I’m shaking my head, screwing my eyes closed at that. “You’re such a fucking liar.”
Zeth snorts, eyes glinting with an outrageous level of mirth. I want to punch him in his face. “What, you think this is fucking funny?”
He shrugs, shoving off from his leaning post against the wall. “Not at all. I’ve just never heard you swear this much. Not even at me.”
If he thinks my language is bad right now, he should lock me in a room with this punk and see what I say to him then, with no innocent bystanders around to hear it.
“I’m not lying. I’m telling the truth. Not that I have any reason to justify myself to you, Dr Romera.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“What?”
“Dr Romera? You say it like you’ve swallowed something bad.”
“Oh, nothing. I just don’t get why you haven’t spoken to your sister in so fucking long. She needed you, y’know. And where were you, huh? Your fucking job’s been too important. Your fucking patients have been too important to leave, even for a goddamn weekend?” He’s getting mad, now. He hasn’t gone red like most people do when they get angry; he’s gone a pasty white that makes his frosty blue eyes seem even cooler.
I gasp, trying to catch a breath. I can’t believe him. Of all the messed up, delusional things to accuse me of. The guy’s lost his freaking mind. “You clearly need medication, mister.” I jab my finger into his chest, hoping it hurts him as much as it hurts my goddamn finger. “My sister was taken from her home and her loving family, and you bought her from a fucking pimp! Like she was fucking take out! You don’t get to lecture me on how much I care about my sister. I have been looking for her every single day since she went missing!” The finger stab wasn’t enough. I slam my palms into his chest, shoving him as hard as I can. I don’t even get to see how far Rebel—who the fuck is called Rebel, anyway?—staggers back. A solid band of muscle locks around my waist, and my feet are suddenly a clear six inches off the floor. Zeth’s voice is in my ear, dark and deep and hypnotic.
“Come on, now, angry girl. Less of the angry.”
I struggle against him but it’s fairly pointless; the man’s arms are made out of reinforced steel. “Alright. Alright, okay. Alright, I’m fine. Jesus!” I must be mad. Even though I don’t believe in the church anymore, I still have years of my father’s anti-blaspheming lectures under my belt. I think I was twelve the last time I said Jesus without it being in between the words in the name of our savior, Lord, and Amen.
Zeth puts me down although he lingers at my back, ready to grab a hold of me no doubt. I try and clear myself of vision of the red patina that has fallen over everything. To my dismay, Rebel isn’t on his ass three feet down the hall. He’s standing right where I left him, with a crooked frown on his face. “So Soph didn’t tell you she was okay?”
“No! Probably because she wasn’t okay!”
“She told me you didn’t wanna know her anymore.”
“I—that—” That makes no sense. I want to accuse him of lying, but this look on his face… Rebel isn’t a master of concealing his emotions like Zeth is. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve become very adept at reading people, having so little to work off with Zeth all the time. Either way, I think…I think he’s actually telling me the truth.
Over Rebel’s shoulder, a nurse is walking towards us with purpose. Her skin is a deep honey color, two shades lighter than Michael’s, and reminds me of an old teacher I had in high school, Mrs Whitson. That woman didn’t take crap from anyone, for any reason. And this nurse’s disapproving expression is exactly the same as Mrs Whitson’s.
“What’s going on here, people? We got complaints from the grief-stricken family members of very sick patients that there’s fighting going on in the hallways?”
“I’m sorry, I—” I can’t finish because I’m not sorry. I still want to kill this guy. The nurse gives me a look—bitch, you better finish that sentence—but Cade steps in; his leather cut creaks as he folds his arms across his chest.
“Sophia ready to see people now?”
The nurse shoots him a filthy look, and then transfers that look around our group, making sure to level it at each of us for an equally awkward amount of time. “I’m not taking a bunch of rowdy trouble makers into a sick patient’s room. Funny, but that’s the first thing they teach us at nursing school.”
I hold my hands up, knowing this woman might as well be God in this hospital; it’s the same back at St. Peter’s. If you piss Gracie off, you’re not going anywhere. “Look, I am sorry, okay. I’m just worried about my sister. If you could just let me see her—”