Page 21 of My Broken Bodyguard 2: Ritchie & Tori

I sighed. “Fine. What about Tori?”

“Her wound looks good. Whoever removed the bullet did a good job stitching her up. We’ll work on mobility exercises with you both over the next week.”

“Arlis, I can’t thank you enough for taking care of me and Tori.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tori snuggled her left side into my arm. “Yes, thanks for everything, Arlis.”

“No problem.” He sauntered out the door.

I placed a bag of peas on her eye, then tapped the power button on the remote. “Not sure how much I’ll sleep, knowing you’re lying next to me. I don’t want to wake up and find out that you’re not here.”

Her fingers caressed my cheek. “I’m sorry I left.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll pay for that shit, too. You will not make another move without me, Tori.”

She groaned.

“That means no running off to find fucking Daryl. Kagan is searching for that motherfucker as we speak. He’ll pay for all the shit he put you through.” My fingers caressed her belly, moving over her mound. This time, she didn’t stop my hand.

“Understood, Ritchie.”

I released an exaggerated breath. It felt so good to hold my woman in my arms. Once we were feeling better, we’d torture those assholes until there was nothing left. Tori would soon encounter the skilled, torturous monster I really was.

CHAPTER SEVEN

RITCHIE

THE PRISONER

“Fifteen minutes into the movie, Tori’s eyelids surrendered to the weight of drowsiness, and she slipped into a dream-laden slumber. The action movie held my attention until Arlis returned two hours later hanging an IV bag. Its translucent fluid was a lifeline to Tori’s restful oblivion. The second dose of medicine coursed through the tubing, like a whispered promise of respite.

In the back of my mind, I heard Tori’s voice, “Don’t torture Rosco until you’re healed.”

Pushing those thoughts aside, I planted a kiss on her cheek, rose to my feet, and slipped my bare feet into my boots.

I’d held my bladder until now. A smile curled my lips as I sauntered down the hallway to relieve myself.

I turned the doorknob at the end of the hallway. “Sorry Tori, I couldn’t wait.” I muttered.

My gaze landed on Rosco.

Slumped on the floor to one side, his wrist hung awkwardly behind him in the handcuffs attached to the wall.

The stench of urine and vomit lit the air.

I padded across the plastic sheet, halting a few steps from his body. “I’ve held this for a couple of hours.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled.

“You can say that until you’re blue in the face,” I chuckled.

“Rosco, Rosco, Rosco, you pissed on the wrong woman,” I roared.

I pulled out my cock and released a stream of urine on his chest. “This is for pissing on my woman, you sick motherfucker.”

“Stop,” he barked.

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