
His fingers dig into my jaw. I nod, unable to speak, my heart pounding in my chest. He releases me. ”Do you love me?” he whispers.
”Yes,” I choke, and the words make my throat burn. ”Always.”
***
The hospital doors slide open, and Raymond guides me to a chair, lowering me gently into it. I wonder what people would think if they knew he was the one responsible for this.
"Stay here," he instructs, his voice devoid of the earlier venom, replaced by a facade of concern. I watch him stride over to the nurse's station, his posture commanding and confident. He leans over the counter, speaking in a rushed tone. The quicker I’m fixed the better.
I look around the waiting room, my gaze landing on a few other patients. They're impeccably dressed, but their faces are hard, with sharp features and ruthless expressions. They look like criminals, or worse, like Raymond. I shiver, feeling out of place and exposed.
The room spins slightly, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to steady myself. The pain in my hand is unbearable, and I cradle it in my lap, biting my lip to keep from crying out. I feel a sudden pressure on my shoulder and look up to see Raymond standing over me.
"The surgeon will be here soon," he says, his hand heavy and possessive on my shoulder. I nod, unable to speak, the pain and fear choking me.
But then, I see him. The surgeon walks down the corridor, and the lights overhead seem to flicker, casting him in a fluorescent glow. He's tall, with wheat blond hair that catches the light, and a strong, chiseled face that reminds me of action movie heroes. His presence is commanding, enough to make my knees go soft.
My heart flutters, a strange mix of panic and something else—something I haven't felt in a long time. His petrol eyes meet mine, and for a moment, everything fades away. The waiting room, the pain, Raymond—all of it dissolves as I focus on the surgeon’s penetrative gaze.
Raymond’s hand tightens on my shoulder, grounding me back in reality, but my eyes stay locked on the surgeon. As he approaches, I feel a glimmer of hope. And somewhere in my mind I get the bizarre idea, that this stranger…might be the answer to everything I’ve hoped for.
2.
Hugo
Approaching the waiting area, my gaze falls on a man who exudes more sliminess than a snail. He stands with the confidence of someone used to getting what he wants and I don’t like it. I size him up, my instincts on high alert.
”I’m Dr. Hugo Payne. What seems to be the problem here?" I say, my voice steady and professional.
”Name’s Raymond Barke,” the man replies, ”and this is my sister Pamela.”
He gestures towards a young woman sitting in a chair. I look down at her and feel a jolt of something I haven't felt in years. Sandy hair cascades around her face, framing green eyes that seem both sultry and innocent. Her little plus -size figure is accentuated by a pair of cutoff shorts and a simple top, revealing more skin than I typically see around here. There’s a raw, untouched beauty that makes me want to…plunder.