Page 64 of Hostile King

“Christ…” Shane fists the bench.

I rush forward. “I’ll do it. Test my blood for compatibility. He’d want mine.”

Enrique nods. “Fine. You’ll save his life if I can get a pint or two out of you.”

* * *

The blood transfusion gave Tomás’ ghostly complexion a healthy flush and made his temperature soar. Enrique and Shane had transferred him to a single bed in a decent-sized room where I carefully removed his slacks, leaving him in snug boxer briefs. Then Shane headed outside to guard the entrance and clear his head in the fresh air.

Our accommodation isn’t fancy, but it’s clean and somewhat reminiscent of a cute log cabin. There’s a wooden rocking chair, flimsy roller blind, and clean flannel sheets on the single bed.

The slim door on the far wall leads to a tiny closet. I checked it earlier when I was looking for blankets and only found a few hangers.

I’m used to seeing Tomás in expensive suits and luxurious properties. Nonetheless, lying here with his sinewy physique eclipsing the mattress, I’ll never get used to his effortless edge—even in these austere surroundings, healing from surgery he still oozes superiority.

He’s the riotous flame I’m drawn to.

An all-encompassing presence I’ll never tire of.

Enrique had hooked him up to a heart monitor and pricked a strong vein to fill him up with pain relief and antibiotics.

I’ve been sitting here, waiting for him to open his eyes. He hasn’t yet. Despite the fever, Enrique assured me there was minimal internal damage. Thankfully, the bullet had only grazed Tomás’ lower intestines which he easily repaired before swaddling him in gauze and bandages.

The rickety chair opposite his bed has a green cushion for my lower back and a picture-perfect view of misty topped mountains. Neither of which mean anything to me when I can’t hear his voice or meet that rogue glint in his eye.

Although I’m comforted by the steady bleep of his heart rate, knowing he’s finally out of the danger zone—and deeply relieved he didn’t assassinate Bianca. Despite knowing fragments of the truth, I still deserve answers. I need to understand why they planned an elaborate and final exit for the woman. What about her parents—her brother?

While I watch him wrangle the inferno burning from within, a combination of emotions I’ve never experienced before are eating me up. My love for him blends with stomach knotted anguish and insistent worry warped by gnawing fear.

All the courage I had earlier seems to slip from my soul. I’m overcome with flashes of emotion, each one cutting me to pieces.

What will happen when those dark eyes reopen, and he sees me again? When Tomás realizes I had disobeyed André, brought him to a remote destination, and pumped his dying organs full of my blood. The very substance that feeds his monster.

“You need a shower, girl. There’s nothing you can do for him while he’s recovering. The bathroom is down the hall, second door on the right.” Enrique hovers in the doorway, looks me up and down, and holds out a bottle of water.

He’s changed his clothes from earlier, a closely fitted sage green shirt with stenciled palms repeated over the fabric hangs open so the rippled landscape of his abdomen is on display. An obsidian necklace drapes his smooth chest with effortless style. I reach out and accept the drink with a tight smile.

“Thanks.”

“You should eat something after donating your blood. I don’t particularly want two patients to look after. I’m a busy man. I’ll get you a clean shirt to wear. Grab a few cookies from the kitchen when you’ve cleaned up. You look like you went toe to toe with a bear.” He smirks, making his eyes sparkle. “And that Irish goon is on the porch drinking myCerveza Sol.I hope he’s not an even bigger dick when he’s drunk.”

There’s a slight thawing to his otherwise icy bluntness.

I go to stand. “Nah, he won’t drink that much. Shane can sink a bottle of tequila and still walk in a straight line. It’s been a long day; you can’t blame the guy for unwinding.”

And he’s watching the wooded lane like a hawk, trusting me to take care of his cousin. My heavy sigh matches the weight in my heart.

“I know why you hate the cartel.” I straighten so we’re face to face, albeit I’m much shorter in stature and he’s built like a caveman. “I get it. I really do.”

“You don’t know shit, girl.” There’s a cruel edginess to his voice that raises my hackles. “Unless your morals are equally as rotten as theirs. Although, I’m thinking a sweet little thing like you hasn’t seen the ugliness that comes with all that greed and domination.”

A flashback of Paco interrupts my thoughts, the brutality that had surrounded the situation and what followed. My skin flushes from the memory of Tomás rutting into me like a god fallen from grace.

“I’ve seen it.” I sound unaffected when tingles cause me to shiver. “However, it’s not just men like them who have ugly, black souls. At least they’re upfront about it. They don’t pretend to be anything other than what they are.”

His eyes narrow, the soft brown turning muddy. “No point talking to a woman who’s been glamorized by it all. You’ll hear what you want to hear and justify their behavior all so you don’t feel bad when they come home with blood on their hands.”

I don’t need to explain my reasons for standing by Tomás, especially not to this guy, however I’m driven to defend him.

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