Pure Innocence (2 page)

The doctor sighed. “He’s not on sedatives.
We haven’t given him anything for the last few days. He was given
something initially after the first panic attack when he came round
from the drugs he’d been given while he was being held captive. We
needed blood tests to determine there was no damage before we
wanted to risk any further sedation. We were also concerned with
his respiratory system.” Damon saw the doctor pause and glance out
of the window. “I understand you have accepted responsibility for
payment of his hospital bill?”

Damon blinked at the change of subject. The
doctor fixed him with an appraising look, and continued. “Oliver
wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Most people don’t realize that
suffocation is the usual cause of death for people tied in that
position. You should also know that every doctor concerned with
Oliver’s care has freely given their time. The remainder of the
cost I’m afraid I have no control over.”

Damon was surprised—this was unexpected—and
opened his mouth to thank him, but the doctor had already carried
on. “Oliver appearing sedated can be caused by two things. Firstly,
and the obvious one, his body is healing. Secondly, and this isn’t
my area of expertise, excessive sleeping is often a sign of
depression. I wouldn’t like to speculate at the effect Oliver’s
captivity has had on him psychologically. Obviously this will have
to be addressed by the right people.

“
The IV fluids will
continue for some days. We don’t know exactly the drug cocktail he
was given in captivity, or possible long term effects. We are
cautiously optimistic of liver, bowel, and lung function. His back
and torso will be permanently scarred but will cause no other
problems. The lash marks on his chest were badly infected when he
came to us, but are healing now. His hands and shoulders,
however—”

The doctor paused and turned to the x-rays.
Damon didn’t have much medical knowledge except the basics, but he
had fought for over a week to be included in Oliver’s care plan,
and he wasn’t going to stop the doctor now when he seemed to be on
a roll.

“
His hands.” Damon
prompted. Those poor hands. He’d been so pleased to see Oliver
unconscious when he’d untied him from the cross, since that meant
he wasn’t suffering. Huge fat fingers, all broken, the smaller ones
looked nearly black. Damon couldn’t imagine the pain he had gone
through. Long, bloody welts ripped through the skin on his chest
and his back. He’d clearly been whipped multiple times, and Damon
had held him gently while the Feds ran around, checking the place
was safe for the paramedics to run in and see to Joe and Oliver.
Then they’d taken him and he’d felt almost...bereft. Odd, that
Damon had that emotion at all, and stranger that he should feel it
for someone he barely knew, and he wasn’t in a hurry to have that
acknowledged, not by himself and not by anyone else. Damon had
managed to cultivate a reputation as a hard ass; he was used to
inflicting pain, not taking it away. But not that type of pain,
never that. Damon shook his head slightly and concentrated on what
the doctor was saying, and how pleased he was at Oliver’s better
prognosis in his left hand. They had thought they might have to
amputate some of Oliver’s fingers, but not now.

Damon just managed to keep
breathing evenly while the doctor explained how the dressings to
Oliver’s hand were being kept on for a few days because the
injuries to his nail beds were infected, as were the injuries to
his chest. The injuries to his left hand were further complicated
by some of the fingernails being missing. The doctor paused and
Damon wanted to shout.
Missing?
He hadn’t lost them for fuck’s sake—they had
been
taken
. Damon
felt mildly sick at the thought of the monster that had held Oliver
extracting them.

The doctor pushed a flyer across the desk at
him and Damon smiled in acknowledgement. It was for Gage’s House,
the GLBT safe house supported by all the members at Pure, the BDSM
club he belonged to, but the doctor didn’t know that.

“
There will be a bed for
him there eventually, but my immediate concern is short term. He
may have to be moved to Miami, there’s a nursing home there run by
a charity I know that can provide interim care. He’s not going to
regain full use of his hands for some time.” The doctor’s mouth
flattened. “If at all.”

Damon’s heart sped up. “Miami? What sort of
interim care are we talking about?”

The doctor sighed. “Basics. He won’t be in
any shape to take care of personal needs. He won’t be able to feed
himself even if he was able to prepare food in the first place.
He’s going to need extensive therapy over a long period.” The
doctor pinned Damon with a hard gaze. “Bluntly, he won’t be able to
wipe his own ass.”

