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Sure, Hunt had given it back a couple of days later with a reminder to always be humble, but still. It was the thought that counted.
Snagging clean clothes out of the laundry room after I left the window, I walked back to the bedroom and stepped into the shower, loving that my new cast was waterproof and allowed me to shower normally for the most part. Something that I’d longed to do for a few long weeks now.
After making sure everything was squeaky clean and making sure that Trick’s man juice was no longer leaking out of me, I got dressed, dried my hair, and even applied a light smattering of makeup.
I eyed myself critically in the bathroom mirror.
Though I no longer had the bruises, I still had a slightly crooked nose. Not bad, and definitely not noticeable by anyone that hadn’t stared at this face for the last twenty-nine years.
I was just about to head down to the office, and in fact was gathering my keys and a power drink, when I was interrupted.
There was a knock on the door, and without waiting for an answer, it popped open and two women walked in.
“Ummm,” I hesitated. “Hello.”
They both beamed.
“You realize that you just walked into someone’s house without knocking?” I felt it prudent to point out.
The shorter of the two, the one with bright orange hair, grinned. “Trick told us to. Though, he also made it sound like you were an invalid. He said that you couldn’t get out of bed.”
I rolled my eyes. Hard.
“I can get out of bed, when he lets me,” I grumbled. “He’s just severely overprotective. And he won’t let me breathe. I was just going down to the office, because this is the first time he’s left the apartment in weeks without making sure someone was here to keep me in bed.”
First it was his sister here keeping me company. Then all the boys, even Zach who was still mad at me for lying to Trick for a whole thirty seconds.
The two women had been there as well.
Beckham, Trouper’s wife, was the curly-haired blonde one. Trouper had told me everything he could about her and his son, Hiro, during his babysitting duty.
Six was Lynn’s woman, and a spitfire.
Though, in the weeks since I’d been convalescing, they’d stayed away. Though I’d seen photos of them.
Well, not photos exactly. Surveillance videos.
Hunt had surveillance everywhere now. At every single house that each man owned, and at every place of business, also. Even my office.
The women had stayed away out of an overabundance of caution on the men’s part.
Technically, with Ignacia still out there, they’d wanted to make sure that their vulnerable weren’t all in one place, making it easier for Ignacia to make her move.
Something in which she hadn’t done. Not that we knew of, anyway.
“We got tired of staying away,” Beckham said. “It was getting exhausting. I feel like we need solidarity at a time like this, and they don’t control us.”
“They don’t know we’re here,” Six agreed. “We were hoping to steal you away for lunch.”
I made an O face as I thought about how awesome it would be to get the hell out of here.
Just thinking about going to an actual restaurant made me want to jump for joy.
“Could we?” I breathed. “I was going to go get some work done in the office for once instead of my bed, but going out to an actual restaurant actually sounds amazing.”
“I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t broken out before now,” Beckham whispered, eyeing my clothes critically. “You got a place to conceal carry under that?”
I looked down at my yoga pants and t-shirt.
“No,” I admitted. “Not unless I change my pants, which I can’t just yet. I still haven’t been able to fit anything over my cast but stretchy things.”
“When do you get it off?” Beckham queried as she reached into her purse for something and handed it to me. It was black and had a stretchy band material to it.
“Umm.” I took it and looked at it.
“Goes over your pants, under your shirt,” she answered. “It’s a holster for the gun I know that Trick made you practice with.”
Trick had made me learn to shoot better. As in, he made me practice until it was second nature. He’d actually taught me how to handle stressful situations by taking me to the land that he told me belonged to Lynn.
He’d taught me how to shoot from my wheelchair.
Then told me to always have it on me until the ‘crazy bitch was found.’ I was assuming that ‘crazy bitch’ was Ignacia. But there were probably multiple crazy bitches in the world.
“Oh,” I said as I lifted my shirt and slipped it on.
“Perfect,” Beckham said, eyeing my clothes critically. “You need to keep that on you at all times now. Our men aren’t in a good line of business, and this is a good practice to keep.”
