Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
“Dean, right? He was confused about that when we asked him,” the doc says.
“Must be the head injury. How is he?” Tiernan cuts to the chase.
He sighs. “I’m Dr. Perry. He took a pretty bad beating. He has numerous lacerations, bruises, and a concussion. He took a few kicks to the ribs. They’re mostly bruised, but there’s a small crack in one. We’ll keep him at least overnight. They’re working on getting him a room assignment.” He looks at Dean. “I asked about calling your parents, but your brother didn’t want to. The police are here too. They need to get a statement, but we haven’t let them in yet. I can bring two of you back with me.”
Dean is going to be one of them, that’s obvious. I have no reason to be the other, and I’m sure Dean will want Tiernan with him. My cousin will probably want to be there too so he can find out what happened. Still, I open my mouth to claim a spot in that room that I shouldn’t want, but Dean speaks first. “His boyfriend and I will go back.”
Oh…well, I didn’t expect that.
“Follow me.” Dr. Perry leads the way.
“You guys can stop calling me his boyfriend,” I say softly.
“But why, when it’s so much fun?” Dean teases.
I don’t have time to reply, both of us sobering when we turn into the room where Ollie is.
“Motherfuckers,” slips past my lips the second I lay eyes on him. He has a huge goose egg on his head, bruised cheek, one black eye swollen shut. The bed is raised, so he’s sitting up, but he looks tired and weak. There’s blood and dirt in his blond hair. My gaze snags on the bruising on his knuckles, the only thing to give me a small smile.
He fought back.
They might have gotten the better of him, but he let them know he wasn’t going down easily, and now we’ll take care of the rest for him.
“Can I have a minute alone with my brother?” Dean asks, his voice barely containing his rage.
Dr. Perry looks at Ollie. “Is that still okay? If your brother and your boyfriend are here?”
Ollie’s mouth drops open, and I’m really fucking regretting my slip of the tongue from earlier.
“I, um…yes,” he says, voice soft with confusion and maybe something more. Fear? Exhaustion? Pain? There’s a hundred things it could be.
The second the doctor is out of the room, Dean says, “Who did this to you?”
“Shhh.” I point around us. We’re not in a private space, so both of us step closer to the bed.
“I don’t know. I was walking home from work and—”
“Why the fuck were you walking home?” I interrupt.
“Because I don’t have a car. Not all of us have mob ties and can afford anything we want.”
Well, that answers the question about how much he knows about us. Still, I do what we always do and lie. “Those are rumors.”
“Yeah, and I’m an MMA fighter. It’s obvious we’re both lying with those statements.”
I have no idea why, but I smile. He’s beaten to shit, yet he hasn’t lost his sharp tongue and brave nature. “At least you’re well enough to still hate me. That’s a good sign.”
He frowns at that. Maybe because I reminded him what happened?
“Finish.” Dean uses one commanding word, sounding so much like Tiernan, it still blows my mind.
“I heard noises. It sounded like someone being hurt, so I went over to the side of the building to see what it was.”
“Jesus,” I say, along with Dean’s, “Don’t fucking do that. Next time you call us.”
“Why? You’re not my babysitter. I don’t need you to take care of me.” He winces, clearly in pain. “I feel like crap. My head is pounding. I’ll get this out quick because I know you won’t leave me alone until I do. There were three guys, wearing masks. They were beating up an old man. I tried to stop them, tried to call 911, but they hit me before I could. They turned their attention from the old man to me. It…” He closes his eyes—well, good eye—and doesn’t speak for a moment. When he does again, his voice breaks. “That’s it.”
“Can you remember anything about them? Accents? Anything?” I ask.
He shakes his head and winces again.
It’s not a lot to go on, but we’ll figure this out.
“Look, I’m tired. My whole body hurts. I need to get out of here.” He tries to turn in the bed, but the second he does, he cries out, clutching his rib.
“You’re not going anywhere.” I try to slow my breathing, try to unclench my hands. I’ll fucking kill whoever did this to him.
“I’m not one of your mini-mob members. You don’t control me, and I can’t afford this. If I put it on my insurance, my dad will find out. It would…he wouldn’t be able to handle it—knowing I’m hurt.”