Page 78 of Wasted Grace

I shut my eyes, a fresh wave of rage thundering through me.

And before I can stop it—thefury explodes.

“What thefuckwere you thinking?”

My voice comes out like a whip. It makes him flinch, but I don’t care.

And I don’t wait for a response. “You jumped in front of a bullet,” I hiss. “Are you actuallyinsane?”

I’m pacing, breathing through the fury that’s been building since the moment he hit the concrete.

That finally gives him time to speak—and of course, he fills it with nonsense.

“I didn’t think...” he slurs, his voice thick with morphine. “I just saw the red dot and...”

“Oh, hespeaks!” I say sweetly, venom dripping from every syllable. “Where was this eloquence when you could’ve said‘Watch out’or maybe called my name—FROM A SAFE FUCKING DISTANCE—instead of jumping in front of a bullet like a deranged body shield?”

He frowns. Actually frowns. Like he’sthinking. Whilehigh.

“Oh, but I wasn’tjumping,” he mumbles, lazily flopping his hand in a pathetic pushing gesture. “I wanted to... y’know...pushyou.”

He winces immediately—probably pulled something. My concern flickers, but I’m not done being pissed.

“You reckless, stupid idiot,” I snap. “You thought a bullet through your body was a better idea than me getting a goddamnbruisethrough my bulletproof vest?”

“Ohhh,” he chuckles.Chuckles. Then lets his head loll back against the pillow. “Sooorrryyy.”

I stare at him in absolute disbelief.

Then his head snaps up like he’s just realized the cure for cancer.

“I didn’t know you were wearing a bulletproof thingy!” he says, wide-eyed and earnest.

I blink. Once. Twice.

“I’m abodyguard, you moron.Anda special agent. What the fuck did you think I was wearing, asaari?”

He squints. “Stop being a whiny bitch.”

Ohhell no.

“Whiny?” I bark. “You’re lucky I’m not strangling you with your IV drip.”

“You could’ve died,” he mutters, eyes fluttering. “I didn’t die. We didn’t die...”

“You fuckingcodedduring surgery!” I whisper-shout, finally cracking. “You flatlined, Advik!”

He goes quiet. But not for long. His head bobs up again and he stares at his shoulder like it personally betrayed him.

“I got shot in the shoulder,” he says, voice heavy.

“Yeah,” I say dryly. “It appears so.”

But then his face changes. His eyes sharpen. Anger—real,raw fury—blooms across his face like a storm.

“I gotshotin theshoulder,” he snaps again, louder.

I stare at him, baffled. “Yes, and?”