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Yes.
Definitely roses.
“Oh, sorry.” Francesca moved back, giving me a clear view of her generous cleavage.
I had to stop my greedy hands from touching her. And my greedy eyes from staring at her like some kind of letch.
She grasped my hand tenderly. Then she tenderly rubbed her thumb over the back of it. Everything about that felt heavenly. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
A stabbing pain shot through my chest, and I groaned, “Fuck.” I brought my hand up, but there were layers and layers of bandages there. I frowned. “What happened? Why does my chest hurt so bad?” Once again, confusion wracked my brain. I couldn’t remember shit.
“Oh, honey.” Her hand gently squeezed mine. “You were shot.”
4
Stefan
Shot?
What the fuck?
How in Christ’s name did that happen?
“Shot? Are you sure?” I asked just as the bitchy nurse with the stick up her ass stormed back in. She immediately ordered Francesca to leave. Which she did hesitantly.
But before she took off, she grinned and mouthed, “I’ll be back.” And then my angel was gone.
Two other nurses came in and poked and prodded and asked a shitload of questions. Their hands were bony and sharp. And they hurt everywhere they touched me. Then a few more people walked in, and started quizzing me, too.
Finally, I’d fuckin’ had it.
“Stop!” I yelled at them.
All of them.
My entire room was filled with assholes. Each one of them tried to take something from me.
My temperature.
My blood pressure.
My fuckin’ sanity.
“Get out of here. All of you. Leave me the fuck alone,” I snapped and shoved the last of their hands off me. “Go away!” I screamed, their shocked faces looked me over—and then they all left.
Thank fuck.
I didn’t want to deal with their bullshit tests. What were they going to say? Besides—you’re dying?
Because that was the only explanation for how I felt. No one could feel this horrible and survive. There was no way in hell I was walking out of this hospital alive.
No.
They’d be carrying me in a body bag.
My chest hurt like fuck, and I wanted to—
Fuck.