Читать книгу Don't Say a Word - Rita Herron - Страница 6

May, New Orleans

THE WOMAN HAD NO FACE. No voice. No name.

Dr. Reginald Pace studied her near lifeless form as it lay on the shiny surgical table. The harsh fluorescent lights glared off her charred skin and raw flesh, painting an inhuman picture.

Her silent, vacant eyes begged for mercy. For death.

But the voice inside his head whispered that he could not fulfill her wish. It proclaimed that her body craved the transformation only his gifted hands could offer.

As a plastic surgeon, he saw the ruins of people’s faces and bodies on a daily basis. But never had he beheld a sight like the one before him—the very reason he’d made a deal with a demon to get her. She was the perfect one for his experiment.

Mangled, charred skin had peeled away from the severed tendons. Lips that once held a feminine smile now gaped with blisters and raw flesh. Bloodshot eyes, blinded by pain, had flickered with pleas for death before he had swept her under with the bliss of drugs.

His healing hands would piece her back together.

His healing hands and time…

Layer by layer he would rebuild her. Repair severed nerve endings, damaged cartilage. Replace tissue. Mold the monster into his beauty.

Without a face, a name, a picture, he could shape her into whatever he chose.

The woman of his dreams, God willing. She would be his creation. His to keep forever…

He gently brushed the remnants of her singed hair from her hairline. She would be in agony for a while, but he would be there with her every step of the way to offer her comfort.

And she would recover; he wouldn’t rest until she did.

A smile curled his mouth as he picked up the scalpel to get started. Yes, she would thank him in the end.