Page 142 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

I pop to my feet as she walks up to me.“They’re closing Frankie up,” she tells me.“The surgeon said she got insanely lucky—the bullet caused minimal vascular damage and only grazed the liver.No other vital organs were damaged, K.She’ll need to stay a couple weeks in the hospital, but she’ll make a full recovery.”

Everyone in the waiting room erupts in cheers.There’s a lot of hugging happening and I pick up Phoebe and swing her in a circle.As I rotate, I see that my dad has now joined Phyllis in crying and that Evander looks like he wants to poke my eyes out.

I set Phoebe down and she pats my arm.“Frankie will be able to dance at my wedding—and any other weddings she might be attending,” she adds with a wink.

“You probably should specifywhichkind of dancing,” Summer says.

“Thank you, Phoebe,” I croak, just as I collapse in the chair.

It happens—everything I’ve been holding in comes to the surface and I weep like a damn baby, putting Aunt Phyllis’s breakdown to shame.

CHAPTER 71

Frankie

So dry.

Painfully dry.

Like ground glass is packed in my mouth and shoved down my throat, scraping against the inside of my throat.

I try to swallow but I swear I don’t remember how.No, that’s not it.I do remember.It’s just that I can’t.Because I can’t move the muscles in my throat.Or my tongue or lips.I can’t open my eyelids, either.I can’t suck in enough air.

I can’t…

“Boots.”

I go still.My heart calms and my breath steadies.Because I know that name.I know that voice.

“Frankie, I’m right here, sweetheart.Take your time.Go slow, baby.There’s no rush.I’m here.”

A cry exits my lips.I sound awful.What’s wrong with me?Where am I?

Images bang against the inside of my head, trying to sort themselves out and form pictures that make some kind of sense.I know that something bad happened to me.Something awful.

Like a flash, I see it.Niko’s house.The cold stone floor.And I’m hurt—everywhere.

And… Niko’s dead?

He’s dead.

I’m alive.

I’m free.

I flutter my fingers because that’s all I can manage to move, and immediately, he’s there.A big hand swallows mine.I feel him move in close.I know that scent—leather and fresh mountain air and horses.And the barest hint of expensive cologne.

Special K.

But there’s too much pain.I can’t speak and I can’t even smile at him, though I want to.I’m desperate to.

His fingers brush the hair from my face.I can’t hug him.I can’t lift my arms to hug him.

When his strong arms slip around me, I’m relieved—so very thankful.He’s being careful with me.His touch is soft.He lifts me, cradles me in his embrace.And holds me close.

Special K’s got me.My cowboy.

Hot tears sting my skin as they slip down my face.I’m so sore, but it’s all right.He’s got me.I’m alive.