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“Storm.” She’s shaking me again, dammit. “There’s a man at the door.”
What man? The question spins in my mind, but she says nothing and I’m not sure I asked it. Drawing myself back from the dark is hard. Feels like I’m lying in quagmire, the mud sucking at my limbs, at my head.
Bracing my hands on the mattress, by her sides, I try to sit up and I can’t. The copper tang of blood fills my nostrils.
Move, I think. Move, goddammit.
Blood. Gore. Noise. Pain. Danger. Over and over again, twisting into my life, snagging around my neck, pulling me down.
Shit. One more try and I sit back on my heels, my breath coming in harsh pants. Something warm is trickling down my back. Blood. No wonder I thought I could smell it.
Raylin leans back on the bed, covering her breasts with her hands. She’s staring over my shoulder, her eyes narrowed.
“Well, this is awkward,” a familiar male voice says from behind me. “Won’t you introduce us, Storm?”
“Rook.”
The bed dips when he sits down beside me and his face enters my field of vision. “In the flesh. Hawk told me you were on your way. Couldn’t wait to get the party started, could you?”
“Fuck you,” I spit at him, and he doesn’t even flinch. That’s what happens when someone knows you since you were at toddler. So much harder to intimidate them.
Damn Rook. Despite the fact his hair has been shaved to a dark shadow on his skull, in his pressed gray suit and polished shoes he’s every inch the successful business man.
He always did manage to pull that image off better than me and Hawk. Then again, his tattoo peeks over the starched collar of his white shirt. Red roses, with so many bloody thorns…
“Who is he?” Raylin whispers, trying to move away but unable to, trapped under me. “What happened? Was that a bomb?”
“Bomb? Nah.” Rook grins at Ray, giving her a once-over. “Storm here left the stove on.”
“Damn you, Rook.” I shove at him, anger clearing my head. “Get out and stop ogling my girl.”
Ray makes a funny sound, and Rook huffs.
What? “Ray, meet Rook, one of my best friends.”
She says nothing. Rook glances from her to me and back, his grin growing bigger.
What the fuck is wrong with these guys?
God, my head is killing me. My back aches. The stench of blood is still there, and every movement causes a fresh spill down my back. I start reaching over my shoulder to check, and Rook grabs my arm in a flash.
He lowers it, face locked in a dark scowl. “You’re bleeding, you moron. Wait for the doctor.”
I stare at him stupidly.
Raylin curls a hand around my forearm, eyes wide. “You’re hurt?”
“It’s nothing,” I mutter. I like the light pressure of her fingers on my flesh.
“I was inside the building when I heard the explosion,” Rook says. “I thought a doctor might come in handy, and it just so happens my family has one on the payroll.”
“Jeez,” Raylin mutters, releasing my arm to better cover her tits. I stare at the soft mounds straining over her folded arms and lick my lips, distracted. “Don’t get too worried about your best friend getting caught in an explosion. You might strain something.”
That makes me grin. Hey, she’s on my side.
“Didn’t call the police to avoid the vultures,” Rook says, ignoring her comment, but getting up and pulling an afghan from one of the chairs and throwing it to her. She wraps it around herself, glaring daggers. “Better keep them off our backs. Let’s last at least a day, huh? A day without reporters hanging outside your windows, snapping photos.”
God, yeah. And despite his cool attitude, I know he’s worried. But Rook doesn’t show much on the outside, unlike Hawk who wears his heart on his sleeve, twisted and dark as it is. Rook is cool and steady, a boiling, writhing mess that may explode at any moment.
