“What the fuck is that that it could be so important you have to go around starting fires and making people homeless?” She folds her arms across her chest.
I sigh and run a hand through my hair, which I immediately regret when I touch the cut on the back of my head. “It’s the money, Leah.”
“What?” I can tell by the look on her face that she’s in as much shock as I was when Meg pulled it out of the floor.
She comes over, and I unzip the bag as Meg clarifies, “That’s the money that Jonathan stole from you, right?”
“That’s right,” I tell her. “But don’t you worry about any of this. You just rest.”
She nods, and I see that she’s feeling tired. The bottle of Tylenol next to her on the nightstand is the PM version, so I guess Dr. Taylor gave her something to help her rest.
As I am examining the bearer bonds, I see something that makes my skin crawl, and I hope Leah doesn’t notice.
Some of the bonds already have a name on them. Velasco. That’s not good, and I need to figure out how the Raven and his family figure into all of this, but I don’t want Leah to know about it, not with her history. I also spy a box tucked in the bottom. It’s wrapped in black velvet, and the crest on it is the same as the Velasco family.
What the fuck?is all I can think.
I hastily zip the bag back up before Leah can notice and say, “I’ll worry about this later. There are more important things to take care of at the moment.” My eyes shift to Meghan, and I think Leah has gotten the picture.
“Right,” she says with a nod and a knowing smile. “Yes, I will get out of your hair. I just wanted to see what happened.” She turns to Meghan and says, “I’m glad you’re okay. Get some rest, and let me know if you need anything.”
Meg thanks her, and then Leah leaves. Finally, we are alone again. At least for now.
With a heavy sigh, I sink down onto the bed next to Meg. She looks better already now that Dr. Taylor has cleaned up her face. I can see purple and blue marks all over her cheeks up to her temples, her bottom lip is cracked, and it looks like her left eye may turn black given enough time. But for the most part, she is okay now. All of these injuries will heal, and I am determined never to let anything like this happen again.
“You should’ve let him check your head,” she says, reaching up and touching my cheek. Her fingers are cool, and her hand feels nice on my skin. I can’t let myself think about her too much, though, because she’s injured, and my thoughts might lead me to want to take her to places she can’t go right now.
“I’m fine,” I assure her, cradling her hand with mine. “I think you should give in to that sleepiness that has your eyes blinking so much and go ahead and doze away to dreamland.”
“And what about you?” she asks, already stifling a yawn.
“Me?” I ask, smiling down at her. “Oh, don’t you worry about me. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
As her eyelids grow heavy, I bend down and gently press my lips to hers, so thankful that she’s safe and back in my bed—where she belongs.
CHAPTER38
MEGHAN
Bed rest isn’t such a bad thing—unless you’ve got a tyrant known as The Fixer telling you not to breathe too loudly or you might hurt yourself. For three days, Hunter only let me out of bed long enough to go to the bathroom. The rest of the time, I had to lie in bed and entertain myself with Netflix or a book.
Most people wouldn’t complain about having to take it easy for a few days, but I was used to working. I missed my job, and I missed my friends. Though a lot of them did come by to visit me. Most of them didn’t want to stay around for too long, though. Every time anyone touched me or laughed too loud or asked me too many questions, Hunter would run them off like a mother hen protecting her eggs from a fox.
It was kind of cute—in an annoying way.
But the best thing about being in Hunter’s apartment while I convalesced—besides his gorgeous bathroom, which was all white marble with gold accents, including the giant soaking tub that made me want to just move right in and make the bathroom my home—was the fact that I got to be with Hunter all the time. He did leave to go check on the club periodically, and he would step out of the room to take calls to handle business. But for the most part, it was just the two of us alone in his apartment all day, and it was amazing.
We chatted about our lives growing up, how he’d come to own the club, and what his ambitions were for the future. I told him about what I wanted to do long-term and lamented the fact that I’d lost a lot of things in the fire that were irreplaceable—like some letters from my grandmother and the baby blanket my mom had crocheted for me. I’m not usually a sentimental person, but I had held on to a few things, including the necklace Hunter got for me. Until Mr. Nyx and his bastards had interfered.
Hunter was really apologetic about all of that, but I assured him it wasn’t his fault. He’d done what he had to do to keep himself and his people safe, and I can respect that.
The easiest thing and the hardest thing about being on bed rest is being with Hunter all the time. My body aches, not because of the torture I’ve gone through at the hands of that asshole Mr. Nyx and his goons, but because I want Hunter so badly.
He’s stayed out of reach for the most part, as if he’s feeling this pull, too, and he’s doing everything he can to keep from acting on the longing that’s drawing us together. He sits in a chair across the room from me, and my fingertips ache because they can’t reach him. I find myself breathing more deeply, hoping to have the opportunity to catch his scent on the breeze. I have to press my legs together to dull the ache that radiates throughout my core each time he is near me and often when he is away.
Right now, he is outside sitting on the deck, drinking whiskey and staring at the sky. The evening light filters through the dense Los Angeles air and gives his skin a soft glow, and I am mesmerized by how insanely handsome he is. He’s also brave, strong, intelligent, and everything a woman could ever want in a man—even if he is also headstrong, quick-tempered, and a bit arrogant.
I can’t continue to sit here and stare at him through glass panes. I need him, and if he wants to shout at me for getting out of bed, then he’ll have to manhandle me back into place.