I nod, unable to take my eyes off her usually tan face.
We sit in silence until the paramedics appear in the room. When one (I name him EMT-One) asks me to let go, I don't budge. I can't. My muscles are in full lockdown. I didn't get to hold Ken. Logic tells me Denielle doesn't need surgery, she's not going to die, but I can't let go.
"B, let the guys help her." Ethan's careful command registers. Hands wrap around my upper arms. "Come on, man." He shakes me ever so slightly. "She's right there. You can see her."
"Sir, please," EMT-Two addresses me as well.
I must've done something, or said something, because he jumps back. My control is slipping.
"Okay, B." The grip on my biceps shifts to my armpits, and I'm being hurled up. One of the EMTs holds Denielle's head as my legs are being pulled out from under her.
I struggle, my vision becoming hazy. The scene in front of me flips between present and past. I'm in Denielle's office. The next second, I can smell the hot asphalt covered in my sister's blood. My lungs cramp, the stench from the past burning into my nose.
"Whoa, B!" The grip on me tightens. "Take a breath."
We watch the two men work on Denielle, and it feels like an eternity until one of them blinks up at us. "It appears that Miss Keller has been drugged. Based on her symptoms, I would suspect some type of sedative. We will know more once we get her to the hospital and can run more tests."
"Drugged?" My blood is thrashing in my ears. And Ethan must've heard something in my one-word question, because I'm suddenly unable to move.
"Are you saying she got roofied?" Ethan peers around the room, incredulous.
"Miss Keller exhibits symptoms of it, yes."
One of the paramedics stands and disappears in the hallway, just to reappear with a stretcher. Watching them lift Denielle up and strap her to the thing is pure torture.
My fingers curl and uncurl. Ethan finally loosens his grip, and I shrug him off. "I'm coming with you."
EMT-One's head jerks up. "Are you family?"
"I am coming with you," I repeat myself slowly. Panic is replaced by an even more dangerous calm. The dude's eyes widen, and he jerks his head up and down.
Attaboy.
Trailing after them rolling the stretcher out into the hallway, I address Ethan. "Call Rhys. Lilly's going to freak out, and she can't leave the house because of Audrey. Rhys needs to be the one to tell her."
"On it, boss." Ethan already has his phone in hand when a male voice echoes through the narrow staircase.
"Dear Lord, what happened?" Denis, the owner of this overpriced fabric shop, stands at the bottom.
My gaze shifts to the person hovering behind him, and every muscle in my body coils. Behind Denis, Collin Liberman observes the scene with expressionless eyes—no concern, no shock, no…nothing.
"Easy, B." A hand lands on my shoulder. "Did you just growl?" Ethan's chuckle fills my ears.
I throw a death glare behind me, and Ethan drops his hand.
"I get it, man. I'm worried, too."
No, you don't.
I don't tell him that he has no fucking clue. I'm supposed to hate Denielle Keller, yet I fucked her, let her blow me, and am about to go out of my mind from seeing her unconscious. I want to sucker punch her ex. Something is off about the guy. Why is he still here?
I avoid Denis, who flattens himself against the wall of the corridor with his hand on his chest. The man is near tears. Liberman is less considerate. He makes enough room for the paramedics to wheel the stretcher past him, but they have to avoid him, not the other way around. My adrenaline level has reached an unhealthy and irrational high. When it's my turn to move past Liberman, he steps in my path and stares at me.
Oh, no you don't.
"Move." My tone is low and calm despite the constriction in my chest and the thrashing in my ears.
When he doesn't comply, I reach for—