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***
What started off asanother quiet and boring shift ended in a much different fashion. Our floor was quickly flooded with security and teeming with policemen, a few hospital administrators, and the notorious Oakland Sinners.
I sit propped on a chaise lounge in a quiet room away from the noise with an icepack to my head.
I’d been questioned by Detective Jones, Detective Blackwood’s partner, and Nathan Lennox, the medical director.
I’m thankful for this little peace and quiet, and I send a silent prayer that there are no more questions to answer. I want to go home and sleep, but I know it’ll be a little longer before I’m released.
The door swings open, and I realize that God must be in the joking business today because in walks Caelan.
“Not in the mood for your shit,” I mutter, turning my back to him as I stare out the window at the park directly across the street.
“Too bad. Not seeing how you have much of an option,” Caelan says.
“What is it that you want?”
“To hear what happened.”
“Already told it to the cops. You can get it from them.”
“I don’t want to. Need to hear it from your lips.”
“Too bad. You need to let them do their job.”
“I need to know what you saw. Now,” he commands softly.
Turning on the lounge, I glare at him. “What? Do you think you can do their job better than they can?”
“Not comparing the two.”
“Then I suggest you let them do what the citizens of Oakland pay them to do. You should be sitting with your brother. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you were there all along,” I snap.
I instantly regret my words when I see his face turn red as he stares at the floor. I use that opportunity to take him in as he stands in front of me in those black skinny jeans, a fitted black tee, and black leather, steel-toed, knee-high biker boots.
His body is tight and lean but muscular. He’s fine and gorgeous with the dark shadow of a beard and mustache. His dark hair is shorn short on the sides, and the front is styled into a quiff, but it doesn’t detract from the air of danger that surrounds him. If anything, paired with the threatening energy that emanates from him, it makes him sexier, if possible.
He’s wearing those damned reflector sunglasses. I have no idea what he might be thinking. Sun streaming through the partially closed blinds glint off a silver hoop earring in his left ear.
Black, fingerless leather gloves are on his hands and for the first time, I notice not only the tats on his fingers but also the abrasions on his knuckles.
“You might want to get those checked out,” I say, nodding at his fingers because the silence is becoming too tense.
He takes a couple of steps further into the room and sits on the edge of the table directly in front of me. Damn, his crotch is at eye level, and if I were to stand right now, I’d be positioning myself directly between his thighs. Somehow, I don’t doubt he knows this.
“Not fucking worried about some scrapes on my knuckles. What I want to know...is what you saw.”
Much like his tone and attitude, his sentences are served carefully as though he’s holding onto his temper with a fine thread, which could snap at any moment. I’m not scared of him, though maybe I should be, but I empathize with him.
In the short time, he’s been around, it’s obvious that he loves his brother, and my heart goes out to him. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. Though Detective Blackwood is still with us, if whoever snuck into his room had their way, he wouldn’t be. Maybe neither would I. Memories of what happened to my mother and brothers flood my mind.
Yet I repeat everything I’ve told the detectives and Dr. Lennox.
“Nothing that distinguishes him from anyone else.”
I shake my head.
“Just all black.”
