We climb the stairs, passing the few guys that still stand. Security, along with Cai and Jackson, ends the brawl while Luca takes out his frustration on a broad, unconscious gym-goer. He pummels his fists into the guy's face as if it’s a speedball used in boxing.
I place Layla on the sofa in my office, still pale, eyes on my trousers where I tucked the crimson hem of my shirt. “Look at me.” I take her cold, trembling hands in mine. “Are you feeling faint?”
She snaps out of the trance, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry, I can’t look at blood. I panic.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”
She jumps, startled when Luca barges in. He stops in front of her while I brush her hair away to check the damage.
“You got hit?! Shit!” Luca bends down to get to her eye level, his fists resting on the coffee table. “Who hit you?”
“A better question is, what did he hit you with? This doesn’t look good.” The last time she got hurt, I had a hard time controlling my temper. This time it’s different. I’m still worried, still furious, but watching over her puts my mind at ease.
“He aimed at someone else. It was an accident, Luca,” she says, her voice close to normal. “And I’ll be okay, Dante.”
“I don’t give a fuck if he wanted to hit you!” Luca bangs his fists on the table. “What did he look like?!”
It does nothing to scare Layla but a lot to piss me off.
I smack the back of his head. “You’ll regret this when you’re throwing up your teeth on the pavement.”
“They all look the same,” Layla says, ignoring the powerplay. “Tall and ripped.”
The door swings open again, and all my people walk in.
“You need stitches,” I tell her while Luca sulks on the couch. “We’re going to the hospital.” I glance at Spades. He had things to take care of, so he didn’t join us at the club until thirty minutes ago. “How much did you drink?”
“A few sips at most.”
“Good. You’re driving.”
Layla stands, pale again. “We’re not going anywhere. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” She fists my jacket, resting her forehead on my chest.
If the cut wasn’t as deep, I’d patch her up myself, but this can’t heal on its own. “Not this time. You need stitches.”
She hesitates for a moment. “But you’re coming with me.”
“I won’t let you go or out of my sight.”
Once in the ER, I walk on Layla’s left, blocking her view of the patients. There’s enough blood around to do a few transfusions, and I don’t feel like witnessing another panic attack. A girl sitting on the floor by the vending machines can’t be much older than Layla. Her face looks as if someone battered her with an iron. An older man hurls into the trash can while nurses rush around, patching up minor cuts.
We pass two police officers standing to the side with a group of bulky guys who must’ve arrived from Delta. I look at every one of them as if I can telepathically find the one who hit my girl. I’d tear him apart bit by bit.
A nurse frowns at us from behind a tall reception desk when we head straight for the door leading out to the ward. “Where do you think you’re going?” She holds out a wad of papers. “You need to fill this out.”
“Pretend you can’t see us.”
“Excuse me?” She jumps out from behind the desk, blocking the way. “Who do you think you are? There’s a line. Fill this in, or I’ll call security.”
“My name is Dante Carrow. You can shove those papers, you-know-where. Security will kickyouout of here well before me. This,” I point to Layla, “is my girl. She needs a few stitches. Doctor Carrow will take care of her in two minutes. Stop me again, and you’ll wave bye-bye to your job before you can saywhat.” Giving the woman no time to react, I drag Layla behind me toward the elevators. Once again, my stunt goes unnoticed. “No comments?”
“Compared to Frank, you’re almost polite.”
“I know you’ve seen your share of similar situations, but I expected you to step in.”
“I’ve been taught to keep my mouth shut.” She shrugs, watching the numbers change on the screen above the door. “I only object when someone might get hurt because of me.”
Dr. Carlton Carrow, dressed in a white coat with a stethoscope hanging over his neck, waits for us in the doorway of his office. At first glance, he’s like any other doctor. He isn’t, though. He’s a surgeon and my cousin, which makes him pretty fucking unique. Whenever one of my guys is shot or battered, Carlton puts them back together.