✓ WICKED VOWS| JAKE (Book II )

7-Naked To The Devils

ANNA

Standing before the mirror, I gazed at my reflection, devoid of any makeup. My eyes drifted to the old scars that marred my skin. It had been years, and yet, it wasn't uncommon for me to bear these marks. I was a warrior—getting hurt was simply part of the job, and I didn't mind it in the least. But these scars from my childhood were different. They seemed to swallow me whole, reminding me of painful memories I wished to forget. I hated them for what they represented. They had scarred not just my body, but my heart as well, closing it off from the world.

That's a very miserable thought. It's true that some scars, whether physical or emotional, may never fully heal. Time can soften their impact, making them less prominent, but they remain a part of our story. Perhaps time doesn't heal everything, but rather, it helps us adapt to the changes and challenges we face. I met evil when I was only a child, a child who had the smile of a loaded gun with tragedies.  I wore my scars as a warning to all my future monsters and demons. I survived the demons in me and I am still surviving. I rose from ashes, I had been burned. I danced around my own ashes, wild and free. 

I emerged from the bathroom, clad in a towel, and made my way to the dressing room. As I entered, I was greeted by a sight that took my breath away. The room was a masterpiece of design, filled with exquisitely crafted suits and garments. Every piece spoke luxury and elegance, with not a single item lacking in sophistication. Even the shoes were a testament to fine craftsmanship, privately made and designed to perfection. On the other side of the dressing room, my section awaited me. It was a stark contrast to the masculine opulence of Jake's side, instead exuding a distinctly feminine charm. It was a princess's dream, filled with an array of clothes that had been meticulously selected. Among them were the clothes I had brought with me, predominantly casual and sporty in style. However, they were now joined by a multitude of dresses and skirts, each one more stunning than the last. Glamour and luxury.

Princess damn treatment.

I slipped into my nighty gray gown and began searching for medical supplies in the bathroom. My husband, the parasite I had married, had yet to emerge from his office. To my frustration, I couldn't find any medical treatments; instead, the bathroom was stocked with alcohol, various hair products, and an array of mouthwashes—more than five, in fact. What was this? Was he insecure about his breath or something?

Eww.

I grabbed the alcohol and cotton and made my way to the bed. The least I could do was clean the wound now, even though I didn't have anything to stitch it up with. Sitting on the bed, I examined the wound closely. It had opened up more since yesterday. I cursed myself for not stitching it up then.I poured some alcohol onto the cotton and brought it to the wound, cleaning off the blood. It stung, but I refused to hiss in pain. Just then, I heard the door open, and I knew he was approaching me. If he weren't a prince, he would make a great serial killer with his silent, calculated movements. But I knew he didn't kill for fun or for work, like me. We were from different worlds. "Your wound needs to be stitched up," he stated simply as if don't already know that.

"If I had found some medical supplies in the bathroom, I'd be stitching myself up right now," I remarked, still focused on cleaning my wound without glancing up at him. I heard him walk back to his office before returning. Something was dropped beside me, and I glanced sideways to see a large box. Inside, I could see shining objects- a spool of thread, sterile wipes, and a small pair of scissors. Finally.

"Do you know how to stitch yourself?" he inquired, his gaze boring into my head. "I am a killer. I get wounded on a daily basis, your honor," I muttered, irritated by his voice. Thankfully, I didn't have to listen to him for the next few seconds. I opened the case and retrieved a needle, ensuring it was clean and sharp. I cleaned the wound with a sterile wipe, gently dabbing away any remaining blood. Then, I threaded the needle, making sure the thread was secure. With steady hands, I inserted the needle into the skin near the wound, careful to keep the stitches neat I could feel his eyes on me- on my naked tights, but I ignored them, focusing solely on the task at hand. I just wanted to close the wound as soon as I could before his voice interrupted me.

"You are not keeping the stitches even. You are missing."

"It's a stab wound. nothing will happen any stitch will do."I continued stitching without care of his words before I heard him muttering something. He suddenly grabbed the needles from my hands and stopped me. "Fucking stop it, you are messing it."He spoke as he cleaned the needle again, adjusted himself, and kneeled down on the ground focusing on the needle between his fingers. "You are missing a lot," he muttered slowly and lowly.

The tension between us was palpable as I stood there, naked under the nightgown, and he knelt before me. "Adjust yourself for me," he spoke again, his voice firm, but I was taken aback. What did he mean by that? He cursed under his breath and then I felt his hands on my bare thighs, closing the distance between our bodies. He was sitting on his knees, yet he still towered over me. Reacting instinctively, I grabbed a pair of scissors from the case and held it against his neck, my voice low and menacing, "Don't fucking touch me," I hissed out, my eyes locked on his.

"You must be crazy if you think I will be looking at you like a woman. I'm a doctor; I've seen tons of women and men naked under my eyes," his words hit me like a wave. He didn't even look at me in the eyes, as if I had cursed eyes—of course, he wouldn't. He was a doctor. "You must be crazy if you think I will be looking at you as a woman," why did this phrase make my anger boil? Why did it make me want to scar his face with the scissors I was holding?

As I slowly brought the scissors down, he focused on my wound, and I felt his fingers working on my body. I didn't feel the needle hurting me, but I felt his touch—every time he threaded the needle, making sure the thread was secure. His hands were steady, every movement deliberate and precise. With each stitch, he was so close to my private parts, his fingers deftly maneuvering around the wound. I tried to ignore the sensation, focusing instead on the task at hand. But his touch was undeniable, sending a shiver down my spine and his damn face was so close to my tights. After finishing the last stitch, he cleaned the area once more with another sterile wipe. He applied antiseptic cream generously to prevent infection, then carefully covered the wound with a bandage. I watched him clean up the supplies and put them back in the box, not even glancing at me. The tension between us was thick, the air heavy with unspoken words.

His touch had been professional, but the closeness of it had unsettled me. And I should not be unsettled. Never.

I lay down on the edge of the mattress, turned on my side pulled the covers up to my chin, then squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to fall asleep. I wanted this day to end, even if it was only the beginning of many hellish days and nights to come.

He stood and made his way to the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the room. After a few minutes, Jake emerged from the bathroom. I tried to control my breathing, pretending to be asleep. With half-closed eyes, I stole a glance at him, my face hidden by the blanket. I was taken aback. Jake stood before me, wearing only black briefs. His physique was impressive even when dressed, but now, half-naked, he was intimidating. His body was pure muscle, his skin clean. I noticed letters inked into the skin over his heart, but I couldn't make out what they said from where I lay. He crossed the room and switched off the main light, enveloping us in darkness. The sudden change made me feel as though I were alone in a forest at night, aware that something was lurking nearby. The bed did not dip but the door closed up after him when he left.

Finally, no parasite for the night.