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Oh, no.

The man had a chiseled face a five o’clock shadow covering his face, including the cleft in his chin. And that silver that was mixed in that five o’clock shadow? Yeah, he had a lot more of that streaked through his dark hair.

The absolute last thing I needed right then was to feel the stirrings of something damn near forgotten in my body.

Attraction.

Toward the man who not only shot me, but was holding me hostage.

“She’s losing a lot of blood,” another voice said, making my gaze shoot over toward the door to find the man who must have been the driver.

He was younger than the other man with no silver in his dark hair. And unlike the other man, this one had a lot of tattoos. Including ones that went down from his eye and down his cheek, but he was too far away to make out what it was.

“Yeah. Tell me about it,” the first guy said. “Hand me that,” he demanded, waving to something behind me.

Maybe I should have looked, seen what was coming my way. But my gaze was locked on the attractive older man who was pressing hard on my shoulder.

“What do I do?” the younger man asked.

“Take over for me. A lot of pressure. I’m doing that.”

Doing what?

But before I could come to any sort of conclusion about that, though, the pressure let up, and then pushed down again, making a cry escape me.

It was right after that, though, as I felt my arm being swiped with something, then something jabbed under my skin, that I had the most peculiar thought.

It sort of seemed like they were trying to treat me.

But then the world went black for a while.


I woke up startled, my entire body jerking hard, making my shoulder scream in pain and pins and needles, confusing me for a long moment before it came flooding back.

Leaving work.

Walking home.

The pop-pop-pops.

The men in the shadows.

The pain.

The car ride.

The… medical attention?

As soon as that thought formed, my eyes shot open, looking around with dry, bleary eyes for a moment until they adjusted to being open once again.

I was in a doctor’s room.

Not a hospital.

An actual private doctor’s exam room.

On the exam table.


Tags: Jessica Gadziala Crime