Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I swallow around the thick lump in my throat.
Nothing in my life will ever be the same again.
CHAPTER TEN
Rian
My eyelids are heavy. Every time I try to open them, they fall closed again like there are magnets holding them together.
It takes me a while of trying, of opening and closing…resting and opening again before I’m able to make any leeway.
The first thing I realize is that I have a sling on, and I don’t have an IV in my arm anymore, which makes me wonder how long I’ve been out. Small flashes of memories, bits and pieces of pictures I don’t fully remember, start flittering through my head—Abbott working on my wound again, being asked to take pills, helped to the bathroom to take a piss…a warm hand on my forehead, against my cheek, the feel of a wet washcloth against my face…my chest.
I force my eyes open now, trying to focus on the room around me. It looks like it’s early morning. There’s no way I’ve only been asleep since last night, so that leads me to believe at least two days have passed.
My eyes fall on Conan first. He’s asleep in an armchair in the corner of the room, gun on his lap, arms crossed, brows creased even in his sleep.
Where the fuck is Abbott?
My pulse jumps, an unfamiliar moment of panic hitting me, because Conan isn’t the type to have left Abbott alone. Did he kill him? No. Conan wouldn’t do that without an order from me…not unless he didn’t have another choice. Maybe Abbott tried to escape again, and Conan didn’t go easy on him like I did.
“Fuck,” I whisper softly, then feel the bed shift and realize I’m not alone in it. The second I realize it, I notice the soft breathing beside me, the scent which almost smells like fresh linen mixed with earthy undertones. I wouldn’t have missed those things on a good day, but my brain is foggy—everything a blur in my head.
I turn to see Abbott sleeping beside me. His hands are cuffed to the slats on the headboard above him, so he’s curled into what looks like an uncomfortable position. He’s wearing a T-shirt and a pair of joggers that I don’t recognize.
His face is slack, his jaw loose, lips soft, the creases around his eyes not as deep, some of them gone completely. It makes sense that he can relax in his sleep the way he can’t when he’s awake. He’s on edge, kidnapped, the threat of death constantly hanging over him. He’s with someone he hates, someone who is all the things he’s not.
Yet, he still took care of me. It was Abbott holding a straw to my lips and helping me drink, Abbott wiping down my sweaty, clammy skin, Abbott helping me to the bathroom, his hand against my face.
It makes no fucking sense to me. Is part of it self-preservation? Yes, it has to be, but I also think that’s just who he is—this man’s hands are gentle, while ours are rough. Healing while I hurt, and that thought makes something feel funny in my chest.
He twists, tries to change positions, but his hands make it difficult, so he just settles against the mattress again, a soft moan falling from his lips—quiet but deep and throaty and…what the fuck? Why did my cock just twitch? Why am I lying here thinking again that something about him is so fucking pretty?
I turn away from him, head a mess, even more than it always is, and see Conan, awake and watching me from the other side of the room.
He saw me looking at Abbott, saw me watching him. Conan doesn’t miss anything. He hasn’t liked this from the start, and all this is going to do is make him have more questions.
It takes some work on my part, but I manage to slowly sit up, turning so I’m sitting on the side of the bed.
Conan walks over silently, putting his hand out for me, and I’m still groggy and unsteady enough that I let him help me to my feet.
We need to talk. It’s a silent truth both of us know, and we slip out of the bedroom door that leads to the porch, Conan closing it behind us.
“What time is it?” I ask, voice rough, before leaning against the railing, facing the glass door so I can see Abbott inside. Sometime between the IV and now, in my delirious, pained state when he’d been my caregiver, my brain has stopped thinking of him as the doc, and he’s become Abbott.
“About five,” he replies. “It’s been two nights. I didn’t want to leave you alone with him until you were up on your feet. His work is taken care of. He requested and was granted a leave of absence. Most everyone thinks you’re away dealing with something personal.” It’s what we want people to think. The last thing we need for them to know is that I got shot or that I’m in hiding over a couple of fucking brothers who are nothing in our world. “Finan and Flynn know what’s going on—Tiernan too. He told Cillian. He’s been calling me to check on you.”