Page 63 of Savage Escape

Reid’s eyes narrowed and his lip twitched like he was holding back a snarl. He set the tray down and grabbed at his nose in a sign of agitation.

“Caden.” It was a burdened sigh. He shook his head and then glanced up like he was praying for patience and then glared back down at her. “You have a fever. You have been stabbed. You have twenty-one cuts that require stitching on your legs alone. I have not counted the ones on your arms or the gashes on your back, where I am assuming they used a weed whacker or some other twisted shit.”

He paused for breath and what Caden was assuming (judging by his adopted brother’s penchant for the theatrics) dramatic effect. He took another noticeable, deep breath and continued his tirade.

“You have two broken and four fractured ribs. You have internal goddamn bleeding. You have three broken fingers, two broken toes, and one dislocated elbow and shoulder. For the love of all that is holy, just please trust me to know how to fix you.”

“Reid,” Why was it that this man treated her like he’d always known her? Like they were old friends, and she was being her usual frustrating self and he was just trying to be the good doctor? “I understand. I can feel most of it. Trust me, I know what’s going on.”

“Yeah, I’m aware that you can feel the pain of your injuries. Well aware.” Another issue that was making his jaw clench. She almost felt bad. He had a set of ice-blue eyes that somehow pierced and did the puppy dog thing at the same time. It was hard to ignore.

“I can deal with the pain. I really can. I do not want to be drugged or unconscious.” She ignored his angry huff and continued. “You can stitch me up and set my breaks. I won’t fight you. I promise.”

“This is not something I want to debate with you on. It would be inhumane of me to operate on a patient who is not drugged or unconscious.”

“You wouldn’t be operating. It’s not like you’re gonna cut me open.”

He huffed again, and this time paced away, a dark scowl growing on his handsome face. He whirled again and stood in front of her, triumph alight in his eyes.

“What if we have Nathan in here the whole time?”

Instantly, Caden’s hackles rose. It wasn’t like he was trying to insult her. He was trying to do the opposite. But the fact that he thought she needed someone to hold her hand was insulting as all hell. Nathan’s presence would make her feel better, but she wasn’t going to admit that. Out loud. With note-taking witnesses. Weakness was not something she liked to have broadcast.

“He just got in the shower. Why do you need him?” Holden sidled into the room, eyes sharpening at the mention of Nathan.

“Nothing. I don’t need him.” Caden tried to sound less defensive. Where had all her finely honed nonchalance gone? “Fine, all right, you can put me out. But only for like... an hour.”

Reid was already up and injecting something into her IV line. Unease gripped her gut and clawed at her perfectly calm exterior. She did not know these assholes. Why the hell was she letting herself be goaded into doing what they said?

“Look,” Holden stepped closer, all scowls and awkwardness, “I never thanked you for what you did for Nathan.” He rubbed the back of his neck and Caden was sharing in the awkward that was coming off him in waves. “You saved his life. You could have just left him behind, but you didn’t... so thanks for keeping my brother alive.” Holden was starting to go fuzzy. She was starting to feel lighter.

Slightly fuzzy herself. Warm too. The cool sheet under her hands felt nice. Better than cement. The absence of rat sounds was almost comforting.

“Nobody could let Nathan die.” Was that slurry voice hers? “He’s rainbows... and sunshine... I’m not Voldemort—I don’t kill unicorns.”

“No, you’re not Voldemort.” Holden’s fuzzy face was beside hers and helping her lie back.

She was in a bed. A bed with springs and pillowcases and shit. Nathan was alive. She had bread, actual homemade bread, in her stomach and Harry Potter was such a good series.

Unidentified drunken emotions swelled in her chest. She could feel them turn liquid and fill her eyes as the world became even warmer and fuzzier. How was she supposed to explain her stupid random crying? Goddamn drugs, making her crazy.

“Neville was such a badass.” Her explanation wasn’t coming out right, and she knew she sounded like an idiot. But then it didn’t matter because everything blurred completely and went black.

21

CHARLES

Charles Marskib was completely and utterly enraged.

So very enraged that the baseball bat in his hands would have pulverized Kyott’s skull if he’d been standing in front of him. As it was, his office took the beating because Kyott and his unexploded head were safely on a different continent.

He’d not been so thoroughly pissed in a very long time.

Counting was doing nothing to calm his temper.

Deep breathing did not calm him.

No, no. He was fine. He was thinking again. He could focus now on something other than destroying his once lovely office.

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