“Oh God, I’m sorry,” she said, looking mortified. “I was just so frustrated.”
“You’ve had a bad night,” he told her. “It’s understandable that you’re feeling out of sorts.” He placed the bottle on the nightstand.
“I’ve had a bad night?” she said, running her hands through her hair and tugging at it. She was going to be bald by the end of the week. “You’re the one who was shot! Poor Miller is unconscious, who knows what drugs they gave her or what they did to her, and Cillian was knocked out and put in a car trunk. And then there’s Brandt…” her voice trailed off. Although Aedan had tried to shield her, Dylan knew she’d seen Brandt and Rogan fighting.
“He was a traitor, baby.”
“So he deserved to get beaten like that?” she asked, her voice small and shocked.
“Come here.” He beckoned at her with his good hand.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me,” he growled. “Now either you come here or I’m going to get up and carry you into bed.”
She moved around the bed to his good side. He drew back the covers and she scooted over to him. Dylan lay back and pulled her against his chest.
“Listen to me, baby. This is a different world. There are different rules here. As harsh as it sounds Rogan had to send a message. If he’d gone easy on Brandt he’d constantly be fighting off challenges to his leadership and that would just end in more bloodshed in the long run.”
“So you’re saying this was necessary?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“It was horrible and violent and nothing I ever wanted you to see or hear, but Rogan had little choice.”
“Why does he do this? Is it all for the money?” she asked.
Dylan frowned, remembering what Rogan had said about making more profit from the gang’s legit businesses. “I don’t know, a mhuirnín.”
“I know he’s helped us and everything, but I’m really looking forward to going home.”
“Me too, baby.”
She tried to sit, but he held her still. “Don’t move,” he said with a wince.
“Sorry,” she said freezing in place. “I need to get you some pills.”
“No, you don’t. I’m not taking any pills.”
“Aren’t you in pain?” she asked.
Yeah, he was. But it was manageable.
“I’m fine. They’ll just make me sleepy.”
“Isn’t that the point?” she asked. “To get some sleep. Aren’t you exhausted?”
“I could sleep for a week,” he told her. “But I want to keep my wits about me.”
“Why?” she asked in an alarmed voice. “Are we still in danger?”
Maybe. Once Iker figured out that Rogan knew what he’d been up to.
“Things are unstable right now. Iker is still a problem. Plus, I just don’t like to be drugged.”
“Like poor Miller. Do you think she’ll be okay?”
The doc, who was on Rogan’s payroll, was staying with Miller tonight. He’d been concerned that she was still unconscious. Dylan wasn’t sure what sort of hell she’d been living in, but he knew it wouldn’t be a quick recovery.
“She’s probably never going to be the same again,” he said, not wanting to lie to her. “But we’ll get her all the help she needs.”