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Speaking of which… they must’ve stopped giving me medicine, or my body must’ve gotten used to it. Or maybe they needed to change the bag. Either way, I could feel an internal soreness in my gut, on my side, like my body was asking me: what the hell did you do to me? I had no answers for it, and all I could do was groan.
Groan and realize there was a slight commotion in the hall.
Zander stood, blocking the doorway to whoever was out there. His arms were folded over his chest, and from his body language, he didn’t appear too thrilled with whoever it was. He was busy saying, “I don’t care. I’m not letting you in.”
“You really wanna go at it in a hospital?” The moment the other man spoke, I knew who it was. The slight accent, the rough way the words came out of his mouth. Though I couldn’t see him, I knew exactly who it was. “If you wanna go with me, then let’s go, pretty boy. Let’s paint these walls red.”
Who was it? Oh, just the man who’s somehow stumbled upon me right after I’d been shot. Still very suspect. I didn’t trust Damian at all, and yet I knew if I didn’t step in, neither one of them would bend.
“Let him in,” I called out, raising my voice as loud as I could, considering the fact that I was suddenly parched.
Zander threw a look over his shoulder, his green eyes narrowed at me, as if he couldn’t quite believe me. Like he thought I’d never want to see Damian. Which, okay, in a perfect world, I wouldn’t. But look at me, for fuck’s sake. I was shot, currently laid up in the hospital, and the only reason I was here was because of the very man in question.
If he wanted to come in and see me, let him. I wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing that night, anyway.
“You’re lucky she’s awake,” Zander growled out, slowly moving to let Damian push past him.
Brushing off his shoulder, as if he’d caught something from Zander when moving past him, Damian strolled in, looking just as cocky as ever. The moment those dark eyes saw me, his face lit up, an easy grin spreading on his face. His smile was a little lopsided, I noticed. I’d been so focused on all of his tattoos, especially the ones on his neck, that I’d neglected to notice before.
When he smiled, he wasn’t bad to look at, I had to admit. Still totally not my type; more of a gangster street vibe than a refined mafia boss. Damian wasn’t on the same level as my father, or many of the other wannabe Black Hand members, for that matter. And yet he was still here, still a part of all of this—that had to mean something.
It meant he was good. Better than the vibe he gave off. I couldn’t afford to underestimate him.
He sat down in the hideous chair beside my bed, leaning back and spreading his legs. A gold chain hung around his neck, a t-shirt clinging to his frame and torn jeans on his bottom half. Even the way he dressed was different.
“Your guard dog’s a little annoying,” he spoke, still giving me that lopsided grin.
“Zander’s only trying to protect me. I was just shot, in case you forgot.” I couldn’t stop the annoyance from creeping into my voice; Damian knew what happened to me, and he also knew that Zander was stuck to my side. I didn’t like hearing him call him a guard dog, even if it was kind of true.
“Oh, no, I haven’t forgotten,” Damian said with a shake of his head. “You’re lucky I was in the area, baby girl, otherwise you might be flying high with the other angels right now.”
“I’m no angel.” I swallowed, glaring at him as best I could, given the fact that I was exhausted. “And stop calling me baby girl. I’m not your baby girl.” I might’ve sounded tougher if I wasn’t stuck to a freaking hospital bed.
He leaned toward me. He didn’t touch me, but he was close. Too close, and yet I couldn’t move away from him. I was a captive audience, and I hated the way his dark eyes danced as they stared at me. “Then what should I call you?”
“My name would be a good place to start.”
“Nah.”
I blinked. I could’ve gone on with him, went along with this conversation, whatever the hell it was supposed to be, but instead I asked, “What the hell are you doing here, Damian? Actually, scratch that. Let me ask you something else. What were you doing out that night? You weren’t following me, were you?”
The grin stayed on his face, and yet it was different than it had been moments ago. More serious. This was the Damian that was trying for the Black Hand. This was a peek at the calculating man behind the mask. “If you’re trying to accuse me, do it right. Ask what you wanna ask, baby girl.”
There he was with that baby girl business again. Grinding my teeth, I questioned, “Did you shoot me?” It landed on serious ears, and Damian did nothing but stare at me for a while. I stared right back, although I glanced toward Zander, who stood at the door, ready to leap into action, depending on what Damian said.
Just because we weren’t supposed to kill each other didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. You could only throw a bunch of killers together in the same city and tell them not to hunt each other for so long. Eventually, someone was bound to snap, bound to break. Killers would do as killers did: kill.
It was a long moment before Damian did something I wasn’t expecting: he laughed. He actually laughed, and I wasn’t sure if he was laughing at me or not. Probably, given what he said next: “You’re funny. Why do you think I would shoot you?”
Because of my father? Because of my connection to him? Because it was the easiest way to go after Miguel Santos and take away the only heir he had and therefore pull him out of the competition?
I didn’t say any of that, though. I said, “I don’t know. You tell me.”
The grin fell off his face, and he stared at me strangely. “You really think I’d shoot you? Baby girl, if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead, and before you died, I’d make sure you knew who it was. I don’t attack people under the cover of darkness, wearing a hood to hide my identity.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I tried to sit up. Doing so only caused my gut to hurt, so I lay back down, hating that I was so helpless and weak. “You saw? Did you see anything else? What about his face?” Depending on Damian for answers wasn’t smart, but right now, I’d take any shot in the dark.
“The only thing I saw was a man running away in a hood,” Damian said, rubbing his hands together as he set his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t stop him because I was too busy wondering who the hell he shot at. Imagine my surprise when I stumble upon you.” He paused, the intensity in his stare almost too much. “Who’d you piss off now?”
