Page 89 of Scorned Beauty

“Are you all right?” Lucy’s voice sounded far away.

“I don’t deserve her…” I gasped. The sound of something scraping back and toppling over reached my ears.

“Why are you clutching your chest?” Lucy shrieked.

“Hurts…”

“Oh my God, are you having a heart attack?”

Chapter

Twenty-Two

Dom

“I…I can’t breathe.”I had to tell Sloane I loved her before I died. Otherwise, I would haunt her for the rest of my days from purgatory, or maybe even hell.

“Is your left arm feeling numb?”

In my chaotic thoughts and reactions, I concluded Lucy was only making me feel worse.

“I’m calling Sloane!” she said.

“No!” I was already running for the front door. I needed to see her. Waiting be damned. And since I could barely breathe, running to her was out of the question. I climbed into the SUV, gunned the engine, and sped the short distance to her beach house. That short time seemed to be forever. The stabbing in my chest eased, but I sounded like I had asthma and I knew what that sounded like because Lucy had it when she was a child.

Why was I thinking of Lucy when she had asthma? Was I flashing back to my childhood because I was dying?

No. No. No. Sloane had to see me. I gripped the steering wheel, speeding up because my gaze zeroed in on her van. In theback of my mind, I knew I should be slowing down. That fucking van was a death trap. How many times had I watched her try to start that thing and check under its hood? But she wouldn’t accept help when I came over and asked if she needed a ride. She would return to the house and slam the door in my face.

Well, she was becoming unreasonable, and I could be vindictive—to her vehicle. I floored the gas and catapulted off the road, straight into the back of her van, and braced.

My body shot forward, the seat belt bit my shoulder, and the thundering sound of metal clashing with metal should have woken her up. Otherwise, I’d have to barge in there.

Her door swung open, and she came running out with a phone to her ear.

“Are you having a heart attack?”

I unclipped the seat belt and shoved open the door. “Maybe. You’re the nurse.” I was still in a semi-daze with what I had done. What progress I had made giving Sloane space had come screeching to a halt, literally.

“You shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel!” she yelled and grabbed my arm to lead me into the house.

“Do I have to be dying for you to talk to me?”

She spun around, eyes narrowing. “Is this all an act?” She gave me a withering head-to-toe appraisal. “You don’t look like someone having a heart attack.”

My head dropped, and I assessed her mood under hooded eyes. Shit. She was going to kick me out. “I think I was having a panic attack, but Lucy made it worse by suggesting I was having a coronary.”

Sloane heaved a heavy sigh and raised her arm toward the kitchen table. “The power of suggestion works wonders. Sit. I’ll check you out.”

She didn’t look pleased, but there was no question about the terror in her eyes when she ran out of her house. Sloane stillcared for me. She didn’t even get mad about her van. I was sure that would come later.

I let my eyes wander around her beach house. Nothing much had changed. After I informed her of Kolya’s arrest, she mentioned a move to Oregon or San Diego. She’d asked the Rossis for help to escape to either Canada or Mexico. But Sandro calmed her down and told her they had the pulse on the Russians’ movements. I’d also given instructions to Sonny and Matteo. Now if only I could convince her to return to Manhattan. The tracker was out of her. We could leave it here, while I hid her in the penthouse. No way was I delegating her security again.

Sloane returned and had the stethoscope around her neck and a blood pressure cuff.

“We seem to find ourselves playing doctor-patient frequently,” I said.

“That seems to be a language we understand.”