Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
I wince, reaching to touch him but not wanting to touch where he might be tender. “What happened? Wait . . .” They were all drugged. Incapable of walking. “Did you carry them out?”
“Yes. About a quarter mile down the coastline. Twice.”
Dodging bullets. God, he’s a hero. And to think I once thought he was a monster. I’m sure many still do, and sometimes he is, but . . . he’s my monster. “Anything I can do?”
“Massage.” He lifts his head with effort and looks at me with a cheeky smirk, his overgrown hair in his face.
“Massage what?”
“My dick. It’s the only part of me not hurting right now.” I smack his arm and he laughs, then winces. “No, seriously, baby, I’m in agony here. I can’t move.” His face plummets into the pillow. Another groan. “You’ve got to rub some life into me. Ouch. Fuck, ouch, oh you motherfucking cunt!”
I scan up and down his body, getting to my knees. “Where should I start?”
“Shoulders.”
“I need something to rub in.” I get up off the bed and go to the bathroom, searching the vanity for any kind of oil. I find the lavender oil Doc gave me and take it back to Danny. His phone rings.
“You’ll have to get that.” He peeks up, flinching. “Who is it?”
“James.” I click it to loudspeaker and hold it close to him.
“What’s up?” Danny asks, his words delivered on a croaky exhale.
“How much pain are you in?” James asks.
Danny’s eyes snap open. Hopeful. As if he’s excited to not be in his painful misery alone. “You too?”
“Jesus Christ, I can’t fucking move, mate.”
“Yes! Ouch. Fuck!”
“Keep still then,” I order, restraining my laughter, just as the door flings open and Beau appears in her panties and a tank.
“Do you have any oil?” she breathes urgently. “I can’t find any.”
I lose my battle to hold on to my laughter and fall apart on the bed, hearing Beau breaking down too.
“Fuck you,” Danny mumbles, useless. “Where’s my mum?”
His gripes only increase my laughter, as does the sight of Beau holding on to the doorframe, tears streaming down her cheeks. I fall to my back, not judging the available space all too well in my hysteria, and bang Danny’s back with my forearm.
“Arhhhhh!” he yells, throwing his head up, jerking another stiff muscle. “Fuck!”
My cheeks blow out, and Beau slides down the wood, crumpling to the floor, her face wet and hair sticking to her cheeks. I can’t breathe. My stomach aches.
“What’s going on?”
I look up and see Brad behind Beau in the corridor, his hand wrapped around the metal pole of a metal stand, the empty bag of blood dangling by his ear. The sight of him, hardly holding himself up, snaps me out of my laughing fit and has me rushing over.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, taking his arm and leading him to the closest bed. Ours. The dressing on his shoulder looks damp and stained. “Lie down.”
He drops down on a grunt and Danny lifts his head a fraction. “You’re a dickhead,” he grumbles. “I fucking told you to go with the girls.”
“Fuck off.” Brad lets his head settle on the pillow and looks at Danny. “What’s up?”
I snort, as does Beau. “He’s aching,” I say, placing the lavender oil on the nightstand.
“This isn’t aching,” Danny snaps. “I don’t know what the fuck it is, but it’s more than aching.”
I think I might be killed with a look if a laugh anymore, so I make a point of avoiding Beau’s eyes, trying to hold on to my amusement, as Beau comes over, assessing Brad. “How’s it feeling?” she asks.
“Like nothing you could believe.” He blinks, and his face falls as I look at him incredulously. I can’t believe he just said that to a woman who was shot. “Shit.”
“You dick,” Danny mutters.
“Don’t sweat it,” Beau breathes.
“Sorry.” Brad pouts and relaxes, and a few bangs and curses sound from the hallway, forcing all our stares that way. James appears, holding on to the wall, his face a picture of discomfort, and I’m off again, rolling around on the end of the bed, Beau joining me, every muscle and bodily function failing me.
Thump!
“Ouch!” I yelp, landing on my ass with force.
“Shit, Rose.” Beau crawls over to me.
“Rose?” Danny yells. “Rose?”
“I’m fine.” I chuckle, grimacing, my butt numb. “I’m fine.” I crawl up the end of the bed onto my knees, poking my head up. Brad’s chin is on his chest, and Danny’s trying with everything he has to crane his neck back and see me. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” he grunts, slumping down. “Now fix me, woman.” I snarl and poke him in his calf. “Fuck!”
“Mind your manners, Black,” I warn. “I’m your only hope.”
“Not true,” he mumbles sulkily with an edge of smugness too. “Mum will help me.”