Page 26 of Need (Men of Inked Sinners #3)

LULU

“Ma’am, the paramedics are here,” a female officer says as I’m curled in Oliver’s arms.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Oliver’s deep voice makes my eyes close, but the moment of serenity is short-lived as he moves. “You need to be looked at by someone.”

“Do I really?” I groan as he slides his arms under my legs and behind my back before he lifts me.

“Yes.” He cradles me as he makes his way out of the room where I thought I’d take my last breath.

“I’m fine. Can’t we just go home?”

“Don’t argue,” my dad says somewhere behind us, and I feel like a little kid, pleading for something I know I’ll never get, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.

“I just need some sleep,” I whisper as the exhaustion from today and the comfort of Oliver’s arms threatens to pull me under.

A moment later, I’m set down in a chair in the living room. I can barely focus through the tiny slits of my eyes. They’re so swollen, I’m surprised I can even see at all. I haven’t looked in a mirror yet, but by the looks everyone has given me, I can tell it’s bad.

The medic shines a light in my eyes, asking me a million questions. I answer the best I can, but my nerves are so frazzled, thinking is challenging.

“We need to take her in for some tests,” the man says, but he isn’t talking to me.

“Do whatever you need,” Dad answers. “If something happens to her…”

“I’m fine, Daddy,” I tell him.

“I’ll go with her,” Oliver says to him. “I’ll keep her safe.”

I never felt like those words were true coming from anyone’s mouth besides my father’s. But when it comes to Oliver, I can feel them deep in my bones.

“We’d like to get a statement,” someone says, and I turn my head in their direction.

A cop.

“You can do it at the hospital,” the medic tells him. “She needs to be tested for a concussion or any other issues before she can give you information.”

“That’s fine,” the officer says. “We’ll send a detective there to talk to her after the testing is done. ”

I slump over, wanting nothing more than to run away and slip under the comfy covers of my bed.

“We’re going to need to talk to you too,” the officer says, but he isn’t staring at me now.

I peer up, finding Oliver standing at my side, the person the cop is talking to now.

“Not a problem. Is he alive?” Oliver asks the officer, squeezing my shoulder without looking at me.

“He is, he’s in bad shape.”

I’m so torn. Part of me wants the man to die. That’s the sinister part. I’ve never been that girl, but being targeted and attacked changed that in me. But there’s another part of me that wants to see Mark rot in prison for the rest of his miserable life. It’s more satisfying and lengthier.

“He’s already loaded and ready to roll,” the medic tells the cop. “For right now, he’s stable.”

“Good,” the officer replies. “Homicides are more paperwork.”

I’m taken aback by the callousness for a moment, but it shouldn’t be surprising.

“Ready?” another man asks, rolling in a gurney.

“I can walk,” I tell them, not wanting to be treated like I’m helpless. I spent hours fighting off a man who wanted nothing more than to end my life and torture me.

“No can do, little lady. You’re getting the special ride all our customers get,” he says with a sweet smile .

I grumble under my breath, and I hate that I don’t have a choice. “Can we at least skip the needles?”

The man’s smile widens. “I’ll see if I can pull a few strings.”

I push myself up and try to stand, but everything starts to spin. Oliver grips my arm, holding me steady before my knees have a chance to crumple underneath me. “I’ve got you,” he says as I give him my weight and lean on him for support.

Oliver doesn’t let go of me until I’m on the gurney, ready for a ride I never wanted to take.

“Thank you,” I tell him, smiling up at him—or at least I think I am, but with my lips as swollen as they are, who knows what expression I’m really giving him.

“I’m not leaving your side, sweetheart.”

“Vinnie will drive your truck to the hospital,” Dad tells Oliver. “We’ll meet you two there.”

Great. The entire gang is coming. I’m sure by the time we pull out of the driveway, the entire family will know what happened and will show up at the hospital.

Oliver fishes his keys out of his pocket, handing them off to my uncle. “Thank you.”

“Take care of our girl,” my uncle says to him.

“Been trying to, but she doesn’t make it easy,” Oliver replies.

“She’s been like that since she was a little girl,” Dad says before bending over and placing a soft kiss on my cheek. “We’ll be right behind you, kiddo. ”

“Okay, Daddy,” I whisper, feeling like a little kid again.

“And we’re on the move,” the medic says as someone starts to strap me down.

“Why?” I ask.

“So you don’t fly around the back. It’s a seat belt,” he tells me, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

Everything passes by in a blur as they rush me out the front door with Oliver somewhere behind us. It’s not the smoothest ride ever. The gurney needs a pair of shocks because every bump in the cement walkway is more jarring than some of Chicago’s biggest potholes.