Damon nodded. He’d seen the state of those
hands. The words were out of his mouth before he talked himself out
of asking. “If he has somewhere to live, and he’s not left on his
own, can all the therapy be put in place?”

The doctor gazed at Damon carefully, seemed
to be assessing him. “Do you have somewhere in mind?”

Damon took a satisfied breath. “He comes
home with me. I can be there with him all the time. If ever I need
to be somewhere else, I can afford to have someone else there. Tell
me what I can expect.” Damon looked openly at the doctor. He had
nothing to hide. He was as shocked as fuck at his impulsiveness,
but as soon as he’d made the decision, he knew it was right.

The doctor nodded once. Whatever he had seen
in Damon’s expression must have satisfied him.

Damon listened carefully to the long list of
problems Oliver might experience. It seemed to cover everything
from constipation to debilitating panic attacks. The doctor didn’t
pull any punches. “It would probably do more harm if you started
this and couldn’t see it through.”

Damon nodded. He would. He never took on a
job he couldn’t complete, but if he was honest it was more than
that. Somehow Oliver became his responsibility when he’d run into
that warehouse and untied him. The boy wasn’t going to Miami, he
was coming home with him. Part of him acknowledged that he felt
some sort of guilt that he hadn’t been able to catch the monster
that had kidnapped, tortured, and murdered three young men. If it
hadn’t been for Adam, Joe’s sub, who managed to escape the
warehouse where Kevin had held him and Oliver, Damon might not have
found them in time. Not for Oliver, certainly. The nurses had
already explained that Oliver’s blood oxygen levels had been
dangerously low when the paramedics got to him.

Dr. DeSouza opened his mouth to continue
when there was a knock at the door and one of the nurses put her
head around. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Sir, but Oliver is becoming
quite distressed.” Without even acknowledging the doctor, Damon
whirled around, and his long strides took him back to Oliver’s
room. The nurse ran after him. “We know he’s calmer with you there.
We’re worried he may hurt himself.”

Damon could hear the noise before he entered
the room. A pitiful cry from a sore throat. Two nurses were trying
to hold Oliver still, obviously worried he would hurt his hands. He
was thrashing and moaning.

“
Boy.” Damon’s voice echoed
in the room, lower than the nurse’s entreaties for him to hold
still. “Boy.” Damon cupped his face again. “Oliver. Be still.”
Damon frowned at the sound of Oliver’s sharp breaths, but
miraculously he calmed visibly with Damon’s touch. Both nurses
smiled, relieved. One checked he hadn’t damaged his IV site and the
other pressed a few buttons on the monitor next to his bed. Damon
glanced at the annoying noise, and the nurse who had summoned him
flicked a switch to silence it.

Damon breathed a sigh. Peace. Oliver had
settled into Damon’s hand once more.

The nurse nodded and pulled up a chair for
Damon so he didn’t have to move. With a last look at her patient,
she smiled and left the room.

“
Oliver?” Damon held his
breath as he saw Oliver try to blink and lift his eyelids. Soft
brown eyes peered at him. Unfocused, and barely aware, but open,
and every bit as beautiful as Damon had imagined them to be.
Smiling, Damon brought his other hand around and smoothed Oliver’s
fine, light brown hair off his forehead. Damon’s breath hitched as
Oliver blinked his brown eyes once more, and seemed to focus a
little clearer on him. God, he was stunning, and Damon struggled to
keep his breathing controlled and steady, because just for a second
he was back in that damn warehouse, knowing they’d only just got
there in time. Of all the injustices he’d seen in his life this had
been a bad one.

“
Oliver?” Damon cleared his
throat a little. “Hi. My name’s Damon.”

