Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“Did you see a doctor?” She flits through her notes.
“No, she refused treatment.”
I glare at Callan, narrowing my eyes. “Shut up.”
“It was bad.”
“It was bumps and bruises.” I shake my head, instantly regretting it when the room dips.
“She broke her ribs.” This asshole is about to have a broken rib.
The nurses look between each other, the younger of the two’s mouth dropping open. “We should do a full physical,” Wendy states.
“No.” I slice a hand through the air. “You can take some blood and feed me, but that’s it. I have things to do.”
“Rogue,” Callan warns.
My eyes cut to him. “Don’t fight me on this.” I don’t want doctors touching and scanning me. I want to get my answers and be left alone to plan what will happen next.
Shoving to his feet, Callan marches past the nurses. “I’ll get her food,” he says, not looking at any of us. The door clicks shut on his departure, and the older nurse shuffles up to the bed until she’s near my head.
“Is there anything you need to tell us?” She frowns.
“Like what?”
“If you need help, you can tell us. We’ll make sure he doesn’t come back in here.” Her eyes dip to the bruising on my jaw. For Christ’s sake, of course they think he’s beating me based on my reluctance to get medical help.
“He would never hurt me. I really did take a fall from a bike,” I half-lie.
“I’ve been doing this job a long time,” she informs me.
“I’m safe with him. I promise.” I put as much conviction into my words as I can, needing her to hear me.
She’s silent as she studies me a moment. “Okay.”
“How are your veins?” The younger one intervenes, taking my hand and stroking her finger up my inner forearm.
“My left arm is best for blood,” I inform her, relieved that Wendy dropped the inquisition.
Pulling her tray with her, Laura travels around my bed and wraps a rubber cord around my upper arm. “Make a fist for me please.”
I squeeze my hand into a fist, and she rips a needle and vial open. There’s a sharp prick as she pushes the needle into my vein. Crimson liquid flushes into the vial. Switching out the vial for a new one, she smiles up at me through her lashes. “Just one more.” She switches them out again. “You’re doing great.” If she knew what I’d endured at the hands of Larkin, she’d see this shit is a cakewalk.
“There. All done.” She pushes a cotton ball to my arm and pulls the needle free, applying pressure for a few seconds before sticking a bandage over the small hole. “Now, the IV will go in your hand.”
The older nurse wipes my right hand with an antiseptic wipe before inserting a small tube attached to a needle into the vein in my hand. The prick is annoying but not painful. She sticks tape over it to hold it in place. Her form becomes hazy as the wooziness returns. Dropping my eyes, I inhale a deep breath. Maybe they should have fed me before taking blood.
“Now that we know a bit more about what’s been going on with you, I want to get some antibiotics into you. If you’ll allow it, I’d also like to set you up for a CT scan.”
“No. Honestly, I’m fine. Just the fluids and antibiotics.”
“Okay.” She nods to Laura and attaches the saline bag, hooking it on a stand positioned by the bed.
“Laura’s going to bring you some juice. Would you prefer apple or orange?”
“Orange, please.” They both move toward the door as Kitty comes through it.
“This place is a maze. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She puffs out a breath, sweat beading on her forehead. “Hey.” She waves to the nurses as they pass her.
“You okay with visitors?” Wendy asks me, holding the door open.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Kitty offers Wendy a tight smile, her eyes narrowing as Wendy lurks for a few seconds before leaving.
“What’s up with her?” Kitty snorts, coming over to the bed and flicking the saline bag.
“She thinks I’m a victim of domestic violence.” I scrunch my face up, pointing to the yellow bruising.
“Ew, you’d need to be domesticated for that.” She raises her chin. “Seriously, though, are you okay? I’ve never seen my brother so freaked out. Not even when dad got shot.”
“I just need to eat something. Callan went to find me some food.”
“You have him whipped, girl.” She’s avoiding eye contact and fidgets with the fluff on her jacket.
“Did your dad say anything else?”
She jams her hands into the pockets of her jeans and teeters on the heels of her boots.
“Your sister shot my dad, Rogue,” she states, repeating what he already told us.
“And did he kill her in retaliation?” Fear, anger, and sorrow thump through my chest. I can barely draw a breath.