Page 100 of Played
Conor tips his head to one side, eyeing the sack of garbage at his feet with curiosity. “Home invasion, then?”
Kyngston wails around the weapon in his mouth, his face screwed up. I imagine if he could speak, he would be begging for mercy.
“N-no,” King says. “L-leave them.”
“We’re here at your request, Mason. What’s it to be?” Conor asks.
I glance at King and then back at his pathetic excuse for a father. Sniveling and crying like the coward he truly is. I hate him, but I’m not sure I’m prepared to have two lives on my conscience for him, especially as King doesn’t want them dead. And my biggest priority is getting him out of here and into the Ryans’ car so we can get him warm.
I shake my head. “Leave him to rot.”
Conor shrugs, but then he grabs Kyngston by the jaw and squeezes hard. I wince, worried the pin on the grenade is about to pop out and blow us all to pieces. “Listen to me, fuckface. You ever go anywhere near any of my friends again, I’ll be back. And next time I won’t play so nicely. You understand me?” He taps the side of Kyngston’s face, and the older man nods furiously.
King shivers.
“Let’s get him out of here,” I say, worry for him overshadowing everything else now that the adrenaline of the rescue is wearing off.
We get him out of the house and bundle him into the SUV. Shane nods to the back seat. “You need to get him out of those wet clothes.”
Conor has been rustling around in the cargo space, and he shoves a couple of fleece picnic blankets into my hands. “He needs body heat. But if you warm him up too fast, he could go into shock. Take off your shirt and jeans, and then wrap both of you up in these. Okay?”
I nod my understanding and scramble into the back seat alongside King. Then I undress my boyfriend while the two most dangerous men in New York drive us home. King’s teeth are chattering by the time I get him naked, which I remind myself is good. Shivering means he’s okay.
I quickly pull off my T-shirt along with my sneakers and sweats and pull him into my arms so his cold back is pressed tightly against my chest and my legs are draped around his. I force the images of the bruises on his chest and back from my mind and concentrate on raising his body temperature. Like Conor suggested, I wrap one blanket around his front and the other around both of us.
His skin remains ice-cold, and I scrub my hands up and down his arms, warming him the best I can.
“Th-thanks, baby,” he murmurs.
“You’re sure we don’t need to get him to a hospital?” I direct my question to Shane and Conor, but it’s King who insists that we don’t.
Shane studies him. “We’ll have our doctor come check him over at your place.”
“Can’t someone go into cardiac arrest with hypothermia though?” I ask.
“I’m f-fine,” King insists.
“Technically, yeah, but I think we got to him in time,” Shane says. “He’s still shivering, and he’s warming up. But the doc will check on him and tell us if we need to take him in.”
“What if I heat him up too fast or?—”
King grabs for my hand. “I’ve d-done this p-plenty. You’re doing g-great, b-baby.”
He’s done this plenty? As in recovered from hypothermia? When the fuck? Now’s not the time to ask him about that though, so I hold him tighter and send up a prayer that he will be okay.
By the time we get to my building, King has stopped shivering and his lips are no longer blue. Apparently another good sign. He’s still a little out of it, probably from a combination of the blow to his head and the hypothermia. Who knows what other injuries he might be suffering from. The sooner I can have a doctor look at him, the better I’ll feel.
Dr. Lisa,which is the name the Ryan brothers affectionately call her, pulls off her latex gloves and wads them into a ball. She’s already checked all of King’s vitals and confirmed he seems stable and is unlikely to suffer any lasting effects from the hypothermia. And he doesn’t appear to have any broken bones or evidence of trauma that would indicate internal injuries. She did recommend an x-ray, but King refused.
“He probably has a concussion, and I’d recommend bed rest for at least the next forty-eight hours,” she tells me. “Plenty of fluids. Make sure he eats. I’ve given him something for the pain, and I’ll leave some with you. Instructions on the bottle. And I’ll call and check on him tomorrow. If he deteriorates at all, take him to the ER, but I expect he’ll be feeling a hell of a lot better after a good night’s sleep.”
I shake her hand. “Thanks so much, Doctor. I really appreciate you making a house call so late.”
She smiles. “It’s no problem at all. Really.”
Shane walks into the room with his cell pressed to his ear. “Of course I will, sweetheart. We’ll be home soon.” He ends the call and looks at his brother. “Jessie wants…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, she said sheneedsCheetos and Sour Patch Kids. So we need to swing by somewhere that’s open on the way home.”
Conor squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head. “Wife has the diet of a teenage boy.”
