Page 52 of Trick

Slowly, I try to sit, but the movement sends white-hot pain through me that almost blinds me. I can’t stop the cry that forces its way through my lips, and my hand presses against my side, trying to ease it.

“Don’t move around,” Trick says, his voice drowsy as he comes awake. “You’ll tear your stitches.”

He stands and places Sophia in a small travel cot, careful not to wake her. His fingers slip into mine, as if he needs to touch me.

“You need more painkillers?” There is concern in his voice when he asks this. “The doc left you some.”

He steps away, probably to get the medication, but I tighten my fingers around his, holding him in place. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want to be alone in this room, hurt and unable to protect myself.

“Don’t leave me,” I say, not caring if I sound pathetic.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures me, which helps to lift some of the anxiety I’m feeling.

“Is Sophia okay?”

“She’s fine. Howler put the club on lockdown the minute we were attacked. He brought Pia and the baby here just in case Richardson targets the house, and then he met us on the road.”

A shiver of fear runs through me. I never even considered that might be a possibility. “They wouldn’t hurt a baby.”

Trick glances over at his sleeping daughter. He is a man who will defend his child until his last breath. “Who knows? I don’t think they have much of a moral compass and I’m not taking that risk.”

“Was anyone else hurt?”

He shakes his head. “They only targeted us.”

I glance up, meeting his eyes, unsure of the feelings and emotions swirling inside me. I’m both scared and relieved that we made it out in one piece.

“This is never going to end, is it?”

He squeezes my thighs. “It will. There isn’t a single brother in this club who isn’t going to fight to make it safe for us all.”

I want to ask more, but the more pressing issue is my bladder needs to empty. “I need to get up. I need to pee.”

He holds his hands out to me, and I let him pull me up. I get dizzy for a second, and he grips me tightly as I wait for it to pass.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I’m light-headed.”

Neither of us moves, waiting for my brain to unscramble enough that I can open my eyes. When I do, he is peering down at me with such concern that it clogs my throat.

“Do you need to sit again?”

I shake my head. “Just help me to the bathroom.”

Shuffling across the floor, I cling to him like he’s a life raft tossed into a freezing ocean.

“I feel weak.” I hate to admit that, but he can see it anyway.

“It’s the shock and the morphine coming out of your system.”

I let him help me to the bathroom. He doesn’t seem as if he wants to leave me alone, but he steps out the room with a worried “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

I grit my teeth as I lift the T-shirt and push down my underwear. The pain isn’t blinding, but it’s also not pleasant. I take my time, lowering myself onto the toilet and emptying my bladder. By the time I’ve washed my hands and shuffled to the door, all I want to do is lie back down.

Trick comes up from where he was leaning against the wall next to the door, instantly guiding me back to the bed. The way he’s taking care of me makes me want to cry.

“Thanks,” I say as he lowers me onto the mattress.

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