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He started to say something else. Bailey turned her head and narrowed her eyes.
“No matter my aversion to needles,” she finished quietly for him. “Why didn’t you just say it?”
“Enough.” John was suddenly in her face, his expression furious. “You need stitches whether you want them or not. Just as you’ll need an antibiotic shot. What about tetanus?”
“Updated.” She glared back at him. “Don’t order me, John. You’re not the boss of me no matter what you believe.”
“Stop arguing with me or I’ll have you sedated on top of it,” he threatened. “And stop baiting Jerric. He has enough problems dealing with that one.” He jerked his head to Catalina, who smiled innocently.
Catalina. Tehya. God, these people had more names and identities than she had socks. Jerric was married as Micah Sloane, to one of the nicest young women he could have found. Risa Clay had been terrorized by her father before his death, and after. When Micah had been sent in to protect her from Orio
n, there had been no doubt he had fallen in love with her.
“Some men enjoy being difficult.” Catalina crossed her arms over her breasts as she gave the men another falsely sweet grin. “Jerric is one of the most difficult.”
Jerric grunted at that before turning back to John as he straightened from the bed.
“If everything is well here, then Catalina and I will leave for the time being,” he told John. “If you require any help, please let us know.”
Bailey nearly rolled her eyes.
As they left she turned back to John, watching as he moved to the bathroom and seconds later returned with a damp rag. Wiping the blood away, he surveyed the cut again.
“It doesn’t need stitches.” She sighed again. “Come on, John. I know my own body. It’s not hurting nearly bad enough to have to do that.”
“And I said stop arguing.”
He obviously wasn’t going to pay attention, and honestly, she was so bruised and sore at the moment that she really didn’t give a damn.
“Make sure he has painkillers,” she muttered. “And that he numbs it. I’m not in the mood for more pain if you don’t mind.”
Like Jerric, he grunted at the comment, obviously put out.
It wasn’t long before Raymond Greer’s surgeon arrived. A plastic surgeon even. What the rich and famous could accomplish in a small amount of time.
John ushered in the two men, standing back with Raymond as the surgeon checked out the wound.
Bailey closed her eyes at the first shot and winced.
“That better be a painkiller,” she told him.
The white-haired doctor chuckled. “Of course. I know my job, my dear,” he assured her before he laid out what he needed to work.
Bailey turned her head, refusing to look as he sterilized the items he pulled free. Minutes later she felt a sharp prick, her head jerking back to the surgeon furiously.
“It will numb the area, young lady,” he said, frowning back at her. “Or would you prefer to feel each stitch going in?”
She would have thrown up. Her stomach roiled at just the suggestion. She turned her head again, watching John and Raymond from her peripheral vision curiously. The painkiller was making her head a bit woozy, but even she could detect that there was more going on here than there should have been.
They were talking in low whispers, their voices too soft for her to make out the conversation.
Her lashes were drifting closed as, once again, she made a mental note to ask John exactly what was going on. Right now, she was tired. The crash from the adrenaline, the shock of the wound, the certainty she’d felt that she was going to die, only to take that next breath, all combined and piled down on her.
She was drifting in a nice, warm sea, surrounded by darkness, a feeling of security wrapping around her as long as she could hear John, sense him in the room.
He was there. She could rest. There was no reason to struggle to remain awake to protect herself. John would protect her.
“I’M FINISHED.” DR. DREYDEN rose from the side of the bed and meticulously packed away the bloody gauze and items he had used to stitch the wound shut.
