Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
She actually laughs again, and this time her voice is a tease as she says, “Because you’d make it oh so sexy?”
“Exactly. I’ll show you when we get home.”
“Home,” she murmurs. “I really want to go home with you.”
It’s right then that Blake yells, “We’re clear! I’m disarming the keypad now!”
I hear the buzz of the lock, and I yank open the door. Alana appears with her hair a rumpled mess and streaks of mascara down her cheeks, but she’s still fully dressed in the clothes she was in when she went inside the building. Thank God for the small bit of hope that offers me about what she endured or did not endure.
“Damion!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around me.
I hold her tight and kiss her long and deep, the taste of salty teardrops on her lips. “Did they hurt you?” I demand, cupping her face and studying her gaze.
“They drugged me,” she says. “I don’t want to know what they gave me or how dirty the needle was they used. I don’t want to know what it might mean later.”
Me either, I think, but I focus on her. “We’ll get you a doctor,” I say, stroking her hair behind her ear. “I’ll have them meet us at the house. I’m going to take you home, and I swear I’m never letting you go again.”
Chapter Eighteen
Damion
“I’m dizzy and nauseous,” Alana murmurs, her eyes bloodshot, her complexion chalky. “I really don’t know what they injected me with.”
It’s the second time she’s brought this up, and she’s right to worry. It scares the shit out of me, too, I think, but I wouldn’t dare say that to her. “I got you, baby,” I promise, with guilt stabbing me all over with just how much I’ve proven to be the crappiest protector possible. Everything I’ve done to try to protect Alana our entire adult lives has been wrong.
Where the fuck is Savage. She needs a doctor, and I yell over my shoulder, “Savage!”
“I’m here.” A chair appears beside us, and Savage orders, “Sit, Alana. I need to check you out.”
“Savage is both a doctor and a surgeon,” I explain. “You’re in good hands.”
If Alana registers my words, she simply accepts them without question. She allows me to ease her into the chair. Savage kneels in front of her. “I’m going to check your vitals, but first I need to know if you have any injuries I need to address.”
“No,” she says. “I don’t think so.”
His tone is gentle, but he pushes her. “I’m sorry, but I need to know how to best treat you. Did they touch you?”
My hand settles on her shoulder, telling her I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. “I don’t think so,” she says. “Only when they grabbed me to stick a needle in my neck. I think…I’m fine.”
“If you want,” Savage offers, “after I check you out, we can go to the ER for a rape kit.”
“No!” she says. “No, I don’t want that. I don’t think that happened. I don’t want to go through that. And I’m still fully dressed. I don’t think they could have put my pants back on.”
I kneel beside her, reinforcing the message that I’m here.
Savage doesn’t look at me. He studies her several long beats before he holds up a small light. “I need to shine this in your eyes. Does your head hurt?”
“Throbbing,” she confirms.
He touches her chin and tilts her gaze upward, shining the light in her eyes. Seemingly satisfied with what he finds, he releases her and captures her wrist to check her pulse. Her legs tremble, and the sight guts me. Protectiveness radiates through me, and I press my palm to her knee, relieved when the trembling eases under my touch.
Savage releases her, and my impatience wins. “Well?”
“Her pulse is a bit slow,” he replies, “but considering she’s been sedated, that’s normal. My assessment is that she’s simply living the aftermath of too many drugs.” He pulls a blood pressure cuff out of his bag and wraps it around her arm, asking her, “When was the last time you ate?”
“I have no idea,” she murmurs, “and I feel too nauseous to even think about food.”
He doesn’t comment but waits for the machine to deliver the reading. “Also low, but again, I expected as much.” He trades the BP machine for a small pouch and tears it open. “This is glucose gel. Low blood sugar can produce all your symptoms and be caused by drugs and a lack of food, and yes, even the nausea.” He offers her the pouch. “Get this down, and we’ll get your sugar level to a safe spot. I need to draw blood, and I don’t want you to end up passing out on me.”
She wets her obviously dry lips and just stares at his hand and the offering. “I don’t think I can get it down.”