Page 98 of Deadly Wrath

Please be morphine. Or a goddamn bear tranquilizer. Anything to make this hurt less.

The machines beep at a steady rhythm, and either it’s calming me, or whatever’s in this IV is kicking in fast. Thank goodness for that. My body feels like a sack of bricks, and exhaustion is dragging me under, but I’m trying to fight it.

My head lolls to the left, and that’s when I see him.

Alessio.

Slumped in a chair beside my bed, his head resting against the wall. He looks wrecked. His jaw is scruffy with stubble, like he hasn’t shaved in days, his hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in a while. And he’s wearing hospital scrubs.

What. The. Hell.

Is he playing doctor? Did he hijack some poor guy’s uniform? The man who only wears Armani or some other bougie-ass brand.

Yeah, I’m definitely on drugs.

I close my eyes, feeling like I’m drifting off, when I hear the door open and the curtain surrounding the bed shifts.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake. My name’s Randy. I’m your night nurse and will be taking care of you.” His voice is low, almost a whisper, and then his eyes go to Alessio.

I follow his gaze, looking at Alessio, who’s still asleep. Then Nurse Randy and I make eye contact, and I give him a stupid smile out of pure awkwardness.

“Your fiancé hasn’t left your side,” he says, walking over to the small sink to wash his hands.

Fiancé. That’s not a thing anymore, but I don’t tell him that.

“How long have I been here?” I rasp, my throat feeling like I swallowed a mouthful of sandpaper.

“Four days. You were touch and go for a while, coded on the OR table, and once in recovery.” He says it so casually, but it makes me shiver.

“Your brother said you stopped breathing in the car, too, but your fiancé brought you back with chest compressions,” Randy adds.

My stomach flips. Alessio saved me? I died, and he brought me back.

“Brother?” I croak out.

“The tall guy with the man bun, who brought you in with your fiancé,” he says. “He said he was your brother.”

Kota. He’s the only guy who can both rock a man bun and handle Alessio without losing his shit. But, definitely not my brother.

“You’re a very lucky woman,” he says, but I don’t feel lucky.

“I died three times. How is that luck?” I ask, reaching out for the cup of water he hands me.

“Well,” he starts, completely unfazed, “not everyone has a man willing to pull a gun on the chief surgeon to make sure an OR stays open just for you, reserve an entire hospital floor like it’s a luxury hotel suite, or force two surgeons, an anesthesiologist, and two nurses to stay here until you recover. That’s not including the lineup of stacked men pacing the floor like security at a Britney Spears concert.”

He says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and my head spins.

Why would he do all that for me?

“You’re lucky to have someone who loves you that much,” Randy adds. “Not to mention, he’s terrifying and won’t let anyone near you unless he’s watching.”

“Yeah, he can be scary,” I mutter, still trying to process the information dump Nurse Randy just dropped on me.

“He almost took my hand off for redressing your wound,” he adds casually.

He moves around, checking the machines. “Looks like you figured out the morphine drip,” he says, nodding toward the little lever in my hand. I guess it showed him that something was administered.

I give him a weak smile and a slight nod.

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