Page 170 of Fractured Future

“Need a hand with that?” he innocently purrs.

“Dream on.”

“Spoilsport. At least think of me in the shower.” His eyes trail over me, leaving a heated path. “Or think of how it felt when I played with your sweet pussy.”

“Ax!”

“Care for a replay?”

Cheeks flaming, I quickly escape the room. The sound of his raucous laughter follows me across the living area and into the penthouse’s hallway. He really is incorrigible in all the worst ways.

“Shit!”

A loud bang follows the cuss, coming from Warner’s bedroom. A wheelchair holds the door ajar, wedged into the entrance at an awkward angle.

“Oh. Hi.”

His head jerks up, embarrassment flushing over him. “Hey, Em.”

“Haven’t seen you use the chair in a few years. You okay?”

The sight of him sitting in the wheelchair is a surprise. He’s dressed in shorts that expose the pink stump of his residual limb, the lack of prosthetic catching me off guard for a second.

For a while after his accident, Warner could only get around by using the wheelchair. Then he progressed to using two crutches before beginning to experiment with prosthetics.

“Just having a bit of trouble.” He plays it off like there isn’t sweat coating his forehead. “I’m good.”

“Are you in pain? Can I do anything?”

Waving me off, Warner avoids looking at me. “Just sore today. Took a few hits during the raid.”

“How bad is it?” I wince.

“Nah, not bad. I’m just swollen so I can’t get the leg on.”

Concern morphs into guilt that forces me into action. I don’t care if it’s going to be awkward after the charged moment we shared. He’s in pain and needs my help.

Squeezing past him, I hold the door open with my hip then take control of the handles behind the wheelchair’s back.

“Kitchen?”

“You don’t have to help,” he mutters.

“Pretty hypocritical for a man always lecturing me about accepting help. Tell me where you want to go, and shut the hell up.”

His head lowering, Warner repositions his hips in the chair. “The kitchen is fine.”

“Coming right up.”

Rolling him down the hallway towards the kitchen, I realise how thoughtfully designed their penthouse is. The halls are wide and accessible, and the level floor is easy to navigate.

Even their stylishly sunken living area features a sloped section on the left that leads down. I didn’t put two and two together before. It’s been done for Warner’s more immobile days.

“Hey! Nurse Slaughter!” I holler loudly.

“Yes?” Axel calls back.

“Got a new patient for you to play with.”