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"You're damn right," I growled, the anger aiding to push through the haze of pain that clouded my thoughts. I’d always been one for strategy over brutality, but the weight of Justice, Skylar, Hassan, and Sebastian’s safety on my shoulders called for a different game altogether.
I closed my eyes, drawing a deep breath as I tried to let the pain medication do its work. My mind was racing with questions and fury. The De Luca's were crossing lines they shouldn’t dare to cross. Images of Darius’ severed head flashed across my mind's eye, filling me with a dread I hadn't felt in years.
I was about to ask Bash more about what happened when the door creaked open, pulling both our attention towards it. It was Skylar and Justice, their faces worn but carrying an undeniable relief upon seeing me awake. She was still wearing her wedding dress, now drenched in dried blood, and it made my stomach turn.
Not because of the blood–I’d seen plenty of that in my life.
Because I was angry.
"Zane!" Justice said. She threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around me. It made me yelp in pain, but I appreciated it all the same.
"Easy, love," I groaned softly, my hand instinctively reaching up to stroke her hair. The sharp sting of pain was a dull throb compared to the soothing effect her presence had on me.
Skylar came up behind Justice, his hand resting on her shoulder as he tried to smile. "Glad you're awake, mate," he said quietly, his blue eyes showing traces of lingering worry.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak just yet. The room was beginning to spin slightly from all the movement and emotion.
"I'm going to get some coffee myself," Bash said, even though they had clearly brought him some. He stepped outside to give us some space, a gesture I was thankful for. Skylar moved to sit in the chair Bash had vacated while Justice perched herself carefully on the edge of my bed, taking care not to jostle me too much.
"Been keeping you on your toes, have I?" I tried to joke, doing my best to lighten the mood.
“Don’t be flippant about this, Zane,” Justice admonished, worry creasing her beautiful features.
I brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, squeezing her hand in reassurance.
She frowned but didn't say anything else, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand. The silence was comfortable, if not entirely devoid of the tension clawing at us.
The silence was broken by Skylar's faux-casual, "So, you're not going to make a habit out of this gunshot business, are you?"
He was raising his knee up and down nervously, in a way that didn't feel very much like him at all.
"No," I promised hoarsely. "Once is more than enough for me."
Justice's fingers tightened around mine while Skylar gave a nod of approval. A heavy pause followed, filled with unspoken worry and unsaid words. After a moment, Justice broke the silence.
"We were so scared, Zane," she said softly.
"You can't do this," Skylar said, his eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know who I am without you."
I looked at them both, taking in the fear in their eyes. It was a strange thing to see, fear in the eyes of the strongest people I knew.
"I'm not going anywhere," I reassured them, though I knew no words could truly ease their worry. "Not leaving my family. Not now, not ever."
Skylar nodded slowly, pulling a breath in sharply before letting it rush out in a shaky exhale. Justice glanced at him with concern before reaching over to give his hand a squeeze.
"We'll figure this out," she said quietly, her voice filled with determination. "We're not going to let the De Luca's get away with this."
"Yeah," Skylar agreed, although he didn't sound quite convinced yet. He gave Justice's hand a squeeze back before releasing it and running his fingers through his hair. "Okay."
The door swung open again, and this time, Bash came in with the doctor. She was a middle-aged woman with graying hair tied into a no-nonsense bun, and she gave us a curt nod as she grabbed my chart. I wondered if she handled cases like mine on the regular since she seemed so poised and prepared. But there were dark circles underneath her eyes and a telltale slump in her shoulders.
"Good to see you’re awake, Mr. Silva," she said, making her way across the room to check my vitals. I barely even flinched when she prodded around the bandage on my chest.
"Dr. Silva," I replied. "I'm a surgeon. You can just...talk to me like a colleague."
Bash shut the door behind him and wordlessly took a sip of his coffee.
The doctor let out a faint chuckle, her eyes flickering up to meet mine. "It's different when you're the one on the bed," she pointed out, her voice carrying a hint of sympathy that managed to cut through the clinical detachment.