I’m placed in the back of the ambulance, followed by one of the paramedics and Oliver.

“How far?” Oliver asks the guy as he reaches for my hand, which, thankfully, isn’t strapped down like the rest of me.

“Four minutes. And with Jessie driving, possibly three,” he says, moving around the bay in the back to grab at some cords. “Just hooking you up. No needles.”

“Thank you,” I tell the man. I’m not an easy stick, and there’s nothing I hate in this world more than being poked repeatedly.

The guy isn’t lying about Jessie. It feels like he’s driving a race car track rather than the sleepy roads of the northern suburb .

Oliver’s hand tightens in mine as we take a corner so fast, my entire body stiffens.

“He’s trying to make it in two point five,” the man reading the machines on the opposite side of Oliver says.

“I think he’s going to make it,” Oliver replies, giving me a smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, but I’m lying.

Now that I’ve had a little bit of time, everything is starting to hurt. The rush and fear of earlier has dissipated, and I’m feeling more than I want to.

Once we arrive, the doctors and nurses are quick to assess me and get me into testing. Other than what’s visible on the outside, there’s no internal damage.

Oliver’s with me when a new police officer arrives. “Good evening,” he says, and it suddenly dawns on me that the entire day has passed between the attack by Mark and my time here at the hospital. “I’m Detective Larson. I need to ask you a few questions about what happened today.”

“Sure,” I tell him, wincing as I push myself up straighter, and every muscle and joint in my body protest.

“Can this wait?” Oliver asks the detective.

“We need to get everything while it’s fresh in her mind and yours too.”

“I’m good,” I tell Oliver, squeezing his hand. “I need to tell someone what happened. I need to make sure he doesn’t do this to anyone else. But—” I turn my gaze toward the detective “—the story is long.”

“Take all the time you need.”

I spend a ridiculous amount of time going into detail about what happened to Zoey and how Mark lured me to the house with a fake social media account. I tell the officer everything as best as I can remember under the circumstances.

“Is he okay? Mark,” I ask.

“He’s still in stable condition. His legs are broken, along with one arm. He has a concussion too, but it looks like he’ll survive. We’ll be placing him under arrest before he leaves the hospital.”

“Thank God,” I say and finally release a long, deep breath for the first time in hours.

“And me?” Oliver asks.

“And you what?” the detective asks.

“You know…” Oliver glances down at me as I meet his eyes, pleading with him to shut up.

“No charges are going to be filed against you for rescuing her. You’re a hero in my book.”

He’s my hero too.

“Really?” Oliver’s voice is as surprised as I feel at that revelation.

“I’m not even going to be taken down to the precinct?”

“Do you want to be?” Detective Larson asks.

“He’s good,” Grandpa says, walking into the room, looking every bit as calm and collected as he always does. “Thanks for your quick and hard work on this case, Detective.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d think my grandfather already made calls to everyone he knows in the area to make sure there’ll be no blowback on Oliver.

“Here’s my card,” the detective says as he fishes one out of his jacket pocket and holds it out to me. “If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I’ll be in touch soon to gather the evidence from your phone about the perpetrator.”

“Thank you,” I tell him as I hand the card to Oliver, having nowhere to store it since they made me wear this ridiculously flimsy hospital gown.

“Mr. Gallo,” the detective says, giving my grandfather a chin dip before he strides out.

I knew it. He made calls. I’m not surprised, though. Sometimes it feels like my grandfather knows everyone in the city and all the surrounding suburbs. His earlier years, although tumultuous, are more than paying dividends now.

A second later, my dad is in the room with my mom on his arm. Her eyes widen the moment they land on my face.

“That bad, huh?” I ask her, trying to make light of the situation.

My mom isn’t known for keeping her shit together when it comes to Zoey and me, and I have a feeling no matter what I do, she is going to lose it .

“Baby,” she says, unlatching her arm from my dad and rushing to the side of my makeshift bed. “Jesus.”

“He wasn’t there,” I tell her, making a funny.

She doesn’t crack a smile as her gaze moves around my face, soaking it all in. “You look…” She winces as the words die in her throat.

“I know I look like shit, Ma.”

“It’ll heal,” she says to me.

“You have to be in pain,” she says, brushing a few strands of hair away from my forehead with a featherlight touch.

“They gave me the good stuff.” I give her a lopsided smile. “I’m feeling nothing right now.”