Page 88 of Unexpected Complication

“Cian, there were complications. You have a breathing tube in your throat. Don’t try to speak and don’t panic. Blink twice if you understand me.”

It took me a minute to get coordinated enough to follow his instructions, but finally, I blinked.

“Good. Once you’re awake a bit, they’ll remove the tube.”

I blinked again, then moved my gaze around.

“You’re in the hospital.”

I kept looking around, and he smiled. “Skylar is asleep. Julia and the doctors convinced her to rest a little. She has barely left your side.”

I frowned.

“You’ve been out for a few days.”

I lifted my shaking hand and tried to make the letter O. He understood what I was trying to ask.

“Orson is dead. The entire organization is in disarray. We shut it down, Cian. Totally.”

I closed my eyes in relief and frustration. I wanted to know what had happened. How we’d come out alive. I could remember some things and not others. I wanted to know all of it. Opening my eyes back up, I tapped my neck impatiently, and he smirked. “Your patience hasn’t improved, I see. I’ll go get the doctor and check on your girl.”

I waved my hand, watching as he left the room, wondering if he could maybe go a little faster. I needed to be able to talk. I needed to know what had happened.

My eyes drifted shut, and memories crept through the fogginess. The confrontation with Orson. Seeing Skylar scared and hurt. Rex not giving away who Skylar was. All those details were clear in my mind, but then things got fuzzy. I remembered the yelling and Orson’s sneers and threats. I touched my chest as the skewed image of a knife came to mind. I had been stabbed. Orson stabbed me.

Skylar was behind me, screaming. Orson smiling that horrible, cold smile. Then he had a gun. My gun—and the remote. I watched him press the button, but there hadn’t been an explosion. Why wasn’t I dead? Why weren’t we all dead?

I fought against the panic I could feel building. If I was alive and Sean was here, that meant Skylar was too. I had heard her voice. I had seen her—hadn’t I? Sean said she was sleeping. She was all right.

Right?

I opened my eyes, fixing my stare on the door.

I needed answers, and I needed them now.

My throat hurt like hell when the tube was out. The ice chips soothed the fire, but the raw ache was still there. My voice sounded as though I’d been gargling with sandpaper.

“Where is Skylar?”

Sean ran a hand over his face. He looked wasted. “I told you she was sleeping.”

There was something he wasn’t telling me. “Is she hurt?” I demanded and cleared my throat. “More than the bruises I saw on her face and her neck?”

He hesitated, and my stomach clenched. She was hurt.

“How bad?” I whispered, finding it difficult to form any words. Had Orson cut her throat deeper than I thought?

“She’ll be fine, Cian. I swear. Fuck—stop looking at me like that. I promise you she is resting. She was here with you the whole time you were out. She pushed herself too hard, but once we were sure you’d be okay, Julia convinced her to rest.”

I looked over at the empty space beside me. “Why isn’t she there?”

He shrugged. “Hospital policy.”

“Fuck that,” I growled. “I want her close.”

He rolled his eyes. “Good God, the two of you are killing me. She refused to leave your room and put up such a fuss, eventually, the doctor caved. We managed to get her to her own room to rest, and now you want her back.” He leaned his head back, gazing up to the ceiling. “I’m too old for this shit.”

“I’ll leave it alone for now. Let her rest,” I agreed grudgingly. “But I want her back in here when she wakes up. Give them money. Whatever it takes for the doctor to bend the fucking policy. I want her close.” I swallowed the burning sensation that was increasing in my chest. “I need her close.”