Page 195 of Bona Fide

? Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough — Patty Smyth feat Don Henley ?

“I’m not going,”Emmy declares, folding her arms along her chest. “You can’t make me.” I perk a brow while the nurse in front of me finishes dressing my shoulder. “Shouldn’t he be lying down or something?”

The middle-aged nurse peeps over her shoulder at my defiant assistant. “He’s refusing any more treatment.”

Now Emmy’s brows lift to the white ceiling. “Really? I would hate for there to be a lawsuit if something—”

“I signed a waiver, Em,” I advise smoothly. “Stop freaking out my nurse so she can finish her job.”

Betty, my nurse, continues wrapping my shoulder when a dark figure shows up in the doorway. My gaze latches on to Mitchell standing there. His face—it does nothing to ease my nerves of how my second shadow is doing, my second man who is always following me around.

Francis and Mitchell don’t speak much, I prefer it that way, but we’ve developed some sort of silent bond. They watched and protected, I ordered them around, and they weren’t affected.

Francis liked bubblegum, always spitting it out in my presence when I’ve told him a million times that he didn’t need to. Mitchell had some sort of hard crush on one of the press secretaries that practically strutted into my office whenever he was around. I’ve caught him staring at her ass more times than I care to keep track of, and when he’s not there, she could give a shit what she does. Once I mentioned for him to ask her out and he ignored me.

We were like the Three Musketeers and shit.

“How is he?” I ask, giving him permission with my words to walk in.

Mitchell nods before clasping his hands together. “Alive, Mr. President.”

“And? How bad?”

“He’s in emergency surgery, sir. His family has been contacted and on their way here.”

“How severe?”

“The first bullet grazed his head. The second hit his chest then pierced a lung.” My held breath releases in a shudder. “It must’ve been when he was charging in front of you, sir.”

I pull my attention from him and focus on the dry erase board behind Betty.

I can’t control an operating table or a doctor doing his or her job right. No amount of money can buy his life or safety through what he’s undergoing right now, and it leaves me with a familiar feeling of hopelessness and vulnerability.

I bow my head, and Mitchell stands to the side, aligning his back with the wall to keep guard of the room.

“Can you give us the room?” I ask Betty. Her brown eyes flick to me, and she presses her thin lips in a fine line.

“Just don’t move much,” she advises, her brows cutting down in a subtle warning. “You’ll mess up my work.”

I coerce a grin. “You got it.” She promptly exits, leaving me with just Em and Mitchell. My man closes the door behind her, and Emmy steps closer to my bed.

“Do you need pain meds?”

“I’m already on them,” I reply. “Who shot me?”

“His name is Randy Houston, a man you call when you want someone taken out.”

“By?”

Emmy’s expression turns deadly. “Your wife.” My body immediately tenses, a chill runs down my arms and spine as Emmy’s mocha eyes bore into me.

I know for a fact that Demi will go above and beyond to get what she wants. Shit, I’ve lived through it.

But, kill me? Fuck, I should’ve seen that coming when she practically burned Reagan’s mother’s house down to the ground.

“Mitchell,” I voice, my whole body on edge. “Call the men that we left with Miss Shelton, give them a heads-up.” He doesn’t respond, stepping out of the room to do what I asked.

“There’s more,” Em states, shifting her weight in front of me.

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