Chapter Two

He was
real
. How could that be? Oliver blinked,
once, then twice because he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Deep gray eyes, the sort that really saw; the sort you couldn’t
hide from. The sort that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t want to
hide from. The square face and jaw, rough, with more than a few
hours stubble over it. The tiny scar that hovered over one eyebrow,
and the black hair that was cut to within an inch of its life, as
if it was dared to ever look out of place. The lips that were
currently pulled into a smile. A smile? Soft, looking at him.
Really seeing him, and still smiling. Not sneering, no lips parted
in disgust or in anger, just… Oliver settled his breathing, his
lungs lulled into a matching rhythm. In. Out. Confident. Safe,
knowing each pull of his chest wouldn’t cause any pain. Knowing he
could inhale without the pressure, without getting to the point
where it hurt to try and breathe any deeper.

“
Good to see you’re awake
young man.”

Oliver glanced, startled at
the woman’s voice. A nurse. Yes, because he was in hospital.
Oh God
.

Horror rushed through him. He caught his
breath, and it pulled him from his comfortable haze into the
starkness and horror that was his life and he screwed his eyes up.
Fear struck him and he shook, trembling in shame. He’d forgotten.
Forgotten for one glorious moment that he wasn’t supposed to die.
Forgotten for one moment that he wasn’t worth fighting for. It was
a mistake. He—

“
Hey.” The hand on his face
tightened, the pressure pulling his thoughts back. “No one’s going
to hurt you. You’re safe. The nurses are just pleased to see you
awake.” A thumb brushed his cheek. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.
Want to show me those pretty eyes again?”

Pretty?
He kept saying things like that. Confusion made him blink,
and the thumb casually wiped the moisture that leaked from his eye
as he opened it. He was still smiling. His hand left Oliver’s face
as Damon reached for the nearby glass of water. Oliver couldn’t
help a little protest at its loss, a small, faint sound he thought
no one would hear. But
he
did. Those grey eyes swung back immediately and
Damon’s lips tugged upwards again. It was as if he could hear
Oliver thinking.

The nurse busied herself, joined by another,
making Oliver sit up. Every cell in him protested, every hurt in
him magnified, and when they put the tray down with the bowl of
soup on it he was convinced he would throw up. Oliver’s alarm grew
as the nurse picked the spoon up.

“
I can do that.” Damon took
the spoon from the nurse, and Oliver’s heart rate settled almost
immediately. Flashing a grateful smile, she left the room. But
there was still no way Oliver could eat anything, he would be
sick.

Damon rolled his eyes as soon as they were
alone. “Yeah, looks appetizing, I know.” Oliver tried an answering
smile at the mild sarcasm, but he was nervous about opening his
lips.

“
Listen. This is the plan.”
Damon scooted the chair back that he’d moved out of the way for the
nurses, and settled down, still holding the spoon. “You’re gonna
have to eat some of this, gorgeous.” He dipped the spoon in the
bland muck, nodding at the tubes and wires. “They’re not gonna
start unhooking you from all this crap until they know you are
eating something properly.”

Oliver opened his mouth to say something,
but Damon held the spoon to his lips before he could get any words
out. Shocked, he slurped some of the brown pretend soup before he
realized it. Damon’s murmured, “Good boy,” had him swallowing it as
it warmed him right to his toes, but it wasn’t the soup that was
warm; it was the words.

His stomach started protesting after the
fifth mouthful, and he turned his head away slightly. Damon dropped
the spoon and grinned. “Don’t blame you, but next time, we’ll shoot
for a couple more, huh?”

Oliver lay back. How could swallowing a few
mouthfuls exhaust him so much? He tried to move his butt slightly.
He was uncomfortable. Sticky, and uncomfortable. He went to lift
his arm restlessly, but couldn’t and his eyes widened in shock.
They were resting in some sort of sling contraption away from his
body, and he stared at the heavily bandaged stumps on the end of
each arm. Oh God, they’d had to cut them off. His hands. Panic
opened his lips but horror stole his breath. He tried to inhale and
choked, gagged, his few mouthfuls of soup threatening to make a
reappearance.

“
Boy.” The room vibrated
with the word, and Oliver was helpless to not drag his gaze from
the bandages to those commanding gray eyes.

“
They’re still there.” The
hand came back to his face. “You haven’t lost any fingers. All the
padding is for protection. Calm down.” Damon took off the gauze
mittens covering the tips of his fingers. “See? All ten. They’re
just there so the nurses can check their color every time, make
sure the bandages aren’t too tight.”