Page 121 of Dirty Game

For the first time since I can remember, I have something worth saving.

And I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rosalynn

I wake to the sound of machines.

Beeping. Rhythmic. Medical.

The smell hits next—antiseptic and bleach, the particular sterility that only exists in hospitals.

My throat feels like sandpaper soaked in acid. My wrists burn.

Everything hurts in very specific ways. The deep ache of healing bruises, the sharp pull of stitches, the foggy disconnect that comes from some serious painkillers.

I try to open my eyes, but they're crusted shut.

When I finally manage it, the world is blurry white.

Private room. Expensive equipment.

Not a normal hospital. It’s too quiet, too clean, too empty of the usual hospital chaos.

"Rosalynn."

His voice breaks on my name.

I turn my head—slowly, everything hurts—and there he is.

Varrick looks destroyed.

It looks like days of stubble shadows his jaw.

His clothes are wrinkled, the same shirt he wore to the port, now decorated with blood that might be his or mine or someone else's.

His eyes are hollowed out, dark circles like bruises, the look of someone who hasn't slept since?—

"How long has it been?" My voice comes out as a croak, barely audible.

"Four days." He reaches for my hand, then stops, like he's afraid to touch me. Like I might break. Or disappear. "You've been unconscious for four days. You took a turn for the worst after I got you to the safehouse, started having seizures, started… I thought I was going to lose you."

Four days. Four days of him sitting here, if the state of him is any indication. Four days of not knowing if I'd be okay.

"Dante," I manage, the boy's name my first real thought. "Is he?—"

Varrick's hand finally finds mine, his fingers threading through mine with desperate gentleness. "I’m going to get him. I just had to make sure you were okay before we went after Dante. I couldn’t focus, not knowing if you…"

The relief hits so hard I start crying, silent tears that burn my damaged throat. "You chose me over your son."

Something flashes across his face—pain, anger, guilt, all of it. "I chose to get you first. You were dying. Sienna might be crazy, but she wouldn’t kill Dante… not when it means her believing she has power over me as long as she has him."

"Varrick—"

"Now I get him." His grip on my hand tightens. "Now I end this."

"She'll never stop." The words hurt to say, but they're true. "As long as Sienna's alive, she'll use him against you. Against us."