Page 31 of Rogue Mission

Pushing off the bedrail, he stalks to the corner and back, scrubbing his hands over his face. “The safe house isn’t good enough for you like it is. It’s not nice—fuck. The beds are cots, dammit, and you’re?—”

“I’ll be fine.”

He pulls out his phone, angrily jabs at the screen, and holds it to his ear. When someone answers, he says, “I can’t bring her there; she won’t be comfortable. I don’t want them to release her. There’s no guarantee she won’t need medical intervention. What if?—”

Someone cuts him off, because his face reddens, veins pop, and he snarls his upper lip.

“I don’t want to talk to Allison,” Justice says gruffly.

He paces an angry lap, muttering, “Allison, put Truck back on the phone.”

Then, a second later, he deflates like a popped balloon. “You did?”

When he looks at me, there’s a flash of confusion covered by worry.

“Thanks,” he rasps. “I’ll let you know.”

As he hangs up, the doctor breezes back into the room. She’s got a gigantic plastic tote bag filled with something—or lots of somethings, to be exact.

My name is written on the outside in swirly handwriting.

“I think this will help.” She carefully walks up to Justice. “Here. I put some things in there that will help you keep track of her vital signs, and some things to keep her comfortable. You can return it later.”

His hard gaze drops to the bag and back to her.

She smiles brightly. “There’s a thermometer, a blood-pressure cuff, a spirometer, a food scale, a hair dryer, a pack you can heat or freeze, a blanket, some hospital socks, a tape measure, an emesis basin, a penlight, some gauze, some tape, and some packets of Calm drink powder. That’s a magnesium drink. Those are for you—I had some in my locker and thought they might be helpful.”

Everything but the hospital sink.

My ribs start to ache from holding back my amusement, but really, his distress isn’t funny, and the doctor is adorable trying to reassure him.

When Justice only stares at the bag now in his hands, she comes over to the bed to speak to me. “Good luck, hon. Come back if you have any problems, okay?”

I cover her hand with mine when she rests it on my arm. “Thank you for everything. Your team is wonderful. We’ll return the supplies when we can.”

She winks, grin widening as she adjusts her glasses. “All good. Take your time. Be sure to take your pain medication on schedule, and if you notice anything?—”

The door swings open and two big men walk in cutting her off. Beast is one. The other I don’t recognize.

“Ah, the reinforcements,” the doctor whispers as they close in on him, talking in low tones.

She scoots out of the room with a wave.

A few moments later, we’re in the back of an SUV, and the air couldn’t be any denser if it were solid ice. Justice has tucked me in so tight I’m a mummy.

“Thank you. Why don’t you hold my hand?” I ask to distract him from poking, prodding, and fretting himself into a fit as he checks my seat belt again.

“So, I get to go to a safe house, huh? Sounds very exciting. Is it like a bat cave?”

Justice doesn’t look at me as he laces our fingers tightly together. “I wish it was.”

In the rearview mirror, I catch the concerned glance from his boss.

“Talkative bunch today, I see.” I try to lighten the mood before the truck collapses under the weight. “You’d think we were going to a funeral or something.”

The guy in the passenger seat coughs into his hand, facing the side window as he murmurs, “I can’t believe you’re joking about funerals.”

“Why not? I’m Rosalie. What’s your name?”