Page 94 of The Bait

She asked him a few questions about his pain level, how his face and eye felt, if he could see with his good eye. She was English too.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Royal Hospital in London.”

Then he remembered . . .

“What about Yunho?” he asked.

The nurse wasn’t sure at first, confusion on her brow. “Oh, the other man that had been held with you?”

Asher had no clue what Yunho’s situation was. Or what name he’d been admitted under, and Asher probably shouldn’t have used Yunho’s real name. Hell, Asher didn’t even know which namehe’dbeen admitted under. He nodded. “Yes. He’s Korean.”

Her face softened again. “I can’t really say, but I can tell you he made it through surgery.”

Surgery.

Jesus.

“And Lucas,” Asher asked. “He’s English. Was he with Harry?” He glanced again at Harry’s bed. He couldn’t remember seeing Lucas when Harry had rescued him...

The nurse patted his shoulder gently. “I don’t know who that is. But I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thank you,” Asher said weakly.

“You need to rest,” she urged. “I’ll see about bringing you some soft food.”

Asher didn’t care for food.

He waited until she was gone, then peeled back the blankets and crept out of bed. He was woozy, dizzy, he hurt all over, and he was so freaking tired, but he took thefew steps to Harry’s bed, sliding his hand over Harry’s and squeezing his fingers.

Harry looked like he’d been through a shredder.

Asher’s whole chest felt heavy, the burden of Harry’s suffering too much to bear. He sobbed and leaned over him, resting his head on Harry’s chest.

“My love,” he murmured. “Please be okay.”

Two other nurses were there then, urging him back to bed. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to leave him ever again.

“No,” he pleaded. He didn’t care if he was being pitiful. “Please let me stay. I need to be near him.”

“Mr Garin,” one nurse said, her gentle hand on his shoulder. “Please.”

He reluctantly stood up, his fingers still laced with Harry’s. “Harry,” he whispered, “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Harry’s fingers moved, and he squeezed Asher’s hand.

“He moved his hand,” Asher told them. “He’s holding my hand.”

The nurses both stilled, watching and waiting, and Asher held his breath.

Then Harry opened his eyes.

Pain wassomething Harry was used to. His tolerance for it well exceeded normal levels, and he’d had some gruesome injuries in his time. He’d been able to endure pain with no more than a hiss that would have rendered other men useless.

But this felt different.

He hurt all over; bones, muscles, skin.

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