Hospital of Hell

Eleven

Scarlett

Every time I sleep an excessive amount I wake up groggy and feeling like I didn't sleep. I can feel that it's at least lunchtime and I'm just waking up.

I stretch out my limbs, turning into a full fledged starfish on Don Axton's bed.

Thoughts of last night rush into my head and I cover my face, my cheeks burning.

I laid on the Don's couch, spread eagle, and played with my lady bits.

Despite my apprehension, it was one of the most intimate moments I've ever had. As shitty as it sounds, sex genuinely makes me happy. I would be happy without a man the rest of my life as long as I get an orgasm on a regular basis. Some people claim they could live comfortably without a release for a long while, I guess I'm just not that strong. Orgasming releases my built up tension, in a way. As I let go, my stress does too.

I go to throw the cover off of my body but I'm immediately smacked with the cool air in the house. I fell asleep butt ass naked.

"Fuck, Star." I mumble to myself. I went out like a wimp. I let a man fuck me to sleep. Who am I becoming?

I quickly stand to my feet, finding my discarded hoodie and sliding it on. I grab a pair of his boxers just in case he has guests in the kitchen again.

The house is awfully quiet, I'm half convinced he left me in here by myself. I walk towards the kitchen, shocked to see Don flipping pancakes in nothing but boxers. He has a headphone in his ear, mumbling to whoever he's on the phone with.

Taking another step forward, the wood creaks softly underneath my feet. Axton's head snaps towards me, his face in a semi scowl.

"Think I was a burglar?" I muse, pulling out a seat and making myself comfortable.

"That would be a bad day for you, princess. Now who said you could help yourself to my underwear drawer?" He asks as he turns the stovetop off.

"That would be me," I smile enthusiastically, ignoring his side glance. He puts a few pancakes on a plate and slides it to me, handing me the syrup.

"The Don cooks?" I feign surprise.

"Every once in awhile," he shrugs, devouring his pancake in two bites. "Sleep well?"

We sit and talk for a half hour or so, oddly enough it's calm and peaceful. Maybe he isn't that bad.

I glance down at his chest, admiring the broadness. My eyes focus on the scar on his chest that I saw the first night I was here. It looks a bit bigger under the kitchen lighting. Like two bullet holes side by side.

"What happened to your chest?" I ask, my eyes clearly planted on the scar.

He takes a sip of his drink, just looking at me. He seems like he's having an internal battle on indulging me in this information.

"I was shot." He shrugs it off so casually. "Twice. Both bullets were removed during surgery. What's left of them is hanging up in the living room, like a trophy."

"A trophy?" I take a bite of my food.

"Yes, Scarlett. A trophy for the man who came closest to killing me. Are you always this curious?" His tone is slightly clipped, but I've learned not to pay it much mind.

I roll my eyes. "Only sometimes. So, did you kill him?"

"No. I didn't. One of my men did, along with one of his brothers. My uncles." He seems only slightly annoyed, encouraging me to continue my questioning.

My eyes widen in shock, my confusion deepening. "Why would your uncle try and kill you? The fuck kind of family do you have?" I ask softly.

He smiles wickedly. His perfect teeth on full show. "A messy one. My uncle wanted my dads spot, so he took it upon himself to try and kill me to take what I inherited. It would've never have worked, even if I was dead. He was next in line, but he wouldn't have ever received the title he wanted."

"Why not? I mean, if you would've ultimately passed and he was next in line what else would've stopped him?" I feel like I'm missing a piece of the equation.

He shakes his head, finishing his plate. "The devil works in mysterious ways, princess." There is a sinister smirk on his face that causes me not to question it further.

I help him clean up the small mess in the kitchen before wondering to the living room and to find my leggings. They're neatly folded on the ledge of the couch. I can't help the little smile the forms on my lips.

"Don Axton?" I yell out, finishing getting dressed and sliding my shoes on.

"Hm?" He walks into the living room, fully dressed with a Glock on his hip.

"Oh-sorry. Didn't realize you were so close. I'm leaving." My face flushes a bit.

He leans against the wall, nodding his head in acknowledgement. I am assuming he is waiting for me to leave so he can lock the doors to his house. He looks different today. The more I spend time with him the more mixed emotions I acquire. Some days he seems as if he could be almost romantic.

Once I reach the safety of my car, I let out a breath. I stare at his house in my rear-view mirror as I pull off and he walks out right after me, getting in his car.

Axton Taikyn really is driving me crazy. I don't mind being around him, which is different. Usually I only find comfort in my loneliness or with Saraphine. I'm not sure how I feel about it all.

My phone rings, distracting me from my thoughts of last night and the mixed emotions I get from the Don.

"Hello?" I pick it up.

"Did you forget how to use a phone, Scarlett? I haven't heard from you in three weeks." My father's gruff voice causes me to roll my eyes.

"The phone works two ways," I murmur.

"I didn't call to hear your attitude. Dinner tomorrow night, your mother is expecting you at seven." He hangs up, not providing me with time to come up with an excuse.

"Dick." I say out loud, throwing my phone into the passenger seat.

My father and I's relationship is unique to say the least. I've always held some resentment for him. My entire life I grew up around killers and drug dealers. I was never given a choice in a single thing that goes on in my life. Not my school, my lifestyle, my family, hell even the food I eat. It was all revolving around whatever the hell my father wanted. My mom stood idly by with a smile on her face. Watching drug deals play out with me sitting on the couch watching and observing.

I saw a kilo of cocaine before I saw a Christmas tree with presents underneath.

My father was never abusive. Well, he slapped me a few times but it wasn't hard or consistent. He's just always been a dominant man who wants everything done the way he sees it happening.

It doesn't help that he's always wanted sons. Unfortunately for him, he has two daughters, myself and my younger sister Olivia. She's seventeen, still stuck in the cycle of my dad's masculinity.

My dad's lifestyle forced me to mature much earlier than I should have. I spent evenings playing target practice with his men, and ultimately getting punished whenever my aim was off. I never got the chance to be a child, to enjoy the little things like imagination. The only imaginary idea we explored were the targets and pretending they were his rivals.

Then men he brought around treated me better than my own father did, and that isn't saying much. He taught me how to defend myself, but he also taught me how fucking awful it is living with a man like him.

I've always been adamant that I never will settle for a man like my father. I'm determined to follow through with that promise to myself, regardless of the situation. It took me long enough to become independent, and I refuse to let that go.

Not for my father, a man, or Don Axton.