Page 109 of Bloom: Part 2

“What are you proposing?” I asked.

“I can get you out of the country. I’m not saying your father won’t find you again, but it’ll be years before he does.”

“Where are you thinking?”

“I was thinking the Netherlands.”

“The Netherlands?”

“Yes. I can have you on a private jet there tomorrow.”

“My wedding is this weekend.”

“It’s your choice, Keegan.”

I ran my fingers through my hair and clamped my eyes shut. “What if we use our honeymoon as an excuse and we leave for the Netherlands and never return?”

“As in bring him with you?”

“I told you, Uncle. There’s no way I can leave him behind.”

Then I wouldn’t just have my father after me, but Bloom and the entirety of the Blood Hounds for me breaking his heart.

“He’s young. He’ll forget about you in time and find someone else.”

“Believe me, he won’t.”

Just as I would never forget about him. There was no after Bloom for me.

“Then by all means take him. Shall I make the arrangements, then?”

“Sure. That sounds good.”

“I’ll keep in touch.”

“Thanks, Uncle. I—I appreciate everything.”

“It’s the least I can do, Keegan. No, I should call you Logan now, shouldn’t I?”

But deep down, we both knew I would always be a Keegan Agosti.

“I’ll likely have to change my identity again.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll have it all sorted out for you. Go, get some sleep, and we’ll stay in touch.”

I hung up the phone but made no attempt to get up. Not even when my ass cramped from sitting on the toilet. My mind raced in circles, trying to make sense of the last twenty-four hours.

At least Bloom had forgotten about his distressing session with Dr. Simms.

A sound from the bedroom snapped me out of my thoughts. I cocked my ears. Was there an intruder in the room? We were at the clubhouse. No one would dare to break in. But the sound was unmistakable…like a groan.

“Bloom?” I crept back into the bedroom, stepping cautiously toward the bed.

The faint light from the bathroom spilled into the room, casting long shadows that seemed to pulse with my heartbeat. Bloom lay twisted in the sheets, his limbs tangled as though he were trying to fight his way free. His face was half-buried in the pillow, but what I could see of it was slick with sweat, his features drawn tight in distress. A low, guttural groan escaped his lips, a sound that sent an icy shiver up my spine.

I reached out hesitantly, not wanting to startle him but desperate to wake him from whatever nightmare had taken hold. “Bloom, hey. It’s me.” My voice wavered, and I hated how powerless I sounded. I hated to see him suffer so much.

His body jerked, his back arching off the mattress as if he were trying to escape some invisible grip. His hands clawed at the sheets, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was mumbling now, incoherent words that tumbled together in a torrent of fear and pain.

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