Page 20 of Life Or Death

“Mr. Holland.” The doctor who tried to move Tori steps forward, his voice tight. “Your wife is in extreme distress. Her heart rate is dangerously elevated, and she’s fighting the ventilator. If we don’t sedate her immediately, she risks⁠—”

Lucifer cuts him off, but his eyes never leave mine. He doesn’t turn his head or shift his gaze to the wall behind like he’s done so many times before. He just holds my stare.

“Then sedate her,” he growls. “But do it gently. And don’t you dare fucking touch her like that again.”

The doctor opens his mouth, then closes it. He nods once and turns to the nurse hovering near the IV.

I stare up at Lucifer, trying to make sense of what’s happening.

“You’re okay,” he says, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. His hand finds mine, and his fingers wrap around my palm. They’re warm, rough, and steady, and they swallow mine completely. “I’m not going to let anything, or anyone, hurt you. I’ve got you now.”

I want to pull away. I want to demand answers. But the cold is already creeping in through the IV, sliding up my arm and spreading through my chest. My eyelids grow impossibly heavy, and the edges of my vision darken.

Lucifer’s face is the last thing I see—his jaw clenched, his lips moving as he utters words I can no longer hear.

Then the darkness takes me again, and this time, I don’t fight it.

Time becomes meaningless in the space between consciousness and oblivion. Slowly, the fog begins to lift. The hum of the machines grows louder, and I become aware of my body again—the ache in my chest, the heaviness in my limbs, and the strange numbness that creeps over every part of me except for my legs.

My eyelids feel like they weigh a hundred pounds each, but I force them open anyway. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust, and when it does, I turn my head slowly. The room comes into focus in pieces—the IV stand with its clear bag of fluid and the monitor with its growing green lines—all reminding me I’m in a hospital and a prisoner to my body.

Lucifer sits in a chair beside my bed, his massive frame folded into a seat that’s clearly too small for him. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands clasped together, his head bowed. The leather of his cut stretches across his broad shoulders, and even in the dim light, I can see the dark circles under his eyes, the stubble that covers his jaw, the exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

I stare at him, trying to understand why the silent, brooding biker—the man who spent countless nights watching me from across the bar—is sitting vigil at my bedside.

My lips part, but no sound comes out. The tube is still down my throat, and the realization sends a fresh wave of panic through me. My heart rate spikes, and the machine beside me beeps in response.

Lucifer’s head snaps up at the sound, and his gaze cuts to me.

For a moment, neither of us moves. He just stares at me, those dark eyes wide and unblinking.

I start to wonder if I’m dreaming. If this is some twisted mind game, one where the Devil himself sits at my bedside, watching over me like some kind of twisted guardian angel. Maybe the fire fried my brain, and this is what madness looks like.

But if he’s a figment of my imagination, why does he look so real? Why can I see the way his throat works as he swallows?

His gaze drops to my hand, which lies limp on the mattress beside me. Slowly, as if he’s afraid to touch me, he reaches for it. His fingers intertwine with mine, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity through my entire body.

He squeezes my hand.

Real.

“Tori,” he rasps. “She’s awake.”

“Jess.” My name leaves her lips like a prayer, and she’s at my side in an instant, her hand finding my free one. “Don’t panic,” she whispers. “I need you to listen to me, okay? I know you’re scared and confused, but you have to stay calm. If you get hysterical again, they won’t be able to remove the tube. Blink if you understand, okay? Once for yes, twice for no.”

I blink once.

I understand.

“Good.” She squeezes my hand.

Lucifer stands, his hand slipping from mine. “I’ll get the doctor.”

Tori pulls the chair closer and sits, never letting go of my hand. Her thumb traces circles against my knuckles, and I focus on the sensation, using it to anchor myself.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Memories flash before me. I remember trying to get those girls off the bull so we could close the bar for the night. Then there was a noise. Glass shattered. The next thing I recall is the flames that spread throughout the bar. People screamed. Chaos ensued. Heat . . . so much heat.