Page 232 of Kiss the Villain

He’s dying because ofme.

I meet Simone, my legs barely carrying me. “What’s…what’s wrong?”

“He made it.” She speaks through tears. “He’s alive. He lost a lot of blood, but he fought, Gareth. He’s alive.”

A strangled noise fills my throat as she hugs me, and Jethro calls us dramatic as he hugs us, too.

I wrap my arm around her, hiding my face in her shoulder, spitting out a shaky exhale.

He’s alive.

He didn’t leave me.

And I can breathe.

I spent the next few days by Kayden’s side.

He was in the ICU, but this morning, they moved him to the general ward, and he’s looking better.

I asked Jethro and Simone not to tell Rachel and Jina. They can’t travel to the States anyway, so telling them would only worry them to no end. Rachel actually has severe depression, and she tends to get too worried about him, so I chose to hide the truth. Something Kayden agreed with, then said we’d visit them when he’s better.

Even though the threat of his organization still looms, I have more security than a president around the hospital. Not only did Aunt Rai and V’s dad, the Russian mafia leader, come through, but my dad and grandpa were also extra and hired their own security.

Pretty sure they’d buy the whole hospital if we spend one more week here.

Grandpa can’t stand Kayden, even when he’s sick. Said he’s a goddamn leech and I was almost shot because of him, and he still insists he’s Dad’s age.

Not sure what Dad feels, but he’s at least thankful that Kayden saved my life, so silver linings, I guess.

Ever since Kayden was moved to this room, I’ve been cutting him apples and strawberries. He said he doesn’t really have a favorite fruit, but he grew fond of strawberries, so I got him those.

And I’ve been giving him lots of massages since he’s been lying in bed for a long time. I had one of the nurses teach me the technique, and since I’m a fast learner, I got it right away.

Now, they can get their greedy hands off my man.

What?They’ve been giving him heart eyes, and this one nurse keeps calling him Mr. Handsome.

I’ll cut her throat. Not even kidding.

A couple of days ago, I found this tall, buff guy talking to him in the ICU and, thankfully, I didn’t reach for my knife first and ask questions later, because, apparently, it’s his nephew, Kane.

Can you imagine the complications that we would be dealing with if I’d let my impulses win?

I did tell Kane I’d kill his dad, though, to which he simply smiled.

So, anyway, that’s who Kayden is currently watching on the laptop—his nephew playing in a college hockey game—while I press on his leg to help with blood circulation.

He releases a grunt and I look up, only to find him observing me as the commentator's voice fills the hospital room.

Kayden’s jawline is more defined, his stubble not as long—because I shaved him earlier—and his waist is wrapped in this godforsaken bandage that reminds me he could’ve slipped between my fingers, like the blood.

His color is slowly coming back, but his lips are still pale, and there’s a sheen of something unreadable in his stormy eyes.

I ease the pressure. “Does it hurt?”

“It does.” He taps his chest. “Here. Because you’re not talking to me.”

“I am talking to you,” I grumble as I resume the massage.

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