Page 58 of Ugly (Cerberus MC)


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Her eyes are wild, her movements frantic as she realizes her hands are still tied.

She flinches, pulling back when I reach for them, but when her eyes lock with mine, she holds them up, wincing when I unwrap her arms.

The damage on her wrists is so bad she’s going to have scars, and I hate that that dead motherfucker will leave more than memories from this night marking her skin.

“Don’t,” she says, her voice barely over a whisper as I reach for her again.

Chapter 29

Lennox

The blanket wrapped around me offers no comfort. The chill I remember feeling earlier after my shower doesn’t even begin to compare to how cold I am now.

My head dips, the hundred-pound weight of it on my shoulders becoming increasingly impossible to hold up.

I try to fight against the people that enter the room, but I’m met with familiar eyes.

“Rachel?” I mutter.

“We’re gonna get you fixed up,” the medic says, but she’s having trouble not scrunching her face at the sight of me.

“I’m fine,” I assure her.

“I know, Detective,” she agrees too quickly. “But you know protocol.”

I nod, having a hard time lifting my head back up on the forward dip.

I met Rachel not long after joining the police department at a traffic accident. I wouldn’t consider her a friend. I’ve never met up with her outside of work, but she seems like a really nice woman. I trust her to take care of me, and I don’t plan to give her any trouble while she’s just trying to do her job.

I’m jostled, moved, palpated. I miss the exact moment the IV is started, but the evidence of it is taped to the inner bend of my left arm.

I make sure to look down when they situate the backboard on the gurney. Dixon is still dead, still on the floor, and my emotions war with what I’ve done. He deserved it. He earned that punishment many years ago, but at the same time, I’ve taken a life. I thought I was prepared for the onslaught of emotions, but I was wrong.

That emotion is replaced with his voice in my ear, the way he continued to gloat, and give me a play by play of what happened to Elle. How excited he was to get to kill another set of sisters because he hadn’t had the chance to do that since the last time he was in Biloxi.

Blackness takes over my vision, but another jostle makes my eyes snap open.

I look to the left, needing to see Rachel, but she isn’t by my side. A man I’ve never seen before in my life is pushing the gurney down my driveway.

“Good luck,” he says, garnering no answer, and that’s when I see it.

Betrayal is a bitter thing to experience. Getting slapped in the face with it when there was never the expectation that it could happen is worse.

Rachel is doing chest compressions, her face a mask of determination, but it can’t be possible.

I fired ten rounds into his torso. Joey Dixon doesn’t get to live after what he’s done.

I reach for her, wanting to beg her to stop, to let the evil, sadistic motherfucker die, but no sounds come from my throat.

“The meds are finally working,” someone says. “It took fucking forever with her adrenaline so high.”

The blackness wins.

***

“The concussion is the worst of it,” the doctor says, a gentle smile on his lips. “We had our best plastic surgeon patch up the injuries on your face and he’s confident that they won’t scar.”

“Dixon?” I ask, but the man doesn’t answer.

“Get some rest, Detective. I’ll have the nurse get your discharge paperwork ready.”

I don’t know how much time passes before the door opens again. I also don’t know how to feel about Sawyer walking toward me. Shame swims inside of me for the way he found me. Beaten, bruised, tied… naked.

At least Dixon didn’t get the chance to go further. I remembered the handgun stuffed under my mattress as he stood to take off his jeans. That motherfucker thought he had all the time in the world.

I open my mouth to tell the man to leave, to let him know being here only makes me feel worse, but I just can’t manage it. Giving him an out with the lie isn’t something I’m capable of right now.

“Len—”

Sawyer’s mouth clamps closed when the door opens again.

Chief Monahan looks sheepish as he enters the room, but there’s still a hint of the no-bullshit man in the way he strides to the edge of my bed.

“Maison,” he says, his eyes sweeping over my face as if he’s taking inventory of my wounds.

My head screams for silence, the throb only dulled a little from whatever they put in my IV not long ago.

I tug the blanket tighter around me. If this man is here to tell me that I’m not only suspended but fired, there’s a real chance I’ll turn into a damn banshee.

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