by Anne Malcom
Like Duke.
My stomach swirled with ash at the thought of him. Of the blood. Of him never smiling again. Being gone. Because of me.
“Your friend is still in surgery,” she replied. “I’ll let you know what I can as soon as I can. For now, let’s focus on you.”
“I’m fine,” I repeated.
She eyed me shrewdly. “That’s a serious knock on the head. I’d prefer to keep you for observation…” She trailed of, gaging my reaction. “But I’m guessing I couldn’t convince you to do that.”
I shook my head, wincing at the pain from the motion.
She pursed her lips, looking unhappy. “Okay, I can’t force you.” Her head turned toward the door. “The police want to talk to you. Are you up to that?”
I took a deep breath in an attempt to hold myself together. I had no other choice. “Yeah,” I lied.
She looked at me again, this time her gaze settling on my tee and pants. “I’ll see about getting you some scrubs.”
I followed her gaze. My white jeans and grey tee were no longer those colors. They were red. Covered in it like some kind of dye. But it wasn’t dye. It was blood. I was covered in Duke’s blood.
Keep it together, Lexie.
It was through sheer force of will that I managed to stop my body from shaking and keep my breath from coming in strangled gasps as I registered the fact I was covered in my friend’s blood.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, meeting the doctor’s eyes.
She smiled. “A nurse will be in soon to check your vitals. If you feel any of the things we discussed, I need you to call me straight away.”
I nodded again, wincing at the movement.
She gave me a kind look before leaving the room, and shortly after, two police, including the one from a few weeks ago, came in.
“Are you sure it was the same person that was outside your house two weeks ago?” Felix asked. He was the salt and pepper cop. The name totally didn’t suit him. He needed something like Burt or Sterling.
I chewed my lip. “Yes.”
The other cop, a younger one who had been questioning everything I’d said thus far, regarded me. “But you didn’t actually see him either time, not properly. How can you be sure?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m sure. I know. I could feel it.”
He raised his brows. “You could feel it?”
I frowned at the skepticism in his tone. “Yes. It felt the same as the time I saw the man outside the window.”
He glanced to his pad. “But you didn’t actually see the person either time, so you can’t be sure?” he asked. Then he glanced to my head. “And you’ve had a head injury. Those things can mess with your recollection.”
“What exactly are you trying to say, officer?” I asked coldly.
Felix stepped forward, frowning at his partner. “We’re just trying to get all of the information,” he cut in.
“Yeah, well, maybe if you’d been focusing on actually catching this person instead of trying to get information, he might not have almost killed my friend,” I replied, venom in my voice. It wasn’t exactly fair to place the blame on the cop who had been kind, but I was angry. I needed to channel it somewhere. More importantly, I was scared. Really fucking terrified.
Felix seemed to understand this and he nodded. “We’ll do our best to catch him.”
Their best. I couldn’t help but doubt this. Doubt them. I had a family who held little trust for law enforcement. I found myself yearning for that family. For the protection they offered. The safety. That’s why I’d hung up on the operator and called Zane. It wasn’t the police who’d found and rescued my mom. It wasn’t the police who’d taken a bullet for me.
I sucked in a breath as soon as my mind wandered to him. To that memory. I ached for Killian. So much I thought I might not survive it. But I had to. I had no choice.
I didn’t have him to protect me anymore. I had to protect myself.
*****
I was finished with the police and it was safe to say they were taking the case seriously. My house was now a crime scene. My mind stuttered over that thought. Was it a crime scene or a murder scene?
I kept pacing, unable to think clearly. It had been hours which felt like years since I’d heard anything, since they’d rushed Duke behind doors, shouting things like “He’s crashing” and “Blood transfusion.”
I should have called someone, I guessed. Called Zane back to tell him I was okay. Called my mom. Called my boys.
But I couldn’t. I was afraid I’d fall to pieces if I tried to speak to any of those people. Calling them now would make it real, and not some kind of warped nightmare that seemed to be the plot for some terrible movie.
We were in Hollywood after all.
I wondered if the press were swarming the hospital already. If the headlines were splashed everywhere. I hadn’t paid attention to who saw me when I ran into the hospital covered in blood. I was focused on Duke. I wondered if I even looked like myself. Whoever that was. Lexie Williams the rock star.
I didn’t look much like a rock star. I was still covered in blood. I should have cleaned it off, I knew. The scrubs given to me by the nurse were sitting in the corner of the room I was currently pacing in.
I would have put them on, but in truth, I was scared of what would happen if I stopped pacing. Stopped moving.
So I kept pacing in the private waiting room I was in. Celebrities got their own private waiting areas so fans or the general public couldn’t snap photos of them covered in blood and with a minor head injury.
Something moved in the doorway, something black. Something that made my heart stop. That made me freeze.
There was silence. Stillness. Like the whole world stopped spinning.
My eyes met ice blue ones. Ones I hadn’t seen for almost four years. I blinked rapidly. This had to be some kind of hallucination brought on by shock. But the vision of him didn’t flicker.
He was frozen too, those ice blue eyes capturing me in his gaze, taking me back in time. Taking me back to when those blue eyes meant something. Safety. Love.
