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I pulled a pen from the pocket of my scrubs and pushed the tip out before leaping onto the bastard’s back and pushing the point of it to the back of his neck.
He froze.
“I have a needle full of morphine hovering directly over your spinal cord,” I growled, trying to keep my breathing even and not let him hear the pure deception that was falling from my lips. “Unless you want to be a floating head, I would stay very fucking still.”
Bullshit. Straight bullshit. But it worked.
“You don’t know who the fuck you’re dealing with,” he spat while keeping completely still. “I’m going to kill you.”
I scoffed. “If this is the best you’ve got…”
I knew in my gut there was something seriously more sinister going on, but I pushed it to the side when the cops came in and relieved me of my position.
What I didn’t realize, though—was that ignoring that feeling was my first mistake.
And I was going to pay for it.
Chapter Ten
BISHOP
“The hell were you thinking?” I loudly questioned as I stormed through the emergency room’s double doors. Hawk was right on my heels, barely squeezing through behind me before they swung closed again.
The U-shaped room was lined with small, curtained cubicles, and a large doctors’ and nurses’ station stood proudly in the center. Shay sat behind it, her auburn hair like a beacon, pulling me toward her as she slowly spun her chair to face me, folding her arms across her chest.
The man in the white coat beside her went straight into panic mode as Hawk and I approached, his eyes frantically searching the room until they fell on a couple of guys wearing white button-ups. “Securit—”
“It’s okay!” Shay interrupted, rolling her eyes. “They’re with me.” The two security guards barely shuffled a few feet in our direction before turning away again, honestly looking relieved as it was obvious one of them had already gone a few rounds and lost.
The doctor standing with Shay didn’t look much better, with his eye swollen and a wide split in his lip. “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “This morning has already been far too exciting for me. I’m a little on edge.”
Ignoring his complaints, I scanned my eyes over Shay, quickly noting the ice pack she had pressed to her ribs. She’d gotten hurt, and it boiled my fucking blood. I pressed my hands against the desk between us, leaning in and lowering my voice. “If I’d known you were going to lose your fucking mind and try to take down a street pimp, I would have never shared those photos with you.”
She leaned in as much as she could on her little roller chair, meeting my dark stare with one of her own. “If you’d never shared those photos with me, that street pimp probably would have gotten away with dragging Alice out of here.”
I slammed my palm down, the loud bang shocking the entire room into silence. “He could have killed you.”
Shay swallowed hard, her eyes beginning to glisten, though she refused to back down or look away. “He wouldn’t be the first person to try.”
It wasn’t often I was left without words, but all I could do was hold her gaze.
There was no joke.
No just kidding!
She wasn’t being dramatic to get a response out of me, but I guess she’d gotten one anyway. This was fucking it. Shay never spoke a lot about her past. The handful of things I knew about her were from what Calli had told me—she’d lost her mom, spent a few years in the foster system, and hated the dark.
Together, none of that information had told me much. But as I collected more pieces, things began to fall into place and create a bigger picture. Shay had all the signs of a survivor.
Someone who had been through some shit and barely lived to tell the tale.
Which was why, on the ride over, I’d been almost out of my fucking mind wondering what the hell I was going to walk into because I knew she was never going to sit her ass down and wait for us. No. She would throw herself into the line of danger because her knee-jerk reaction was to fight.
To come out swinging and hope for the fucking best.
And not just for herself.
For anyone else she thought might be in trouble, anyone who looked like they couldn’t fight for themselves—friends, family, people sitting in a damn hospital waiting room, or some girl she saw in a photo I’d shown her a week ago.
