Page 65 of Sin Bin Bully

"Fuck," I breathe, dropping to my knees beside her still form. Kim lies crumpled on the ground, her clothes soaked through, mud streaking her beautiful face. My hands shake as I reach for her, terror gripping my chest.

"Kim, wake up," I mutter, gently turning her over. Her skin is ice-cold to the touch, and panic surges through me. I press my fingers to her neck, searching for a pulse. It's there, but weak and thready.

"Shit, shit, shit," I mutter, gathering her limp body into my arms. Her head lolls against my chest, and I've never felt so fucking helpless in my life. I need to get her warm, need to make sure she's okay.

This is why she shouldn't fucking leave like that.

I stand, cradling her close, and start moving as fast as I can through the trees. My car isn't far, thank God. Every second feels like an eternity as I pick my way carefully over roots and rocks, terrified of jostling her.

Finally, I break through the treeline. My Range Rover sits idling where I left it, the headlights cutting through the darkness. I fumble with the door handle, unwilling to let go of Kim for even a moment.

Once inside, I cradle her across my lap, her head tucked under my chin. I crank the heat, willing warmth back into her body. My shirt is getting soaked, but I couldn't give less of a shit about that right now.

"Come on, little dancer," I murmur into her hair, rocking slightly. "Open those beautiful eyes for me."

She doesn't stir, and fear claws at my insides. What if I was too late? What if she's seriously hurt? The thought of losing her makes me want to tear the world apart.

I drive back to the mansion, my eyes constantly flicking between the road and Kim's still form. The silence in the car is deafening, broken only by the occasional ragged breath from her unconscious body. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel, tension coiling through every muscle.

Finally, we arrive. I scoop her up, cradling her against my chest as I stride through the garage door. The house feels too big, too empty without her laughter echoing through it. I take the stairs two at a time, desperate to get her somewhere safe, somewhere warm.

In my bedroom, I gently lay her on the bed. Her clothes are filthy, caked with mud and leaves. I strip them off with careful hands, tossing them aside. My breath catches as I see the bruises forming on her perfect skin.

"Fuck, Kim," I mutter, running a finger along a particularly nasty-looking scrape on her arm. "What were you thinking?"

I grab a washcloth from the bathroom, wetting it with warm water. Returning to her side, I start cleaning away the dirt and grime. Her skin is still cold to the touch, and I work quickly, not wanting her to get chilled.

"You're okay now," I murmur as I work, even though she can't hear me. "I've got you. You're safe. With me."

Once she's clean, I rummage through my closet, pulling out one of my softest sweaters. It's massive on her small frame, but it'll keep her warm. I ease it over her head, then wrap her in a thick blanket for good measure.

Gathering her close, I settle us both on the bed. Her head rests on my chest, right over my heart. I run my fingers through her damp hair, marveling at how right this feels.

"You scared the shit out of me, little dancer," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Don't ever do that again. You belong here, with me. You should fucking see that now."

Once I have Kim, I call out for Kelsey. As usual, she appears like it's out of thin air. Poking her head into my room, she asks, "Do you need something, Mr. Warwick?"

"Kelsey, I need you to get Dr. Stentson here. Now."

"Yes, sir. I'll get right on it," Her voice is laced with concern, but she disappears immediately.

I turn my attention back to Kim, still unconscious in my arms. My chest tightens as I watch the shallow rise and fall of her breathing. Fuck, she looks so small, so fragile.

The minutes drag by like hours until finally, there's a knock at the door. Dr. Stentson enters, his medical bag in hand.

"Sam, what's the emergency?" he asks, his eyes already scanning Kim's prone form.

"She was out in the woods, fell and hit her head. She's been unconscious for..." I glance at my watch, "Almost an hour now."

Dr. Stentson nods, moving to Kim's side. I hover nearby, every muscle in my body tense as I watch him examine her.

"Pupils are equal and reactive," he murmurs, shining a light in her eyes. "No signs of serious head trauma."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "So she's okay?"

"She'll be fine, Sam," Dr. Stentson assures me, packing up his equipment. "She's got a mild concussion and some bruising, but nothing life-threatening. Keep her warm and comfortable. She should wake up soon."

Relief washes over me, but it's quickly replaced by a surge of anger. "She shouldn't have fucking run off like that," I growl.

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