The man looks up, draws a weapon from his side, and fires three times. Small pops. Barely loud enough to cut through the rain. Did he just save me? The question barely goes through my brain when a broad hand brings down the butt of a gun onto my savior’s head. His eyes widen and blood slides down his face. He falls to the side.
How many attackers are out here in the stormy night?
I struggle, fighting the darkness, but with the rain slamming against me, I close my eyes again and then actually feel my body go limp. Unconscious.
SEVEN
Ella
Asmell awakens me, and I’m in a comfortable bed. The scent is sharp and oddly comforting, a strange blend of minty air freshener and lavender. I breathe out evenly, unsure why that combination makes my brain twitch.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A high, mechanical chirping bounces above my head. I crack my eyes open.
Everything around me is white. Not the sterile white I’d expect from a hospital, but a soft, designer white. The walls and counters are beige and gold-trimmed, like someone decorated this place for a magazine shoot and decided to toss a wounded woman into the middle of it for drama.
I glance down. A plush white blanket covers me, warmed and tucked. My head feels like someone used it for bocce ball practice. My vision swims, then slowly sharpens.
My stepmother sits in a chair next to the bed, ankles crossed, perfectly still, and her floral perfume wafts myway. Her nails are flawless, manicured in pale pink. Her expression is one of mild amusement, like this is a casual brunch and not a hospital room where I just woke up with half my brain rattling loose.
My lungs spasm. I gasp.
“Relax.” Sylveria Rendale lifts one of those perfect hands in a dismissive wave. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
She’s not wrong. I fumble around until I find the remote attached to the side of the bed and smash the button. The motor whines as the bed creaks upright, and I press a shaking palm to my temple, trying to catch up. “What the hell happened?”
Sylveria tilts her head like she’s examining a piece of fruit she’s not sure she wants to buy. Her newest hairdo is a straight brunette cut with not a strand out of place, and her suit—a pink linen number, pants and jacket with a matching shell—looks like it stepped out of aVoguespread. Unwrinkled. Immaculate. How does she wear linen without causing one wrinkle?
“Apparently someone tried to kill you,” she says. “Another man waiting for you shot him. My guy hit that guy in the head and brought you here. It seems like you have more than one enemy after you. You’re welcome.”
I blink. It’s rare for me to be speechless, but right now, in a luxury hospital suite with Sylveria fucking Rendale lounging next to me like this is normal, I find myself struggling for words. I swallow. “I’m going to need more than that.”
“That’s all I’ve got, dear.” Her tone is syrupy and smug.
I narrow my eyes. “Didn’t you try to have me killed just a short time ago?”
She waves a hand, somehow managing to look elegant even as she brushes off an attempted murder. “Oh, please. It was one little hit. I don’t think there’s any reason to get too upset. It failed, as you know.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I’m still here.” Though honestly, it feels like my body went five rounds in the NBA as a basketball.
Why would Sylveria save me and then sit here in the hospital as if watching over me? She hates me. A diamond necklace clings to her throat and matches the six-string bracelet on her wrist as well as three thick rings glittering on her fingers. Sylveria Rendale truly loves her diamonds. She wears them like armor.
I shake my head and immediately regret it. Pain lights up my skull like someone cracked it with a bat. “Why did you have somebody bring me to the hospital? We both know you want me dead.”
She tilts her head. “Oh, dear. Would you stop being so dramatic?” She sounds like she might be frowning, but her Botoxed forehead stays unlined. No movement, no expression. Sylveria is a gorgeous woman. Still in her forties, her eyes are a piercing, unnerving blue, and her bone structure is straight out of a sculpture. I’m almost certain she’s had some work done, but not the overdone kind. Just enough to make her face unforgettable.
I can see what my father saw in her.
Too bad she’s also a monster. As beautiful as she is poisonous.
My gaze drops to my arms. No straps. No restraints. But I’m not stupid. If I know Sylveria, and unfortunately I do, there are guards just outside the door. She wouldn’t risk letting me wake up without backup. I try to banishthe reasonable fear coursing through me. “What do you want?” My voice shakes, but not enough to count me out. I’m in a hospital bed after being knocked unconscious, so I figure I get a pass.
The memories slam into me without warning. The man in my safe house. His shadow, the hit, the scuffle. Blood. Darkness. Then the guy outside shooting him.
I gasp. My heart kicks against my ribs. “What happened to the guy who attacked me in the house?” I try to read anything in that cold, lovely face. “Is he dead?”
“No. You didn’t kill him, and neither did the bullets he took outside,” Sylveria says, her tone flat, almost disinterested. “My people have escorted him somewhere secure.”
