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Mamba huffed out a low laugh.
“Makes me wonder what you do when you don’t have to rest.”
“She’s got jokes.” He waggled his eyebrows, but even he couldn’t sell it. “I pretty much feel like I’ve been run over by a bus, or in my case, a tricked-out Harley.”
Mandy went into the kitchen and returned with a thermometer. She pressed it to his forehead and shook her head. “Your fever is one hundred and two.”
Mamba smirked. “I don’t believe in doing things halfway.”
“When did you go to the doctor?”
Mamba flipped out his phone. “About an hour ago.”
Her brows knitted together, and her mouth dropped open. “So, an hour ago, you were in the doctor’s office getting your arm operated on, and now you’re here?”
“Pretty much.”
“Where are the pills the doctor gave you?”
“Out in my bike.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Mamba closed his eyes because he didn’t have the energy to keep them open. He hadn’t felt this bad in a long ass time. Whatever infection got in his body was knocking the shit out of him.
The back door opened and closed, but he kept his eyes shut and prayed it was Mandy and not Ajax. Right now that fucker could point a gun at him, and he just might beg him to pull the trigger—anything to stop the pounding in his head and the throbbing of his arm.
Mamba pried his eyes open as Mandy read the prescription bottles.
“When was the last time you took the antibiotic?” Mandy held up one of the vials.
“I haven’t.”
Mandy rolled her eyes. “How about the pain pills.”
“Took a few of those suckers, but they ain’t doin’ anything for the fever.”
“They’re not supposed to since they’re for pain. The antibiotics will help bring the fever down. Let me get you more water.”
She returned with another glass, shook out a pill, and held it out to him.
“You’re pretty good at this.” Then he swallowed down the pill.
Mandy gripped his good arm. “Get up. You need to get into bed.”
“And very bossy.” He struggled off the couch, steadied himself, then followed her up the narrow stairway.
They reached the top of the stairs, and he stopped. “Thanks for doing this.”
“My room is here, and the bathroom is there.” She pointed to a door at the end of the hallway, then she rummaged through the linen closet and pulled out a fresh towel. “You’ll probably feel better if you shower, but try to be quiet. Achilles is asleep.”
The last thing he wanted to do was wake up the guy he put in a wheelchair. Fuck, that thought made him feel even worse.
He made his way to the bathroom, and Mandy returned with a folded pair of clean sweatpants and a t-shirt. “You can put these on after you shower.”
He stripped off his sweaty clothes, laying his gun between his t-shirt and jeans. Mamba didn’t like leaving it out, but he had no other choice. He regulated the tap, then let the warm water wash over him as he kept his arm away from the spray. Damn, if she wasn’t right. The shower made him feel a little better. When the water turned cool, he got out, toweled off, and slipped on the sweats and t-shirt. Probably Ajax’s clothes. The fucker would love that.
He returned to her room, and Mandy already pulled down the covers of the full-sized bed. He must’ve been sick because she had changed into sleep shorts and a tank top that outlined her breasts, and his dick had no reaction. Fuck.
