Page 81 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

Chapter Twenty-Two

Niran

Despite the pain pills I popped before coming to bed, I can’t switch off my mind. Whereas normally I sleep naked, tonight I’m wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts. The unfamiliar clothing is annoying my skin, making me itch all over.

I’m also lying as still as I can, not easy as my foot and lower leg throbs, and I want to change position to ease it. But Saffie has finally dropped off, and I’m loath to disturb her. I know she has to be uncomfortable sharing the bed, but there’s not much I can do about it. Even if I could insist on another room, I don’t think I would. While she’s beside me, I know nothing will hurt her, and will be there to soothe any nightmares.

I snort in my head. Me keep harm away? What could a no-legged man do if someone approached with evil intentions? Fuck all unless I had a gun at my hand. Which, here, I do not. Maybe something to rectify tomorrow.

Saffie being shot is on a revolving loop in my head. I just can’t seem to shake it, even when I can hear her regular breathing. I could have lost her.

That I came close is all down to my fucking sister who, right now, I couldn’t care less if I never set eyes on again. She’s fucking lucky there’s so much distance between us. While I doubt she intended the outcome, her intention had been to separate me from Saffie. Me, I doubt she had wanted harmed, Saffie, though, she clearly gave no damn about.

Lost had called me before I retired. After checking what I was doing, he’d informed me they were going to keep Cyn close. It was apparently my decision as to what to do with her. To be honest, she’s the least of my concerns. Any damage she could do has already been done. I’ve time to decide what retribution should be coming to her.

It’s who I can’t find I’m more worried about.

Susie, for one. Where the fuck is she? My hand itches to wrap around her throat. But she only comes third after Duke and Grit who are far more dangerous.

Where are they? Will Duke have gone to ground? Does he suspect Saffie’s alive? Does he harbour suspicions that the Satan’s Devils were involved in taking his club down? An intelligent man may think it too much of a coincidence that their compound was destroyed so soon after they’d taken me there. Would he believe his mafia contacts if they said they had nothing to do with it?

It would be convenient if the Crazy Wolves had other enemies at whom fingers could point, but with my luck, that would be too much to hope for.

As I’d agreed with Lost, we should prepare for Duke to put the blame on the Devils.

The other question I can’t stop thinking about is how the fuck can I make the world right for Saffie if I can never walk again. If I can’t ride, I won’t be a Devil. I won’t have my club behind me. She might prefer that. But hell, I wouldn’t.

I might have thought about turning in my patch but that was before every single chapter of the Satan’s Devils had ridden to rescue me. How could I give up on them? They hadn’t given up on me. How could I make Saffie see this is a life she could lead? What would it take to convince her?

I must sleep eventually as I’m woken by a hand placed gently on my shoulder.

“You okay?” Saffie’s eyes are concerned as they stare into mine. “You’ve been groaning for a while. I didn’t know whether to wake you.”

I’d been in the midst of that fucking nightmare again—seeing her drop to the ground—and this time Slinger hadn’t missed his target. But I don’t tell her that.

“My foot hurts like hell.” I turn my head toward the bedside table, noticing my tablets aren’t there and the glass that had been full of water is empty.

With the intention of getting from the bed to the chair, I start to push myself up.

“Where are you going?”

“I need my painkillers. I left them downstairs.” And I need more water. There’s no way I’m downing those horse pills without lubricating my throat.

Saffie clenches her jaw, then puts a light pressure on my shoulder. “You stay here. I’ll go get them.”

Eyeing her warily, well aware of how much an ask for her that is, I check, “You sure? I need water too.”

For an answer, she gets out of bed. She’s wearing sweats, and like me, a t-shirt. Certainly nothing provocative or revealing. Nevertheless, she hesitates by the door, even from here I can see her shaking. When she takes a breath, then another, and still doesn’t move, I think, fuck this, and start to rouse myself.

“Stay there,” she says over her shoulder as she hears the bedding moving. Without further delay, she unlocks the door, opens it, and steps out.

Expecting her to return immediately, I begin to get worried when a few minutes pass. A couple more later, and I’m inching my way to the edge of the bed. How long does it take to get one bottle of water and collect my pills?

Just as I’m about to move painfully to my wheelchair—the effect of last night’s medication having completely dissipated by now—the door, at last, reopens.

The first thing I notice is Saffie trying not to laugh. She walks over to me, holding a bottle of water out in front of her which I take gratefully from her hand, then passes me my pills.

“What’s up?” I’m pleased to see her smiling, rather than being scared, but am curious as to what happened beyond the door.

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