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Shock slams through my body as he lays me back, tucks the gun away, and watches me for a second before whistling and strolling away. I blink up at the gray ceiling of the garage, my hands slipping by my side.
Why are they slipping?
Lifting my head takes great effort, but it allows me to see the blood covering my fingers. Blinking slowly, I cover my side, and agony surges through me.
Oh god, he shot me!
I’m going to die. Fuck, I can’t die, not like this.
With shaking hands, I rip off my shirt as I hear yelled words and boots rushing my way. Gripping it in a ball, I press it to the wound and slump back. “We have her!” a voice calls as several bodies surround me. “Shit, she’s shot. Get an ambulance!”
“Captain, we have eight bodies here, as well as the ten that were taken down by her other guards at the distraction point at her house. The door is swinging, in pursuit of the suspect,” comes down the radio.
“Hold on, Reign,” a soft female voice says from behind a mask. A hand grips mine, covering the wound. “Just hold on, they are on the way. Talk to me, okay?”
“Where are they? They should be here,” I whisper. “Please, where are they?”
“Who, Reign?” she asks.
“Raff, Astro, Cil, Dal—” I cough. “Where are they? I want them.” I feel tears sliding into my hair as agony takes over. “Where are they? They promised to protect me,” I whisper as my head rolls to the side, everything going fuzzy.
“No, don’t you fucking dare. You stay with me, you hear? They are coming. Raff, Astro, Cil, and Dal are all coming, so you just hold the fuck on, Reign!”
It’s too late.
I’m swallowed by the waiting darkness, their names on my lips.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Asteady beep invades my unconscious brain, pulling me out of the darkness and into a numb, unresponsive body. It’s harder than it should be to force my eyes open, and when I do, I have to blink to bring the room into focus. It’s done in whites and cream, with some brown curtains pulled shut over a window.
Everything is soft and luxurious, but not even that can hide the hospital machines and charts.
Why am I in a hospital?
My mind is blank. I turn my head slowly with a wince, spying the closed brown door and the window with the blinds drawn. I try to call out, but my voice doesn’t come. I cough, attempting to clear my throat. “Hello?” I croak.
I twitch my fingers, and with great effort, I manage to slide my hand over the bed. I find a buzzer and hit it. I wait, allowing myself to come to, and with each passing second, my body starts to come back online. I don’t feel any pain or anything though.
Did I fall?
Did I hit my head?
The door opens, and a nurse and doctor rush in. “Miss Harrow.” The doctor smiles. “You’re awake.”
“What happened?” I whisper.
The nurse hurries to my bedside and slowly adjusts the bed to sit me up. I’m still mostly lying down, but she lifts a glass with a straw and I sip, swallowing the water. She takes it away after a few. “Not too much, you’ll make yourself sick.”
“How are you feeling? I’m Dr. Ramos, your attending physician. If you need anything at all—”
“What happened?” I frown, glancing between them. “I don’t understand why I’m here.”
They share a look, and Dr. Ramos’s smile turns sad. “Miss Harrow, you were shot.”
What?
“Not to worry, though, because we removed the bullet, and you were lucky. It missed anything vital. It was just a bleeder . . .”
