AllFreeNovel
Share Us
TWENTY-SEVEN
Aspen
“Please… Tell me what it is you want.”
I’d seen some things. Some wild things, but a guy coming into my hospital room with a gun was topping the charts. The fact that he had a costume on only added to the crazy situation that was happening here. Honestly, the costume wasn’t the weirdest part. He wore a Regency outfit like Thatcher and I had last night.
I shifted in my bed, the guy circling me. He didn’t have the gun on me, but he had one. It was at his side, the man middle-aged, a redhead. At least, I believed him to be. His hair was cropped short, but he had a trim layer of stubble on his face. He also had bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept.
I shifted again as he came closer, something weirdly familiar about him. I’d never seen him before. I think I’d remember.
Honestly, I was too busy thinking about how this whole situation had happened. The man had run in here like a bat out of hell as I’d been dozing off. Of course, that had startled me, but before I could ask him who he was, he had a gun on me. The irony of that wasn’t lost on me. I’d made up threats in the past.
This was a real one. Tried and true, it was real, and I couldn’t back up against the bed far enough. His Regency costume wasn’t quite like Thatcher’s and mine had been. With his long blue jacket and ruffled ensemble, he looked more like a servant in the period. Not a guest.
The man was beside my bed now, my gaze following him. I twitched when he grabbed the phone at the side of my bed, my phone.
My mouth parted. “What are you?—”
He placed it at the foot of my bed, then backed away. He nudged toward my phone with the gun. “Pick it up.”
I did even though I was still stiff, my chest fucking locked. My hands fumbled with it. I was still sore and panicked, and the guy shook his head like he was about to shoot me for the fumble.
“Stop freaking the fuck out. Just pick it fucking up,” he said, starting to assist me, but I got the phone. There were missed calls on it, texts…
Thatcher.
He actually started to call me while I had my phone in hand, and on instinct, I went to answer it.
That was a mistake. The guy with the gun noticed and put the gun in my face.
I raised my hands.
“You don’t do shit until I tell you,” he stated, his voice clipped, serious. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Now, listen really carefully. This will be easy, and I don’t want any trouble.”
He didn’t want any trouble? Again, the irony. I swallowed. “Look, if you want money?—”
“I want fucking justice, and you’re going to use that phone.” He paused, using his gun again to nudge toward the air. “To call your fucking boyfriend and get him to admit what he did.”
Okay, so there really were some weird fucking things happening in this room right now. “My… boyfriend?—”
The guy was moving fast again, and it freaked me out so much I dropped my phone. It landed in my lap about the time the man put his own phone in my face. He had a picture on it. My picture.
I was with Thatcher.
It was a stolen moment between us, one I thought was stolen, and though others were around while we danced at the time, I hadn’t seen them. I’d been lost in the moment. I’d been with Thatcher and it was easy.
My lashes flashed up, the picture of Thatcher and me dancing on the man’s phone.
“You’re going to call him,” the man said, backing away. “Get him on the phone. Now.”
This was crazy he wanted me to call Thatcher. Especially since Thatcher had just tried to call me. My throat jumped. “Why do you want me to?—”
“Just.” He pressed the gun to my head, and I shrieked. The whimper that hit my throat was more of a terrified groan, but the instant it sounded, he shook it out of me. He growled. “Stop fucking crying. You didn’t do anything wrong, but he did, and you’re going to get him to set it right. You will or there will be trouble. You hear me?”
I didn’t understand…
And I was crying.