Now they only meant destruction.
Problem was, there was precious little left of me to destroy.
The bigger problem was, I’d give him every last piece of me to destroy if I could seek solace in those familiar yet foreign arms for even a moment. So they could hold me together when I was on the precipice of falling apart.
My foot actually lifted and my body leaned forward, prepared to run into his arms, to do it without thinking, to forget every minute of the last four years.
Then another figure pushed past the statue of the boy I used to—and still—loved more than anything.
“Lexie,” Noah yelled as his eyes settled on me. On my body. They went hard and his face paled. “Holy fuck.”
Then he wasn’t across the room; he was there, right there. And now I had strong arms around me. Ones that were familiar and ones that I loved. But they weren’t the ones I wanted.
Noah squeezed me tight, almost crushing my ribs.
“Need to breathe, Noe,” I choked out.
The arms automatically loosened and he held me at arm’s length, but still keeping a firm grip on me. His eyes focused on my head.
“Holy fuck,” he repeated.
“I’m okay,” I whispered.
He stared at me. “Babe, you’re covered in blood.”
I looked down at my body once more. Noah’s horrified gaze was much more different than the clinical, detached one of the doctors and nurses who saw blood every day.
My hands started shaking.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice starting to shake to. “I-I need to get them off. They gave me scrubs.” I nodded to the corner in a jerky motion. “I need to get them off. Now.”
Noah registered the way my body shook under his and I thought the person in the doorway did too because the whole energy of the room changed. I saw the
figure step forward.
“Okay, babe. We’ll get them off,” Noah said calmly.
“It’s just, I can’t get my hands to stop shaking,” I whispered.
Noah’s face turned to granite. “I got you, babe.” He whipped his head around. “Out. Now.” His voice was as hard as his attractive face. Harder. Full of hate.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Killian said.
My knees started to buckle at that, at the voice I hadn’t heard in years. The husky, deep voice that used to send shivers to my spine. That used to make my heart soar. The voice that shattered that same heart. It didn’t sound the same, though. It was different. Wrong. Empty somehow.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out,” Noah gritted through his teeth. “You care even a fuckin’ inch about the girl in front of you, you leave this room, preferably the country. But for now, I’ll go for her not breathing your air.”
There was a loaded pause as those icy eyes met mine once more before he turned and left.
The last thing I saw was the Sons of Templar patch on the back of his cut before he closed the door.
He stepped into the hospital hallway, every nerve ending on his body electrified. His limbs and muscles were about to snap from the pressure they were under. It took all of his strength to walk out of that room. To turn his back on Lexie. On Lexie covered in blood. On her shaking with terror. Of the broken shell of the girl who held every inch of his soul, even after four years.
He knew she’d hold it until he met the reaper, whether it be another four years from now or fifty. He didn’t think it was fifty. Being in the club didn’t promise old age, a pension, a gold watch and twilight years spent fishing before you died in an old folks’ home shitting yourself and drooling. No, he was going to die before that. Correction, he’d already died four years ago. It was a skeleton with flesh attached to him that was walking around now. One that seemed to come back to life the moment he’d laid eyes on her.
On his freckles.
Once his dead heart started beating again at the sight of her, the rest of his body had ignited with fury. So much of it that he was frozen on the spot for what seemed like hours. His limbs wouldn’t work because he’d been consumed with trying to figure out how to swallow the dragon creeping up his throat.
“Fuck!” he yelled, and without even realizing it, he punched through the wall, crumbling the plaster.
An orderly jumped at the sight of him and scuttled away to no doubt get the rent-a-cops that patrolled this place. He wished them luck. It’d take the National Guard to get him out of here.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” A venomous voice punctured his fury.
Killian shook off his fist and disregarded the blood trickling from his knuckles. He turned to face the owner of the malicious growl and the hateful glare that he was being treated to.
“I’m here for Lexie,” he told Sam and Wyatt.
Both of their faces turned stormy. “Like fuck you are,” Wyatt bit out.
“I seem to remember us having a similar conversation at a hospital in Amber three years ago,” Sam said, his jaw hard. “And my promise still stands. I’ll kill you if you go anywhere near Lexie again.”
Killian didn’t flinch from his gaze, but he was surprised at the sincerity behind it. He’d seen some bad bastards in his time with the Sons. Some tough ones too. But Sam, the guy with fuckin’ painted fingernails and more jewelry than most of the old ladies, could give them a run for their money. Ditto with Wyatt.
“You can try,” Killian said. “’Cause that’s the only way you’re gettin’ me out of here, in a body bag.” He wasn’t lying. No way was he leaving that beautiful broken girl. Not now. Not ever. Not until he’d killed the fucker who put that mark on her. That terror in her eyes. But not after that either.
Sam pushed up his sleeves, the veins in his forearms pulsing as he did so. “So be it,” he declared, stepping forward.
Killian braced and clenched his jaw. He knew that look. It was the one he’d seen on his opponents every time he got in the ring when they were ready to fight. But this wasn’t empty of emotion and just ready to win. This was full of hate and determination. Sam cared for Lexie. Loved her. Not like Killian did, but enough to do anything to keep her from harm. Much like Killian would. But Sam considered him something that would harm her.
