Page 75 of Unloaded
“I’ll stay with her,” Andorra offers after a brief awkward moment.
“Of course,” Nicolai murmurs, stepping back from me. “Andorra will get anything you require, Amelia. I’ll just leave you to it.” He brushes past Andorra as he leaves the room. I hold to the wall to keep my feet.
“You don’t need to stay,” I offer. “I’ll be all right.” Andorra is already shaking her head.
“You are not all right, my dear,” she states, stepping closer. “Let me help you out of those clothes.” She grimaces as she reaches for me. I get it. I’m disgusting, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about it.
“Seriously, I can get in the tub by myself,” I insist as I try to remove my shoes. The room tilts and thankfully, Andorra is faster than the moving floor. She catches me and eases me down onto the toilet.
“Don’t be stubborn,” she chides, not sounding annoyed at all. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” She chuckles as she helps me out of my vomit covered clothing.
Once I’m properly unattired, she helps me into the warm bath. I have to admit the water is soothing. The aromatic scent of lavender with the heat eases my tense muscles. I lean back and close my eyes. A few minutes later, I startle when Andorra pours water over my head, avoiding my face.
“Sorry, dear,” she says softly. “The doctor wants you to hurry so he can make sure everything is okay inside your head. If he doesn’t find anything wrong, Nicolai will allow you to have another, longer soak.”
Before I know it, she has washed my hair and assisted me to wash my back. Blessedly, she allows me to wash the rest of myself. She helps me out of the tub and wraps me in a thick, warm towel, then urges me to sit at the vanity where she gently brushes my hair, taking care to avoid the lump that’s formed on the left side of my forehead.
She produces some comfortable leggings and an oversized shirt that’s made from the softest material I’ve ever felt. I can tell they are of the highest quality. It seems Nicolai is sparing no expense when it comes to me.But why?I’m no one special.
“What has you thinking so hard?” Andorra asks. My eyes lift to meet hers in the mirror. She seems vaguely familiar now that I can focus my eyes on her face.
“I’m just confused,” I admit. Andorra’s face softens. “And not because I’ve hit my head. Why is Nicolai going to all this trouble to get me? Surely he can have any woman he wants.”
Andorra purses her lips together as if she’s trying not to say something she shouldn’t. I can see her debating with herself about what to tell me. She continues to fuss with my hair for another couple of minutes. So long, in fact, I figure she isn’t going to answer me.
“You are important to him,” she says after a while, not meeting my gaze. “He wants to protect you from your stepfather.”
“Why would he want to protect me? He doesn’t even know me!” I insist. “I could be a raging bitch for all he knows.”
“You are not a bitch, my dear.” Andorra chuckles.
“How would you know?” I grumble. “I can be a bitch when I want.”
“Oh, my dear,” Andorra coos. “You really don’t remember do you?” I frown, wondering what she’s talking about. “Nicolai probably wouldn’t want me to tell you, but you deserve to know.” There’s a knock on the door before she continues. Andorra steps over to open the door. Nicolai peers inside.
“You look much better, Amelia,” Nicolai says. “Michael is waiting.”
“Wait!” I exclaim, looking to Andorra. “What were you about to tell me?” I fear she won’t say anything, but after glancing at Nicolai, she answers.
“Nicolai is worried about you because you are family.” I rear back in confusion. I look at him with a frown. His jaw is tight, but when his eyes meet mine, his expression softens.
“Andorra is correct, Amelia. You are my family.”
“I don’t understand.” He sighs heavily, looking resigned.
“I didn’t want to tell you this”—He glares at Andorra briefly—“until Michael can assure us of your well-being, but since my sister has opened the bag, I might as well free the cat. Your father was our brother. You, Amelia, are our long-lost niece.”
WHAT THE FUCK!
32
ROSCO
We’ve continued to follow the sedan that is carrying my angel farther away. We’re no closer to figuring out how to get to Rachel than we were when we climbed aboard this helicopter two hours ago. D.C. is fast approaching, and I’m worried we won’t be allowed to continue to follow the sedan. We’ll be entering protected air space soon.
A call comes in over the comms. Bo answers, knowing I’m not in any shape to be civil with whomever is calling.
“Yo, whatcha got?” Bo answers. Luke is undoubtably rolling his eyes at Bo’s greeting. He isn’t the most professional, especially if he knows it’s someone on our team calling.
