Page 43 of Spooked
Knowing the doctor is likely to talk me out of leaving the hospital, I get in first, “I’d like to discharge myself now.”
“Ms. Sullivan. I can’t emphasise enough how important it is that you stay here and be monitored at the very least. At best, I want to run tests to find out the cause.”
Hound squeezes my fingers again. “She’ll stay for twenty-four hours,” he announces for me, his eyes fixing on mine as if hoping I’ll be okay with him taking over. “But after that, she’s discharging herself.”
The doctor’s back straightens. “It’s my utmost recommendation that she stays here for the next few days. Until we can be sure she’s stabilised.”
“My insurance won’t cover it.”
And it’s that stark, believable statement that gets him to back down. He huffs. “As I said, you’ll be discharging yourself against medical advice and will need to sign a statement to that effect.”
Only a moment’s doubt flickers through my mind. I’m convinced that against all odds and all reasonable explanations, my life and Hound’s have become intertwined. That he’ll keep me safer than any medical treatment can. And if not? I’d rather spend my last minutes, hours, or days exploring my attraction to this handsome and caring man than in a hospital bed wired up to machinery. The heat in his eyes and the memory, vision, hallucination, whatever of his hands touching me, makes me think there’s nowhere else I’d rather die than in his arms.
Yeah, even a part of me thinks I’ve lost the plot and should be locked up to keep me safe and have the key thrown away.
Nothing, since I’ve returned to Arizona, has made any sense.
The doctor shakes his head, sighing heavily. “I’ll see you in the morning and check your condition then.” He leaves.
As he does so, two other men enter the room. Both sport wide grins. I notice Hound rolling his eyes.
“Couldn’t wait, I see?”
“Brother, popped in to see Wiz, then came to be introduced to your woman.”
My brow creases as they seem familiar. “Weren’t you there last night?”
“We were,” the brusque older man with salt-and-pepper hair and sporting an almost white beard replies. “But missed seeing you, Maeve.”
Because I was only there in my head.
Squeezing my hand that he’s still holding, Hound makes the introductions. “These are my brothers, Drummer, my prez, and Wraith, my VP.” He narrows his eyes toward them. “Nosy fuckers just wanted to meet you.”
Brothers?Adopted, maybe, but not blood. But what does that matter? Blood’s turned me away all my life. At the edges of my memory, I recall Hound saying he belonged to a motorcycle club. But after everything that’s been happening, that seems insignificant to me. They’ve not been the scariest people I’ve been faced with.
With a smirk toward Hound and a smile for me, Drummer turns to leave. “We’ll see you back at the compound, Brother.” He adds so quietly, I almost don’t hear, “Now that we’ve seen she’s real.”
As the door closes behind them, letting go of my hand, Hound parks his ass in the uncomfortable visitor chair by the side of the bed, carefully placing his crutches within easy reach. “What are you doing?” My voice falters a little.
“Staying right here.” His eyes focus on me and sharpen. “Don’t understand one fuck of what’s going on,but figure your life might be in danger. You need protecting, little dove.”
“Dove?” I snort. Then I get to the main subject. “We both saw Siobhan die. You’ve brought me the evidence to get my inheritance…” For a second, doubt plagues my mind. “Haven’t you?”
“Got it stored in a safe place,” he confirms. Then he shakes his head. “But is Siobhan really gone? You and I both saw that in a dream, or perhaps in a different reality. Maybe it was the truth, maybe not. The only thing that’s concrete is the emeralds and the original copy of the will. If Siobhan’s still breathing, you’re still at risk.” He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re now in possession of what she’s been hoping to find for years.”
Staring at him, I swallow, then swallow again. I open my mouth, shut it, grind my teeth together before parting my lips once more. “You think her death was an illusion?”
“Or wishful thinking,” he offers. He chuckles, huffs, then opens his hands as if making an offering. “Not too damn sure how a brain-damaged man who sees things that aren’t there can offer you protection, but, babe, I’ll be fucked if I don’t want to try.”
Maybe I’ve always been drawn to the wrong type of men in my life, but no one’s ever made the offer to keep me safe before. It warms something inside of me, and my apparently erratic heart starts to beat steadily at the idea of staying close to the one man who has.
My voice hitches as I say breathily, “Hound, lie beside me. I want to feel your arms around me.”
He’s been looking away, lost in his head, but my words cause him to turn sharply and look at me.
“Please?” I never expected to be begging this way.
But as soon as he hops over to the bed, sitting, then pulling first his good leg, then the broken one up after him onto the mattress, and I feel his arms surround me, I feel a security thatit’s been years since I’ve last felt, and a feeling that this is where I’m supposed to be.