That hurt more than any punch he could have landed.
Killian didn’t want to hurt Sam, but he would if he had to.
Wyatt grabbed his friend’s arm. “No, bro. Not here. He’s not worth it,” he spat.
Sam grinned. “Oh yes he is.”
Wyatt didn’t let him go. “He’s not important right now. Lexie is. We’ve got to go to our girl,” he emphasized the last two words, eyes on Killian.
Before anyone else could speak, someone else who considered Lexie theirs broke the moment.
“Where is she?”
The boys turned to see Mia storming down the hallway, the sounds of her heels echoing as she did so. Bull was grasping her hand and his face was hard.
Beyond hard.
It looked like it was etched out of granite, and Killian knew he was only holding his shit tight on account of Mia.
Killian had convinced him to go to Mia first instead of riding straight to L.A like he was hell-bent on doing. Bull looked like he was going to be torn in two at the realization he had to be the one to tell his pregnant wife her daughter had been attacked and had to be there with her instead of going to the girl he considered his daughter.
“I’ve got her,” Killian had promised him.
Bull had regarded him with that empty, dangerous look. Killian wasn’t fooled; he knew what lay behind that, the fear. He knew it because he was feeling it too at the thought of anything happening to the girl who made the sun shine a little brighter.
Bull nodded finally and clapped him on the shoulder. “Know you do. Know you still care about her, that that hasn’t changed,” he said gruffly. “But you need to know I’ll kill you, you cause her any more pain.”
Killian had nodded once at that. He’d hand him the gun himself if he did.
Then he’d jogged to his bike and road like the Devil himself was on his heels. He was in a sense. Chasing him, promising him what he’d live in if anything had happened to Lexie.
The drive to L.A. was meant to take four hours.
Killian made it in two.
He’d been held up for too fuckin’ long by the idiots at the front desk who’d tried to stop him from seeing Lexie, but he’d made it to her. He always would. He wasn’t surprised that Bull was hot on his heels, even though he’d had to go and get Mia. Killian bet he broke every traffic law getting here.
“My daughter. Where is she?” Mia repeated, her voice strong and even. Her gaze settled on the boys in a strange blank, empty way, like she wasn’t really seeing them. She only had eyes for one person. One person who wasn’t in this little group that could turn into a brawl at any second. Though her gaze did stutter on Killian. Unlike Bull, Mia did not forgive him for breaking Lexie. She may have known his reasons, but that didn’t mean she didn’t punish him for hurting her only daughter. Killian respected the hell out of that. Made him happy that Lexie had a mom like that.
Killian nodded to the door where he’d come out of.
Like she’d synchronized it, Lexie emerged from the door, wearing hospital scrubs. Her curls tumbled around her pale face, half hiding the angry cut and bruise that Killian knew was there. That he’d committed to memory. A blemish, a mark on her porcelain skin. He’d committed it to memory because that’s where the bullet would go on the person who did this.
“Mom?” Her voice was small, barely audible. Childlike.
The strength of before was waning. He was proud she had made it this far. She had been attacked and sat in her living room while her friend bled out, one hand trying to stop the bleeding, the other holding a gun up waiting for her attacker.
She spent another tw
o hours covered in her friend’s blood, and she was still standing when Killian made it to her.
Fuck, he was proud of his girl.
He was also angry. Furious. But that could wait.
Lexie didn’t move, but Mia did, faster than even Bull. She was across the room and Lexie was in her arms in an instant.
“You’re okay,” Mia mumbled into her golden hair. “You’re okay.” Killian couldn’t quite figure out if she was talking to Lexie or herself.
Bull joined the fold, placing his hand on that golden head and closing his eyes, to chase away the demons no doubt. As they opened again, they settled on Killian.
He murmured something in Mia’s ear, kissed Lexie’s head, and then jerked his head at Killian.
For the first time in years, Killian grinned. Because there was murder in Bull’s eyes.
“We need to know everything,” Killian demanded, his icy gaze not moving from mine. He was sitting across from us, leaning forward, his hands clasped together on his knees.
Bull stood beside me, his hand at my neck. My boys were all on the other side of me, doing their best to smite Killian with a glare.
Me? I was trying not to hyperventilate. Trying to stop my mangled heart from beating out of my chest. Killian was right there. Across from me. I could smell him. Amidst that disgusting sterile hospital smell, I could smell his musky scent mingled with tobacco.
I frowned. He gave up smoking when we were together once he realized how much it bothered me. The smoking itself didn’t actually bother me, just the thought of him dying of some horrible cancer and having to watch it happen, having to somehow navigate the barren wasteland of a life without him.
Turns out I had to navigate that wasteland regardless.
“We?” Sam repeated. “Who is this we? The band—me, Noah, Wyatt and Lexie—that’s a ‘we.’ Lexie and Bull, also a we—that’s if I was figuratively Bull or Lexie in this situation.” He paused. “But you, there is no we in relation to Lexie. You are not a we.”