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But not my world. Nothing goes on for me for as long as Minka sleeps.
I hate the bruising, which is worse today than when she arrived here last night. Somehow, medical help has left herworseoff—visually, anyway.
With my free hand, I reach across and gently peel back the top of her gown so I get a peek of her bandages. The stark white, so shocking compared to her olive complexion. The black and blue that stretches all the way to her neck, and across the front of her chest.
A dislocated shoulder has caused so much destruction. So much fear.
Or maybe it’s not the dislocation itself that shaved dozens of years off my life last night, but the circumstances in which she sustained the injury.
A fucking madman, willing to kill to save his daughter.
Am I any different, really? Am I any saner?
My phone trills in my pocket, startling me from my reverie, but if I hoped for just a minute that the sound might’ve scared Minka awake, it’s dashed when I glance back to her face and find it unmoved.
Her pulse beeping through the room remains constant. We didn’t even get a bump when I took her hand in mine. Or when I pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
Nothing.
Exhaling, I fish the phone from my pocket and check the screen, only to frown at the name flashing back at me.
Curious, I accept the call and bring the device to my ear. “Felix?”
“Archer!” His breath comes out on a panicked gust. “Fuck, man. What the hell is going on over there? I was busy last night, living my life and having my dick sucked, but then I wake to this shit on the news?”
I allow my eyes to roll skyward. To immerse myself inhome—which is ironic, considering it wasn’t all that long ago that Felix Malone was the furthest thing I expected to be that for me.
“What’s going on with Minka?” he demands. “How is she?”
“Alive.” I swallow the lump in my throat and bring my eyes back down to her face. To her beautiful profile. “She just came out of post-op.”
“Post-op for what? What the fuck happened?”
“She went to the bank,” I rasp. It’s so foreign to me that my voice thickens. That my eyes itch.
More foreign yet that I confide in Felix Malone, the craziest of us all.
“She went to sort something out for me, Lix. But some asshole in there swiped a gun and shut the place down.”
“News says there were multiple gunshot victims…” He stops for a loaded beat. “Was she shot, Arch? Cato said she has a blood problem, so if she’s one of the GSWs, she’s gonna die.”
“Cato needs to stop gossiping,” I choke out. “And no, she didn’t get hit. But she got hurt anyway, so she was rushed into surgery.”
“And she made it out?” he presses. “You said she’s out of post-op?”
“Yeah. She’s in her room now and sleeping.”
“You see her?”
I slide my gaze along her chest and up to stop on her twitching lashes. “Yeah.”
“With your own fuckin’ eyes?” he snarls. “She’s right there with you? Alive?”
“Yes.” I angle our joined hands and extend my pinky to stroke the perfect skin on her cheek. “I’m right here with her. Touching her. And I see her breathing, with my own eyes.”
“Good.” His voice turns dangerously hard. “You stay there. Parker Slade lives at two-three-two Grosvenor Street, Copeland City. He drives a silver two thousand and eighteen Ford Escape. I’m already on my way.”
“What?” I startle straight in my chair and snap my head around to study the curtain-covered hospital room door. “On your way where?”
