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If she's in pain, she's not showing it. Maybe for my benefit. It doesn't change the fact. She's hurt, and it's allbecause of me.
Sure, my mother is the one responsible—not to mention "Damian," who ordered thugs to rough me up, or drag me away, I can't quite tell what they intended before Toni intervened. But the true person responsible here is me. I should have moved away after Monday to ensure I wasn’t putting my roommates in danger.
Actually, scratch that. I should have made one phone call and had the entire situation fixed. I know Camdenwouldhave given me the money. Damn the price he’d demand; I should have asked for it.
"Too bad one of us isn't bleeding. We’d get seen faster if there's blood," Toni says, completely comfortable with the situation.
She's already been to the ER for wounds, clearly.
"How did you manage to fight like that?" I ask, my curiosity taking over.
The three guys were hauling me toward a parked van when she turned up and started to beat them, screaming hard enough to draw attention to us. It brought a crowd, so the thugs chose to run, but not before pushing me to the ground and kicking me in the ribs.
One of them managed to grab her hand and twist it, but only because she was fighting three against one. I think she could easily have overpowered them on a one-on-one basis.
"I've never seen a woman move like that outside of movies."
"I told you I had shitty parents," she reminds me. A smile curves her lips. "But I have shitty parents who wanted me to stay alive in a shitty world. I've been taking various martial arts lessons since I could walk."
Damn. "I wish I had shitty parents who wanted me to stay alive.” I manage to snort a laugh and regret it immediately, wincing in pain.
My mother's lack of concern for her children has always been legendary. Still, I shouldn't have refused to talk to her. Maybe she would have warned me about this. Not that any amount of notice could have helped my situation.
God, what do I do now? When my issue with her gangster friends was just a matter of money, it was one thing, but now they've tried to take me and/or hurt me, and their men were injured in the process. I've lived on theperiphery of gang violence my whole life. I know that doesn’t bode well.
I should move. So should Toni.
I'm about to bring it up when an unfamiliar voice calls my name.I lift my head in its direction, expecting a male nurse, but instead, I see a face I recognize—in the way most actors are identifiable at first glance.
Adrian Hunt looks exactly the same as he does on his campaign posters. I always assumed they edited out wrinkles and imperfections, because he must be in his forties, and he looked way too hot to be someone's father.
I should have known better. He sired Camden, after all.
"How are you doing, sweetheart?” he asks gently, a concerned crease on his forehead. “Camden told me you were in an accident."
I'm too stunned to say a word.
I'm spared needing to answer as half a dozen medical professionals storm toward us, bringing a wheelchair and an IV. "Right here, Ms. Brown."
They're here to take care of me, not a sudden emergency? I look between the team and the man responsible for bringing them to me.
It's all too surreal. The mayor of Thorn Hill, and owner of Hunt Enterprises, threw his weight around for me.Me. Because his son asked him.
Camden told his father about me. Told him to exert his influence on my behalf.
"My friend, too. Please, Mr. Hunt. She's hurt because of me." I'm being greedy, but I don't care. If he can snap his fingers and see that I'm taken care of, I need him to do the same for Toni.
"I'm fine." Toni makes a dismissive gesture with the hand that's not broken. "I just need a brace and some pain killers. I can wait. They should really look at your ribs, though."
I bite my lip, feeling all the more guilty now that Camden's father hasintervened.
"I'll see that she's taken care of promptly, sweetheart. Promise. Now, you need an x-ray and pain killers—not necessarily in that order. Come on." He gently helps me rise from the uncomfortable plastic chair onto the wheelchair.
"Any allergies, Ms. Brown?"
"From one to ten, how would you rate your pain level?"
They fire questions at me as they wheel me into a private room, and hook me up to an IV.
