Page 99 of Filthy Rich Santas

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “It’s not that simple.”

I stare at him, hating how he’s keeping me at arm’s length even now.

“It can be.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand?—”

“Because you won’t let me!” I shove at his chest, surprising both of us with the force of it. “You keep pushing me away, and I’m sick of it!”

I turn on my heel, feeling more emotional than I can explain. More than the situation probably warrants, if I’m being honest with myself, since it’s just a temporary agreement we all made.

I head to the bathroom, ignoring him when he calls out again, needing to put some distance between us before I say something I can’t take back. But as I take a step, the world suddenly tilts sideways.

My vision blurs, dark spots dancing at the edges. I try to call out, to reach for something to steady myself, but my body isn’t responding.

The last thing I hear is Beckett calling my name again, his voice tinged with panic.

Then everything goes black.

23

BECKETT

My heart fucking stops.One second, Lana’s standing there, fire in her eyes as she rips me a new one. The next, she’s crumpling to the ground, her face going slack.

I’m at her side in an instant, shocked to see how steady my hands are as I check for a pulse when everything inside me feels like it’s shaking.

“Fuck,” I breathe out in relief.

Her pulse is there, so weak and thready that a completely unreasonable part of me is convinced if I take my fingers away it will disappear, but at least it’s fucking present.

“Tristan! Ryder!” I bellow without taking my eyes off her far-too-pale face. “Call 911! Now!”

I hear them scrambling, Tristan cursing and Ryder’s voice rising in intensity as he gets a dispatcher on the line, but I tune it out, focusing everything I’ve got on Lana.

She was getting flushed and overheated a second ago, something I figured was due to us arguing. But now, her skin is clammy and her breathing is shallow.

What thefuckjust happened?

“Jesus,” Tristan says tightly, kneeling down on the pavement next to me. “What?—”

“I don’t know,” I bite out, one hand cradling her head while I keep the fingers of my other hand pressed firmly against her wrist, monitoring her pulse.

I can feel the tension radiating off Tristan and know him well enough to guess that he’s biting his tongue to keep from lashing out with another slew of questions none of us have answers to. When Ryder joins us a moment later, we’re both treated to a steady stream of creative cursing as he hovers over Lana across from me.

We’ve all got a little first aid training. It’s smart for anyone, obviously, but doubly so when you’re a Dom who’s asking submissives to put themselves in your hands. And with the three of us running Radiance, it just makes sense.

But I can tell the guys feel exactly like I do right now—that the training we’ve got is completely insufficient, since none of us have a clue why Lana is on the ground, pale and unconscious, instead of lighting up every damn thing she touches, like she should be.

“This is my fucking fault,” I mutter, the stab of guilt so intense it almost guts me.

“No,” Tristan says firmly.

Ryder shakes his head. “Something is going on here.”

I fucking know that, and I’m not so self-centered that I can’t see the problem here is something medical.

Or that my friends are trying to bolster my spirits by reminding me of that.

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