AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She rolls her eyes. “Rich people are so stingy.”
“Poor people are so demanding.”
“You eat this yoghurt, tell me it doesn’t taste like prison food.”
I draw closer, lean ever so slightly above her. “Mm, I think not. I’ve already had my dinner—fillet mignon with a wild mushroom sauce. Besides, I couldn’t possibly compare. I’ve never been to prison.”
She grimaces at me. “Smug prick.”
“Ungrateful shit.”
And I can’t deny the heat of the blood in my veins, the exhilaration coursing through me like lightning, my skin vibrating with the rush of it.
Willow’s lips squirm, as if she’s holding back a smile, and I watch her tongue push at the thick clot of blood on her lip. She jabs her chin in the direction of the side table by the window, where her bouquet of lilies is in full bloom, filling her room with the rich perfume of it.
“Thanks for the flowers, at least,” she says.
I shrug. “No need. Those weren’t from me.”
“Oh,” she says with a glare, as if she’s genuinely angry I didn’t bring her an armful of lilies. Then, eyes lighting up, “Nadine?”
“Woodrow, actually.”
“Eddie,” she murmurs, fondness in her hoarse voice. “I knew he fancied me, you know.”
“He actually voted for your life support machine to be turned off.”
Willow checks the room before rolling her eyes. “What life support machine?”
“The one you almost needed, Lynch, since you tried to die in that basement. So much for that tough act of yours. I should have known you were bluffing.”
“Um, did you miss the part where I was attacked from behind and zip-tied?” She raises her bandaged wrists and shakes themin my face. I resist the repulsive urge to capture her hands in mine and kiss her injuries through the gauze.
I pull one of the chairs closer to her hospital bed and sit back, crossing my ankle over one knee, gloved hands on the armrests.
“Are you going to tell mewhyyou were attacked from behind and zip-tied by Simon Doughtry and Terrence Murphy?”
Willow’s green eyes flicker in their valleys of bruising—a split second of hesitation that doesn’t go unnoticed. She smirks.
“Lover’s spat,” she quips.
She’s so fucking transparent. As if I would let her joke the truth away so easily. I don’t even dignify her graceless parry with an eye roll.
“If I wanted stupid stories, I’d borrow one of your books. Simon Doughtry tried to kill you. Why?”
She purses her lips, pokes at her open cut once more with her tongue. Then she picks up her discarded yoghurt and spoon and sits back with a wince.
“I stabbed him in the shoulder.”
“Of course you did.”You knife-wielding maniac. “Why?”
“Because he slapped me.”
“Sounds as if justice was meted out, then. Why did he slap you?”
“Why do men ever slap women, Luca?” she sneers. “Because the world tells them they can.”
There is real anger in her voice and truth in her words, but I shake my head.
