He’s right. I fucking hate it.
Reluctantly, I uncurl myself from her and retract enough to let Whitmore in. He tugs at her clothes, pulling the fabric away from her skin and the urge to protect makes not ripping his throat out almost impossible.
“Look at me, Silver,” Heart drawls, “stop picturing all the ways you could disembowel the doctor.”
Whitmore audibly swallows.
“What the fuck do you want?”
I allow the distraction, trying to ignore the doctors hands on Wren’s body. She needs this. She needs to live. To breathe. To survive and the only way that is happening is with him.
“To talk, Silver.”
“You’ve come all the way from London to talk?” I scoff.
“Amongst other things,” Kingston nods, “now isn’t a good time but I’m not going anywhere.”
“And what’s stopping me putting a knife through your throat?”
Kingston smirks, eyes bouncing to my woman, now half naked and bleeding across my sheets. A growl leaves my throat. The only warning I’ll give.
“You’re a man of code, Silver. I gave you something and you don’t like debt.”
“And I don’t like fuckers walking in on my turf, regardless of whether you’ve done something for me.”
Kingston nods slowly, “I get that but unfortunately for you, I don’t give a shit. We need to talk, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
I have too much going on to pick a fight with a man who owns half of Europe and despite the fact that he’s busted in on my fucking turf, I did owe him for bringing me Wren.
“Fine, now leave. We’ll talk when I’m ready.”
I don’t wait to see if he accepts that, just turn back to my girl. My eyes fall to the healing wound in the centre of her abdomen, the healing scar where the bullet ripped through her skin. There are old and new cuts all over her, dark and fading bruises and the wrapped thigh with blood spots staining the white makes my blood fucking boil.
“I’ll be here a while,” the doc says.
And so I wait. I settle into the chair across from the bed and wait whilst the doc fixes up my woman, unable to focus on anything other than her. All the problems, they’ll still be here tomorrow but there’s not a guarantee she will be.
Wren
I hear his voice. A deep soothing baritone that both scares and excites me. It’s the type of noise that brings a surge of memories to the surface, his hands on my body, his tongue on my skin, teeth grazing, nails biting. It isn’t real. It can’t be.
I’m in hell.
But the memories, they keep torturing me as his breath brushes my ear, the smell of whiskey on the air. His possessive growl, his ruthlessness, his violence, his demons. They caress my body like hands, making mefeel. I don’t want to feel. I can’t. Not in this life.
If I feel, I’ll die and Rory won’t ever be free.
“I’ve been looking for you, little bird,” his growl is barely audible, a whisper in the darkness, taunting me, “You left me, but I came looking. I’ll always come looking.”
The absolute sorrow that overtakes me in this moment is crippling. Why am I being tortured with thoughts of Lex? Why is it him haunting me?
The sob echoes in the darkness and for the first time, everything hurts. My head, my body, my heart. All of me is on fire as agony rips through me.
And as if to haunt me more, as if I haven’t suffered enough strong arms band around me, gently, barely even touching my skin but there nonetheless and a mouth is pressed to my hair.
“Shh, I’ve got you, little bird,” are his whispered words. “Shh now, that’s it. Good girl.”
But whilst I quiet, the pain continues, eating away at my soul. I’m left to the demons and the nightmares whilst I hallucinate Alexander by my side.