Page 13 of Bloom: Part 2

I continued reading fromPercy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.I’d read it years ago, but Bloom had never read an entire book in his life. I’d chosen a reader favorite. As much as he pretended the book didn’t interest him all that much,he always insisted I read a chapter to him when I was with him. He wasn’t fooling me. He was invested in the tale of the young demigod.

Bloom’s breathing evened out, and his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. He was asleep. I sat there, the book closed over my finger to mark the page, watching him sleep. Had he always looked this pale? They hadn’t missed something, had they? I touched his forehead, which was cool.

You’re being paranoid. He is fine.

But there was a thin line between sleep and death…and he looked so still. I sighed and gently brushed a loose tendril of hair from his face. His beauty struck me, and I couldn’t help tracing his fine features lightly with the pad of my finger. I placed the book aside and let my gaze travel down to his chest, which rose and fell with every breath he took. It was a comforting sight, an assurance that Bloom was okay. But guilt gnawed at me. Every ounce of pain he felt, every frustrating moment he spent in the hospital, every mark of discomfort etched on his face—they were all there because of me.

How could I put him through that again because I selfishly didn’t want a life without him?

He’s mine. Why is it so wrong to keep him?

But danger was afoot. And I could never live with myself if this time, those who were after me succeeded.

I skimmed the curve of his perfect lips. Even asleep, he arched into my touch. The motion tugged at something deep within me. He could never know about my past and the imminent danger to me. Otherwise, he would act foolishly again. Above everything, I needed him to be safe.

After watching over him for half an hour, I rose from the bedside chair, reluctant to leave him alone. I ensured he had water next to his bed in case he woke up thirsty and plugged in his phone to charge. I sent a message to his phone remindinghim to call me if he needed anything, fixed the sheet that didn’t need fixing, and rearranged the flowers that didn’t need rearranging.

With a sigh, I finally moved toward the door. I was stalling, which made no sense. He was sleeping. He hadn’t napped, so he would likely sleep through the night. It was only logical for me to go home and do some sleeping—thinking.

I nodded to a few staff members, but they returned a frosty greeting or pretended they didn’t see me. Since the incident, they seemed to blame me for what had happened, although anyone with half a brain cell could see I had nothing to do with the hostage situation. I’d been as much a victim as them. How was it my fault Bloom had tied me up, then took on those criminals alone?

The only difference between us was they didn’t have a Bloom willing to give up his life for theirs.

Outside in the chilly night air, I stood for a while watching his window. At least I thought it was his window. A gust of wind blew past me, and I pulled my coat tighter around me. Soon it would be Thanksgiving, but I hadn’t been able to dwell on it much. Not that I usually celebrated, but for the first time, I actually had someone to be thankful for. I didn’t know the first thing about preparing a turkey, and I doubted he did either, but I could order a big meal, even when it was just the two of us. I would get all his favorite foods.

Shoving my hands into my coat pockets, I walked toward my car. My footsteps thudded on the ground, magnified by the parking lot void of people. The moonlight cast long, eerie shadows that danced around the cracked, weather-worn asphalt. A tingle ran down my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My pulse quickened. Was someone following me?

I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder, scanning the darkness. Two men approached, dressed in black and wearingtheir caps too low for me to make out their faces. One was tall and broad-shouldered, while the other was shorter but more muscular.

My heart pounded as I quickened my pace, but they followed suit, closing in on me with calculated steps.

This is it, then. I’m going to die in the parking lot. When will someone discover my body?

“All right, what do you want?” I spun around to face them while inching toward my car.

The shorter one pulled a gun from beneath his coat and aimed it at me. “You do exactly what I say, and we won’t hurt you.”

Immediately, I knew they didn’t work for my family. They would have sent someone more refined—possibly my uncle Mickey. No, with Pop serving life in prison and Cill dead, Uncle Mickey would be in power. He wouldn’t have the time to come himself.

Regardless of whom they sent, what I’d done was personal. There would be no quick death in a parking lot for me.

My shoulders relaxed. “Just take whatever you want.”

“You’re a sensible man.”

While he kept his gun trained on me, his accomplice stripped me of my wallet, phone, Rolex, and even my shoes. They were expensive, but still, who robbed someone of footwear?

“Thanks, but now we’re going to need a getaway car. That sweet ride of yours will do.”

They didn’t know the trouble they courted. A tired chuckle escaped me.

“What’s so funny?”

I shrugged. “Taking that car is the biggest mistake you’ll make.”

“Are you threatening me?” The short one took a menacing step toward me and shoved the gun into my side.

“Just giving you some advice. Getting rid of a car like that isn’t easy.”

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