Rhythmic beeping pullsme froma deepsleep.The deepest sleep I’ve ever experienced in my life. Almost like when I had my wisdom teeth removed, and they put me under.
There’s a pounding in my head, like a drummer trying his best to keep time with whatever’sbeeping butfailing miserably.
Where am I?The incessant beeping says the hospital, but the bed says luxury.
A groan works its way up my dry, aching throatas random bits and pieces—memories, maybe—flash through my mind, in dull, muddied sepia tones.
Work. Clint. Lunch. Needle. Dress. Knife. Blood. Ellis.
It all comes rushing back infull color, and ascream lodgesin mythroat as my eyes flyopen.
“Hey, Princess,” Ellis says, rushing to my side. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
“It’s over?”I ask,trying to lift my hand tomy throat, only to findmy range of motion limited thanks to a sling. I try my other hand. It shakes as I drag my fingers over my neck.“Really over?”
“Yeah, it’s reallyover.”He helps me sit up, fluffing my pillow behind me.“You want some water?”
I nod, but the motion makes my head swim.My brain feels like a piece of fruit caught in a blender. Utterly pulverized.
“Take it easy.” Ellis brings a straw to my lips. “Slow sips.”
It’s a struggle to wrap my lips around the straw.
“You have a split lip,” Ellis tells me. Makes sense, because every little movement tugs harshly on the skin there.
“What else?”I ask, hating how raspy I sound.
“Bruising. Swelling. Your, um, eyes are bloodshot. Probably from being choked. You have a minor cut by your eye and one on your chest. Patch thinks you have a mild concussion but wants to talk to you before making any official declarations.”
“Who?”I ask, vaguely remember a handful of men in leather vests.
“I work with him.He’sa medic and helped me get you home.He’salso responsible for all of this.”Ellis fans his hands out, and I finally look around the room.
“How?”I wince as I try to get my throat to cooperate.“I’m home?”
“Yeah, you’re home. He’s has access to, well, everything. He’s got you set up and has been monitoring you.”
“How long—”my voice cracks, but Ellis understands the unspokenhave I been out,just fine.
“A few hours.”He gingerly lowers himself to sit next to me on the edge of the bed.
“What else?”I sound like a cartoon robot in need of oil. I hate it.I hate that any of this happened.I hate how weak I feel.
“Substantial cut on your forearm. Patch glued it for transport, but you’ll probably need stitches.”
Explains the sling and burning pain,I think bitterly.
Tears threaten to fall as my pity party ramps up.
“You’re not weak,” Ellis says, because, apparently, he’s developed telepathy.
“Didn’t say that.”I wince as my lips tug into a frown.
“You’re right.”Hereaches out and smooths the wrinkle between my brows.“You didn’t, but your thoughts are playing out like a movie across your face.”
I flick my eyes away from him, glaring intently at the corner of the room.
“Don’t be like that, Princess.” His tone is pleading. “You’re so fucking strong. An absolutely warrior. Hell, maybe I’ll call you Xena—because you’re my warrior princess.”
