Page 95 of Cruel Riches

18

Nate

I staggeredout of the tunnel, clutching at my guts. The pain was deep and throbbing, like someone had shoved a hand inside me and was squeezing as hard as they could. Warm, sticky blood was leaking out onto my shirt, pants, and shoes.

“Fuck,” I muttered, falling to my knees outside the tunnel as stars exploded in front of my eyes.

I couldn’t die. Couldn’t let that evil bitch win.

In my weakened, blood-soaked daze, I thought I heard her voice in the back of my head, cackling cruelly. No one to blame but yourself, Nate...

The voice was right. It was my fault this happened. I knew Alexis was a crazy bitch, but I went ahead and listened to her bullshit story anyway. I saw the blood on the tissues and heard her moaning in agony—supposedly—and then I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

I should’ve known she had something up her sleeve. Should’ve known she planned to gut me and watch me bleed out in front of her.

She knew exactly how to get me close enough to strike out at me. She knew the right words to murmur to a man to make him feel sorry for even the most depraved, messed-up bitch on the planet. I might be pregnant, and it’s yours.

Such a good actress. Such a good liar.

Battling the urge to pass out, I took a deep breath and rose unsteadily to my feet. There was no one around to see me or help me. This side of the med school building never attracted anyone but the occasional gardening and maintenance staff, because there was nothing around here. Just the edge of the building that backed onto the wooded area on the western side of the campus.

Wincing, I gathered up my strength and closed the tunnel trapdoor. Then, with weak, shaking hands, I padlocked it.

Another wave of pain hit me, and I let out a choked groan as more blood leaked over my right hand, dripping onto the dead leaves at my feet. I needed a doctor. Now.

With another groan, I took off down the side of the building, heading for the closest parking lot. The late afternoon air was cold, whipping through my hair and over my sweat-drenched skin until violent chills wracked me, making me stumble as I walked. Every faltering step made me feel like a bomb was exploding in my ribcage, but somehow, I made it to my car.

I thought about waiting to see if anyone would show up in the parking lot to help, but the place was empty and silent. No one ever hung around this part of the campus on the weekend except for the security guards who patrolled the area, and none of them were anywhere near the area right now. They might not circle back around to this spot for another twenty minutes or so.

Shit.I had to drive myself.

I managed to turn the car on, and with one hand on the wheel and the other on the knife buried in my abdomen, I steered my way out of the lot and onto the road leading north. The Blackthorne teaching hospital was only half a mile away. I could make it. I just had to hold on.

Hold on…

The next thing I knew, I was outside the hospital, lurching my way up to the door. I didn’t remember arriving. Didn’t remember parking. A sudden paroxysm of agony made me let out a guttural cry, and someone came running toward me.

“Sir? Do you need help?” he said.

“Yes,” I croaked, gesturing to the knife between my ribs.

The man shouted something to someone else. In a blur, more people arrived, and someone helped me onto a gurney.

“Sir, can you tell us what happened?” a woman in blue scrubs asked, staring down at me with wide eyes.

I had to make something up. Couldn’t admit I was stabbed by the psychopathic murderer I was currently keeping captive in an old Prohibition cell under Blackthorne.

“I was mugged near here. He… he stabbed me,” I muttered. Stars were exploding in front of my eyes again.

“You’re safe now. Try to relax. You’re in good hands,” the woman said in a soothing tone before turning and barking a series of commands to others.

Someone jabbed a needle in my arm, and an oxygen mask went over my face. I closed my eyes and felt something wrapping around me, like cold tendrils of fog. Then the pain was gone, and everything went black.

When I woke up,I was in a private room with bright fluorescent lights and pale blue blankets pulled up over my legs. An IV tube was stuck in my left arm, and a heart monitor clip was on my thumb. The smell of cleaning supplies lingered in the air.

Nausea made my guts roil, and I coughed and tried to sit up straight.

“Please don’t try to move just yet,” a soft masculine voice said. “Here, I’ll move the bed up instead. Slowly, slowly.”

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