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Squeezing her hand, I nod my head as a tear rolls down my cheek.
“I’m going to the door for just a second,” she returns my squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”
Struggling to open my eyes, I release her hand and struggle to whisper the word, “Okay.”
“Andres,” she shouts from the hall and promptly returns to me just as she promised. Her hand slides into my palm, and I clench my hand around hers again.
“Where am I?” I question, struggling to take in my surroundings through my hazy vision.
“We’re at Alejandro’s,” Andres’s voice is soft as he rushes from the doorway to my side. His hands tenderly grip my face causing me to wince at his touch. He places a kiss on the bridge of my nose and whispers, “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I’m going to go check on Jorge,” the redhead gives my hand to Andres to hold.
He grasps it tightly as he sits beside me on the bed.
“The men?”
“You don’t have to worry about them,” he tenderly tucks my hair behind my ear , “They were taken care of. And no one will get to you here.”
“You…were…both…there,” I recall seeing him and my masked man at my apartment.
Or is that just a hazy dream?
“Did you…” I struggle against the overwhelming pain to remember. “Are they dead?”
“You’re—” my words silenced as he places a finger against my lips and gently shushes me.
“We have a lot to talk about,” he strokes my lower lip, “but not right now. The doctor has you pretty medicated for the pain, and you need to rest.”
Medicated for the pain?
It’s not fucking working.
I don’t have the strength to argue with him right now. My body knows he’s right, and fighting against impending sleep is a battle that I am not going to win. My eyelids are heavy, and I stop struggling against their weight.
Andres continues to hold my hand, his thumb rubbing over the back of mine as I begin to drift back to sleep.
“I’m so sorry,mi reina,” I hear the faint words, and I’m unsure if they come from the man sitting beside me or if I’m dreaming.
* * *
Rolling over, I see Andres slumped over in a chair near the bed. He is fast asleep.
Feeling lucid for the first time since my apartment, I push back the covers and sit up. My hand grasps at my stomach and I groan. Gripping the large dress shirt that I’m clothed in, I lift it to find numerous butterfly bandages running along the length of my stomach. The wound beneath them has begun to heal, but it is still very tender.
My legs wobble slightly when I stand from the bed. Regaining my bearings, I take a few unsteady steps until I am standing over Andres and stare down at him.
“What the actual fuck?” My hand slaps across Andres’s face, startling him from his sleep. Lifting it once again, I swing it toward him. His large hand firmly wraps around my wrist, roughly holding it in place as he glares up at me.
“I’ll give you that one. I maybe have even deserved it,” he snarls as he rises until he is towering over me, “but don’t you dare fucking hit me again.”
“Youmayhave fucking deserved it?” I yell, trying to yank my arm from his tight grip. When I can’t free it, I begin futilely striking him in the chest with the fist of my left hand. “You have no idea what you fucking deserve.”
“What the hell is going on in here?” The redhead I remember from waking up rushes into the room and shouts, before stopping in her tracks when she sees me out of the bed.
“Isabella,” he glares in her direction, “please leave before I say something that will cause my brother to kick my ass.”
He continues to eyeball her, waiting for her to walk from the room.
