Page 8 of War

A knock on the door followed by Diamond’s voice ends the discussion.“I got everything.Let’s get you fixed up.”

“You need a doctor.”Kitty winces, squirting antiseptic cream onto her finger.

“No, I just need sleep.”My skin is a kaleidoscope of purple and blue with slashes of red scratches all over it.I look like a werewolf attacked me.

Diamond holds up a large bandage.“We’ve got you, darlin.”

* * *

My eyes creep open.My head is thick, a haze refusing to lift despite me being awake.A burning sizzles across my back, a sign that the painkillers are wearing off.

“Hey.”Callan’s voice draws my attention to him sitting beside the bed, his hair disheveled in need of a brush.His hands are clasped, dangling between his legs, elbows resting on his knees.

“How long was I out?”In just a pair of burrowed panties, I push up on Callan’s comforter and move into a sitting position.I feel like I’m a ninety-year-old pensioner, my muscles and bones protesting the movements.The memories of what happened hang over me like a rain cloud.I pull the top sheet over my chest.There are empty bottles by his chair and a couple of plates, making me wonder how long he’s been sitting there.He’s been watching over me and my heart hums with happiness at the thought.

“Two days.”My mouth drops.“Diamond woke you to take more pain meds and you went straight back out.”I don’t even remember that.“How are you feeling?”That’s a loaded question.

“Like I got thrown around by a big, scary asshole.”I chuckle, but there’s no humor there.My throat is dry.My stomach pangs with hunger.

The muscle in his jaw flickers, his hands curling into fists.“I want Doc to come in and look at you.”

“No.”I shift on the mattress, pulling the sheet tighter against me.“I’m fine.Well…I will be.”I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.

“Rogue.”He swallows, and my eyes take in the movement of his throat.The veins in his neck pulse and oddly, I find it sexy as hell.“I want to ask you something, and I don’t want you to be afraid or ashamed or…”

“What is it?”

Torment stiffens his posture.“Did he…did he…”

“No,” I grit out, my tone full of conviction, my eyes bright with truth.

His eyes lift to mine, and my heart stills.They’re glassy.His bottom lip protrudes, making him appear so young and vulnerable.Not the scary killer I know he can be.“Callan.”I reach out and stroke my palm down his face.“I promise.Larkin just roughed me up.”I know how rare it must be to see Callan this exposed.Being a stone-cold bastard, people often forget his heart beats the same as ours.I’ve felt the flutter against my cheek when in his arms.He doesn’t need to know how close it came to Larkin crossing that line.

“It fucking hurts to look at you.I’m so fucking sorry.I just wish I could take this away for you.”A lump grows in the back of my throat, and my heart swells, almost bursting.

“It’s just some bruising and scrapes.It will heal.”

Tapping a finger to my forehead, he says, “Will this?”I stifle a laugh but let out a little snort.There’s so much bullshit trauma in my head.This is just another thing I’ll overcome and learn to live with.

“He’s dead.I’m not.”I shrug, gasping in a sharp breath when pain expands over my shoulder.The wound needs a few stitches.It’s something I can do myself when I’m feeling less like death.

“What is it?”he asks, panicking as he hovers his hands over me without touching me.

“Nothing, it’s fine.”

“Rogue?”He scowls, moving away and accidentally kicking a bag at the end of the bed.

“What’s my stuff doing here?”I frown.

Turning his gaze to where I’m staring, he says, “I had Tim bring it here and check you out of that motel.It’s a shit hole and not safe.”

Irritation flares.“Don’t you think I should have made that decision and gotten my own belongings?”

“No.”He shakes his head and cuts his hand through the air.

My fingers clinch the fabric of the sheet.The photo I keep of him burning in my brain.I hope he hasn’t seen it.

“I saw the bullets.”His dark eyes bore into me, and my heart leaps.

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