Page 108 of That Girl is Trouble

“Yeah. No more secrets, Kat. I’ve kept this one up for the last few weeks so you could have time to decide whether I’m worth it. I know you’re worth the beating I’m gonna get from my VP. So no more. It’s pissing off my guys, and Graves can feel the tension. Which means you—”

“I gotta tell my sister.” My stomach clenches harder, and I swallow the lump lodged in my throat.

“Yeah. So I’ll ask one more time. You in this?”

It’s an easy answer. An hour ago, I had a gun pointed at Rossi’s head. I was ready to pull the trigger for this man. If it meant saving him, protecting him, that I got to keep him for just a little longer, I would have done it.

There’s no question.

I smile. “Yeah, Donovan. I’m in.”

29

15 months ago

August

I stare at my friend. Skin pale, eyes closed, mouth parted, face black and blue. He’s completely still, and if it weren’t for the machine beside him monitoring his heart rate, I’d probably lean over and check for a pulse.

Stabbed. Seven fucking times.

For a second, I thought he wasn’t gonna come out of it. It had been dicey. Touch and go, the doctors said. All we can do is wait. Triss was inconsolable. Kat was eerily quiet, her eyes falling to her hands over and over again, as if she could still see the blood.

And there was a lot of blood. She’d pressed her hands to his stomach, trying to stop it from pouring out, but it wasn’t enough. It flooded between the crooks of her fingers and over her skin. A seemingly unstoppable tidal wave of red.

She kept shaking her head, saying, “This is too much blood,” and looking up at me the same way she did when we found Jess. Begging me to fix it.

But as I steadied my hands on top of hers, I knew I’d fail her. Again. There was no making this better. My best friend, my fucking brother, the man I’d lay my life down for, was going to die. Taken out by a few cuts of a blade.

Turns out, Graves isn’t all that easy to kill. The man’s still breathing.

Only problem? It’s been three days and he hasn’t fucking woken up.

I scrub my hand over my face and lean back in my chair. The lights in here are too bright, and when I close my eyes, the fluorescent glow of the fixture above me presses into my brain. I fucking hate it here.

“You look like shit,” a gravelly voice says, and I jump, startled by the sudden noise breaking the silence of the hospital room.

“Jack,” I breathe, relief flooding my chest. “Jesus Christ, man. Thought you might not wake up.”

He blinks a few times and looks around the room, his brows knitting together in confusion. He narrows his gaze on the table beside him and shifts, cringing as he tries to move towards it.

“Easy, brother,” I say, pushing up to grab the small cup of water he’s eyeing. I cradle his head with my other hand and tip the cup to his lips, holding it there until it’s empty, and then ease him back down.

He clears his throat. “How long I been here?”

“Few days. You remember what happened?”

There’s a long pause, and then he says, “Yeah. Got jumped.” Anger edges his voice, and he grabs the side rail of the hospital bed and makes to push himself up.

“Dude,” I warn, firming my hand on his shoulder and forcing him back down. He fights me, or at least tries, but the man is weak as hell right now and obviously in a lot of pain. It doesn’t take much to keep him on his back. “Tell me what you remember.”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. It was dark. Didn’t even see them until they were on me.”

“How many?”

“Two, I think. One did the holding, the other”—he swallows, his focus on the ceiling as he lets out a deep breath—“had the blade.”

I grip his hand, and he grips back. “We’ll retaliate. You get a good look at them?”

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