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“What?”
The first thing that pops into my head is getting a hand job, which, of course, is stupid. They meant kill me while I was already down and out.
Jesus. Was RJ that pissed about me kissing him and feeling him up that he wanted to kill me?
“Don’t worry,” Lyla says to me. “Barrett made them promise not to lay a finger on you.”
Even RJ’s own brother thought he was capable of hurting me? Damn. Guess RJ was furious. Good thing I’ll be holed up in the privacy of my own apartment from now on instead of in a public place where I could be…offed.
As soon as the elevator doors open, Nurse Allison wheels me down the hall toward the sliding glass exit doors. The bright sunlight shining through them is a welcome sight after the four walls of the gloomy hospital room.
Then I seehim.
He walks around the front of Lyla’s car right before the doors open for us.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I blurt out.
“Taking you home.”
“Hey, Thane. Glad you’re getting released,” Barrett Fulton says, looking like a darker, burnt version of his brother.
“What are you doing here?” I repeat. “Isaac will kill you.”
“Ah, I’ll let you all talk. Can you push the wheelchair into the lobby before you leave?” the nurse asks.
“Sure. Thanks again, Allison,” Lyla tells her. Then to me, she says, “I’ve been staying with Barrett – you know, because of the kidnapper who might still be out there? My dad knows and approves.”
“Really?” I ask in surprise.
“Help me get him in the front seat?” she says to Barrett, who opens the passenger seat.
“I don’t need your help,” I tell him as I get to my feet.
“Gunshots make you understandably grouchy,” Lyla says. “Now, get in the car. Please?”
“Fine. But I don’t like him knowing where I live.”
My side is screaming at me to sit my ass down again after two seconds, so I do.
“Good thing we’re not going to your place,” it sounds like Lyla says before she rolls the wheelchair back inside.
Barrett shuts my door, and then a few minutes later, we’re all inside, pulling out of the parking lot. Every little bump causes me pain. I can’t help but wonder if the asshole is doing it on purpose.
Only when we’re on the highway and I’m comfortable again do I realize we’re not going in the right direction.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Ah, I’m glad you asked.” Lyla’s face appears between the two seats. “We’re going to Barrett’s house.”
“What?” I exclaim.
“I’m staying there, and I want to be where you are while you recover.”
“I want to recover in my own apartment!”
“I’m not leaving her with a cripple when there’s someone after her,” Barrett replies. The dig hurts almost as much as my gunshot wound. “And I’m not staying at your place. You’re both coming to mine, and that’s final.”
Guess I’m not in a position to argue here since I can barely walk a few steps without the awful pain, and I don’t have my gun. Being called a cripple stings like hell.
