Page 149 of Convict's Game
A fifty-something doctor whisked us straight into a consultation room without batting an eye at the crew members who populated the ward after us.
She questioned us, ran tests including a CT scan, then moved us into a private room to await the results.
Still, he didn’t wake.
Quietly, I panicked over him being here and not safe in the warehouse. Was he a wanted man? I didn’t think he’d been under arrest, at least not officially, but running away from the police while on probation couldn’t help that cause.
I twisted my fingers together with anxiety.
Arran held up a sentinel’s position next to the door. “He’ll be okay. Other than hating being here.”
“What if he isn’t?”
“He has the hardest skull of anyone I ever met. He took enough hits to it as a kid.”
My heart squeezed. “But he wouldn’t know if it hurt, would he? What if he missed the warning signs? What if I did? Then the police hurt him somehow.”
He’d run with Kane, who’d vanished since, then passed out the moment he got into the car. I didn’t know if it was the effort or some other combination of factors, but the fact he still hadn’t woken terrified me.
I picked up his hand and held it, a drip in the back keeping him hydrated. “He left this morning before I woke. Why was he in Leith? Do you know?”
The intimidating gang leader twisted his lips. “No. But I know where he was seen being put into the back of the police car. My informant told me he appeared unconscious, then.”
He named the road and the building Convict had been outside of.
Our Marchant dockside warehouse.
I couldn’t make sense of it. Why not wake me if that’s where he intended to go? Realisation crept in. “He didn’t want me there because of what he might find. It has to be.”
Arran made a sound of gruff agreement. There was pity in his eyes.
My emotions churned all the more. I gently set down his hand then paced to the window and jammed my fingers into my hair. “If he was hurt because of my family, I won’t forgive them. I won’t forgive myself. I brought him into this mess. If the man I love?—”
“Whoa. Now she finally says it?”
I spun around. Convict pushed up onto one elbow, scrubbing his eyes with his free hand.
I rushed to his side. “You’re awake.”
He reached out and pulled me onto the bed with him, then eyed Arran. “In the nicest possible way, please fuck off for five minutes.”
His friend watched for a beat, relief in his smirk alongside a dozen questions. He left us anyway.
The door closed, and Convict palmed my cheek.
“Say it again.”
I pressed my lips to his. He took over, holding me to receive his devastating kiss and showing me he felt the same desperation I did. Then he broke away.
“Again, Emilia.”
“I love you.”
Convict held up his finger and marked the air. A point to him. Yet another game. I burst into tears and hugged him hard.
“One more time,” he demanded into my hair.
“I love you. I should’ve told you.”
