“Just tell me,” he hisses between gritted teeth. Unable to look at me, his gaze is laser focused on a random point on the plain white bedsheet. “I need to know what they did.”
Tense silence fills the room, choking me as memories I’d rather not relive assault me. I endured my fair share of grueling workouts and terrifying punishments growing up in the compound, but I was never locked away and isolated for so long, or subjected to Bowen’s cruel form of torture so frequently. And having tasted true freedom, even if it had been for only a few months, made being back there so much harder to handle.
I can barely come to terms with what I’ve been through, never mind telling Hawk every grotesque detail.
When I don’t answer him, he lifts his head, pinning me in place with his swirling gray eyes. “Did they…” Unable to finish his sentence, his words hang in the air, their meaning more than clear.
“No,” I choke out, even as memories of Bowen’s threats, and Lawrence’s leer while he forced me to change, naked in front of him, and of him shoving his unwanted fingers inside of me, batter against my mental walls.
Hawk’s penetrating gaze holds me captive for another moment as he searches for the truth. After a moment, his shoulders drop slightly in relief and he nods. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows roughly. Despite the tension still pouring off him, he seems somewhat reassured that at least I wasn’t violated in such a heinous way.
The door to the room opens, and expecting it to be the guys, I’m completely fucking shocked when Barton Davenport, my fucking father, walks into the room.
His eyes land on me and widen in shock. Under his scrutinizing gaze, all I can think is that this is the first time he’s ever really looked at me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Hawk growls dangerously. He moves to block Barton’s view of me and, suddenly feeling self-conscious, I rush to tuck the bed sheet tighter around me and flatten my hair with my hand—not that it does any good.
“I needed to check on you. Someone attacked the compound…What happened?” Barton’s eyes narrow and he tries to side-step Hawk, but the brute follows, continuing to block any advance Barton can make in my direction.
Scoffing, Hawk sneers, “Like you give a shit.”
For the first time since entering the room, Barton tears his gaze from me to focus on his son. His eyes narrow in annoyance, and damn, if the two of them don’t look eerily alike. It’s freaky, and I’m not entirely sure what to make of it.
“Watch it, son.”
The two of them stand off against each other in some stupid silent duel, until I huff out my own breath of annoyance. I can feel a headache forming behind my eyes, and I’m way too tired to deal with this shit.
“What are you doing here?” I ask wearily, my voice nothing more than a dry rasp as I look at Barton.
His attention snaps from Hawk to me. His eyes look like they're filled with anguish and sorrow, but I can’t understand why. Maybe I’m reading him wrong, only seeing what I want to see. After everything I’ve been through, any girl would want her dad in her hospital room with her, comforting her...but not me. Not when my father hasn’t given a single shit about me my entire life. His presence here only means there’s more problems to deal with. Problems I don’t have the energy to face.
Hawk ensures he keeps Barton in his sights as he shifts on his feet, moving so he can also see me. “How did you even know she was here?”
“I tracked your car. The receptionist told me what room you were in, once I explained I was your father.”
His gaze runs over my bare arms, the only visible skin, taking in the numerous scratches and cuts covering them.
“Who did that to you?”
My eyebrows lift in surprise at his threatening tone, but before I can work out what to say, Hawk scoffs. “Like you don’t know.”
Barton rounds on him so quickly it’s nothing but a blur. “What the hell does that mean?” he snarls. “You told me she was in bed with a stomach bug, but clearly that was a lie.”
Hawk’s eyes darken, and in the next second, he’s got his dad shoved up against the wall, his hands fisting his shirt. The two of them are a similar height as they face off. “Yeah, and you pretended not to have a daughter all these years. Clearly that was a lie.”
I huff out yet another breath—not that it seems to do any good—and, deciding if shit is going to go down in this too small of a room, then I’d rather have pants on when it does, I unhook the line attached to the back of my hand and push back the covers, sliding out of the bed.
Hawk must see the movement out of the corner of his eye because as soon as my bare feet hit the cold tile floor, his head snaps in my direction.
“Hadley,” he growls. “Back in bed.”
I glare right back, unperturbed by his pissy attitude—I’m practically immune to it by now.
“No, asshole. If you’re going to start shit, I want to be dressed. I can’t kick anyone’s ass in this stupid gown.” I wave my hand over the flimsy gown that has no back so my bare ass is exposed—who the fuck thought that was a good idea?! Would it really have been so difficult to add an extra tie to the back so I could maintain at least some of my dignity?!
His eyes narrow to slits. “You’re in no fit state to be kicking anyone’s ass. Get. Back. Into. Bed.”
Barton’s gaze jumps back and forth between us as he silently watches our argument, but we both ignore him. Glowering at Hawk, I make sure to keep out of his arm span as I stomp—okay, so it’s more of a crippled shuffle—toward the attached bathroom.
There’s a black duffel bag sitting in a vacant chair and, hoping it has spare clothes in it, I snatch it up on my way past and slam the bathroom door shut behind me.
Alone, I lean against the closed door, tilting my head back until I’m staring at the ceiling, thankful for a moment's peace. My legs shake and my hands tremble, that little bit of exertion too much for my fatigued body.
Dropping the bag on the counter beside the sink, I unzip it, breathing out a sigh of relief when I find a pair of clean sweats and a top. Looking around, the bathroom is small, but functional, with a narrow shower stall in the corner. I can’t even remember the last time I showered—at least one that wasn’t with cold water and some perv watching me. Even though my legs protest at the thought of holding me up for much longer, the clawing need to have a nice warm shower is all I can think about, and I hastily tear off the gown and turn the dial until steam billows out of the stall, fogging up the mirror. Stepping under the spray, my eyes drift shut as I let the warm water wash over me. It feels like fucking heaven against my skin.