Page 81 of Property of Kevlar

Kevlar

Sledgehammers pounded against Kevlar’s skull. His right bicep and his left side were on fire. With each inhale, his skin pulled. His bones ached. The hardness beneath him didn’t help at all. What the fuck was he lying on anyway?

No matter how many times he blinked, he couldn’t get his vision to clear.

“He’s waking up,” a woman declared.

Who?

Where was he?

“That’s a good sign,” someone else said.

Softness skittered over his hand. Fingers wrapped around his palm and squeezed it. “Kev?” the original woman asked.

Turning his head slightly was a monumental task. An ocean sloshed in his brain. He was fucked up worse than he’d ever been before.

One more time, he closed his eyes and opened them. The world finally came into focus.

Tender pale-blue eyes glittered with worry. Messy, knotted blond hair framed her features. The fluorescent bulbs behind her made her glow. There she was, safe and sound.

“Kitten?” he rasped as razor blades sliced the inside of his throat. What he wouldn’t give for a glass of water.

Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded and brought his hand to her lips. She brushed his knuckles with soft kisses.

Someone else grabbed his chin, turned his head back, and the world spun. A bright light shone in his left and then his right eye. Briefly, he couldn’t see anymore.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed.

“Weston?” the unfamiliar woman said. “Do you have any idea where you are?”

He squinted and grunted through the rough examination. “Home.”

“More specifically,” she said.

“I don’t know.” He winced when she touched his side. “You fucking blinded me. I can’t really see.”

“Why does he sound like that?” Kelsey asked. “Is he okay?”

“You’re at the shop.” Remi came into his line of sight wearing her ever-present pissed-off expression. “You got stabbed.”

“And shot,” he said as he tried to push himself up to a seated position.

Kelsey stepped back and bit her lower lip.

The woman he didn’t know cocked her head to the side as she assessed his ability to move his body.

“Don’t help,” he groaned as he struggled to get upright. “I got this.”

Tightening his abdominal muscles hurt like a son of a bitch.

Wheezing and out of breath, he finally found a way to hold himself that didn’t hurt too badly. He rested his forearms over his slightly bent knees. He was at the Oberlin Body Shop. They’d laid him out on a desk. No wonder it was as uncomfortable as shit.

But then again, this situation beat being dead.

Beggars couldn’t be choosers, he supposed.

He eyed the unknown woman who was in charge of his care. “Who are you?”