“Yes, but…”
“And she’s not illiterate.”
Michaels paused. “How do you know?”
Because I’ve read her letters—glimpsed her secrets.
“Again—seeing as you’re making me repeat myself—none of your goddamn business.”
My temper didn’t scare him. He’d worked for me for years and knew how far to push. Cocky bastard.
He continued. “Okay, so at least we know she can talk—or at least write—when she is ready. However, I think it might be best if—”
I swallowed my growl. “If what?”
He sighed, cringing a little as my ire thickened. “If we drop her off at the next port and be done with her—like I said, drop her off at a cop shop. Her body can heal, sure. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure she’s as healthy as possible, but even cured there’s still the matter of her mind.”
My hands curled into fists. My patience waned. I had too much shit to do before I could visit my newest Phantom guest, and Michaels was pissing me off by assuming things about Pim he didn’t know.
You don’t know her, either.
Yes, but at least I planned to. I owed her for reasons I couldn’t untangle yet. I didn’t intend to throw her overboard just because she might be mentally unstable.
Fuck, all of us were mentally unstable to a degree. I wouldn’t be a hypocrite and deny otherwise.
She was one of the strongest women I’d come across, and she hadn’t spoken a word. That sort of strength…it did things to men like me. It made me want to break her and shelter her in equal measure. It set a war in motion between the devil and angel on my shoulders, and only time would tell what part of me would win.
My gaze narrowed. “There is nothing to discuss about her mind.”
“But she needs someone to talk to—”
“If she ever talks.”
Michaels straightened, as if I’d offended his medical expertise. “I sewed her back up. She will be able to talk. It’s a matter of if her mind is capable of speech, not her body.”
Swiping a hand over my face, I smiled tightly. “And for that, I’m grateful. Thank you for your commendable care once again. However, you do not need to concern yourself with her mental healing.”
“Do you intend to do it?” He crossed his arms.
His audacity set my blood hissing. “And if I said yes?”
“I’d say you’d be setting her and yourself up for failure.” His head bowed. “No offense, of course.”
I glowered at his apologetic stance. “Some taken but not enough to fire you.”
We shared a smile.
The tension dispersed.
He said, “I won’t tell you how to care for her. It’s not my business—like you keep reminding me—but I do know you. I know what you struggle with, and I know what we do in order to manage that. This girl…” He paused, before forcing himself to speak honestly even if I might not want to hear it. “This girl is damaged. And rightfully so. Whatever trick you think you can use to fix a lifetime of abuse? Well, I’m just warning you…it won’t be easy. It might not work. And you need to be prepared to get rid of her if her vulnerability makes you relapse.”
I stood.
This meeting was over.
Michaels wouldn’t get near her again unless it was for strict medical reasons. I didn’t tolerate others being close to those I deemed vulnerable. Especially when I grew protective of someone. I’d already doomed Pimlico by deciding her rehabilitation was my burden.
She was mine in both possession and obligation, which meant her health and wellbeing was my concern, no one else’s.
No One.
The title of her notes squeezed my gut. Each tissue-square remained safely tucked in my desk. In the six hours since we’d set sail, I’d read each and every one.
Two years’ worth of thoughts and pleas.
Two years’ worth of research that I would use to break, restore, and ultimately get what I wanted from her.
Her notes made me privy to her secrets, delivering questions I had no way to ask. Yet more complications in the complex restoration of her mind.
“Thank you, Michaels. Despite your concerns, I appreciate your expertise.”
He nodded, knowing when to give in. “You’re welcome.” Moving toward the exit, he placed his hand on the doorknob. “She’s been through a lot. Regardless of what I said, I’m glad you found her. You saved her from a tragic situation, and I have no doubt she’ll be incredibly grateful.”
My schooled features remained calm as he smiled once again and left, latching the door behind him. The moment I was alone, I let my true thoughts paint my face.
Frustration, anticipation…but most of all, disgust. Not at the implied gratefulness Pimlico would feel toward me. But at the reasons Michaels urged me not to do this.
He’s right.
I should heal her and let her go.
I should hand her back to the life she’d been stolen from.