Page 25 of Born of Ice

I open my mouth to say something, but she stops me. “There is no boyfriend, you idiot! Unless you count the one who did this to her and then left her alone in the hospital bed.”

I want to tell her to fuck off, that it’s none of my business, and that her idea of me helping Electra was shit from the start but then Stella steps in closer, so only I can hear the words that send a slash of cold ice over my bones.

“She cannot be left alone. Do you understand me?” Her eyes drill into mine and suddenly that empty look in those electric blue eyes I saw earlier, makes sense.

Fuck.

In a haste, I pull out a hundred out of my pocket, smacking it on the bar top and run out, tripping over my bar stool as I do so, but I don’t care. I don’t have the time to care.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She didn’t even lock the front door, I think to myself as I burst through it as if my ass was on fire, only to stop dead in my tracks, gaping at the scene in front of me.

“Sure, come in, make yourself at home once again.” Those blue eyes have the audacity to roll at me, but her sarcastic tone lacks the sass from the earlier.

“What the fuck?” I lunge for her sprawled body next to the wall, lifting the wheelchair that’s pinning her legs in a twisted way. “Why are you on the floor?” I demand and a flash of irritation passes through her.

“Oh, you know, just wanted to rest a bit,” she says defiantly, and it hits me that she obviously fell and wouldn’t be able to get up by herself.

Jesus Christ, how long has she been down here like this?

“Why didn’t you call someone to come help you?” I grit out, sliding my arms underneath her body to lift her but she slaps my hands away. Because of course, she does.

“I don’t need anyone’s help.” That stubborn streak, loud and clear in her voice, but there’s also something else there.

“A delusional psychopath, great,” I mumble to myself and slide my arms underneath her anyway, despite her claws digging into my arms as I do. “Stop. Fighting. Me.” I squeeze her tightly to my body, translating the words with my eyes as much as with my mouth and she does, indeed, stops moving.

We both stop.

Her curves molding into mine as her somewhat antiseptic—the one you smell when you are in the hospital—scent penetrates my lungs and for a second, it’s hard to move, even if I’d want to, because for some unfathomable reason, I have a hard-on.

I’m not immune, you know, if there is an obviously gorgeous girl pressed into my body, I’m going to react. Or rather, my body will react. But now is so not the right time or place.

I maneuver around her small living room, and as I deposit her on the couch, I catch a sight of clotted blood in her hair. “Fuck,” I hiss. She’s been down for a while…

“What?”

“How did you manage to hit that wall hard enough to split your head open?”

Electra averts her eyes. “None of your business.”

“And whose is it? Your boyfriend’s?”

I watch as her throat bobs with the mention of that fucker. I know I’m probably an asshole for taunting her like that, but I’m not one for cuddles and sweet talk.

“Yep.”

“Now who’s the liar?” I stand up, towering over her so I can get a good look at what she’s done to herself.

“Weren’t you leaving?” she huffs, slapping my hand away from her head. “Why are you even here?”

“Have you met your trainer?” She huffs in answer, which is answer enough. “Exactly.” I force my hands back to her wound and by some God sent miracle, she lets me examine her.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re complaining. You got the best of the fucking best.”

She glares and then lets out a fake cheer. “Exton Quinn, woohoo… Spare me the bullshit, please.” I stare at the top of her head, my lips twisting.

When was the last time a girl was so uninterested, unimpressed, and just plain irritated by me? Even after I kicked them out like sad puppies, they still begged for me to call them.

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