Page 102 of Prodigal Son

One stepped forward as they neared, hand held up to stay them. A nurse cut him off.

“Only two visitors at a time, ladies.” The nurse said, with a glare at the cops for good measure, and then he hustled on.

Eden said, “You two go on in. I’ll have a word with the officers.”

Raven hurried forward, heels rapping on the floor – she’d changed back into her own clothes for this trip, wanting to look every inch the businesswoman and not the outlaw in too-small, borrowed biker gear. She shooed Axelle along in front of her, into the room, tugged the door shut, and–

And then she just stopped, still clutching the door handle, frozen mid-step.

The sight of him hit her like a slap. Left her reeling.

Albie wasn’t some big hulking brute of a man, but he’d always had a quietly forceful presence. Even if he wasn’t speaking, he tended to draw eyes in a room, a natural sort of calm authority that others responded well to. He was the first one you’d search out in a time of crisis.

He looked small now. Smaller than he was. He lacked Tommy’s prettiness, or Fox’s sly appeal, but he was handsome in his own way – but his face now was a mess of red bruises, swollen; one eye was swollen shut, and a long gash marred the skin above his brow. Someone had wiped the dirt and ash from his skin, but his hair was greasy and tousled, and in need of a proper washing. Redness on the side of his throat, and his collarbones: burns that could have been much, much worse. Left arm in a chunky white cast, tubes snaking from his nose, and his chest, and the back of his hand. IV dripping, monitor beeping low and regular.

Raven’s hand slipped down to her side, and it felt like it took minutes to cross the short distance to the bed.

Axelle had gone around to the other side, and her gaze moved restlessly over him, down to the lumps of his toes beneath the blankets, up to his battered face. She breathed through her mouth, quick, sharp in-and-out puffs that belied she’d been thinking only of being questioned. Raven had heard the two of them outside her room earlier – God, that was hours ago – and beneath her own horror and worry felt a pang of real sadness for the girl. Loving a Lean Dog was a burden, and not a privilege – even more so for anyone doomed to love one of this brood.

Albie’s good eye opened a slit.

Raven jumped back, a hand going to her throat.

“Oh,” Axelle said, low and wounded.

Raven recovered. “Albie.” She stepped up to the bed and laid a tentative hand on his unbroken arm, mindful of the IV lines. “Albie, can you hear me?”

“Probably not,” a voice said behind her, and her heart leapedagain.

A doctor had entered without either of them noticing, a harried-looking young woman in rumpled blue scrubs, hands dry and cracking from too many washings. She moved to the foot of the bed and checked the chart stowed in the tray there, movements efficient, second nature. “He’s on a lot of morphine,” she explained as she moved past Raven to peer down into Albie’s eyes with a penlight. “Even if he wakes, he won’t be lucid.” She straightened. “Has anyone talked to you about his status?”

“Pardon my French, doctor, but he looks well and truly fucked up. I’m guessing that’s his status.”

Tight smile. “More or less. Fractured wrist, fractured radius and ulna. Four fractured ribs. Lots of bruising, obviously, a few first-degree burns – which is lucky, considering it was an explosion. A concussion. We aren’t expecting any lasting trauma from the head injury. All in all, I’d say it’s miraculous he survived at all, much less with only these injuries.”

“Do you know anything about the explosion?”

“You’d have to ask them out there in the uniforms.” She jerked her head toward the door with a look of real disgust. “God,” she muttered, turning back to Albie, checking his monitors. “Cluttering up my ICU, getting between me and my patients over a bag of bloody guns.”

Raven traded a glance with Axelle – tried to, anyway. The girl was staring down at Albie, slowly, unconsciously fingering a fold of his blanket, over and over, running it between two fingers.

“He’s a Lean Dog, right?” the doctor asked.

Raven snapped back to her, giving her a narrow-eyed look, searching for scorn.

She found none, though.

The doctor shrugged. “A pair of them stopped my little brother from getting jumped one night. You ask me, they keep the city safer.” She dropped the chart back in its slot. “If you need anything, page Candace, she’s the nurse looking out for him tonight.”

“Thanks,” Raven said, a little stunned.

The doctor was at the door when Axelle lifted her head and said, “Doctor, wait. Please.”

The doctor turned back, face softening a fraction; how could it not with Axelle looking as sad and ashen as any real wife?

“Will – is he – he’ll make a full recovery?”

Granted, Raven hadn’t known her long, but she’d never heard her sound like that. It was pitiful, really.

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