Roman-1(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(75)

He’d looked so broken and lost—

But he would have killed her too, Sissy, remember? He said so just before he shoved that gun between your eyes.

I feel slightly better and turn my head, groaning at the lance of pain that shoots through it and sets up shop somewhere in my frontal lobe. I’ve never been attacked before—my daddy is way too protective and mean for that shit to have ever happened—and I highly recommend avoiding it.

It’s laughable how women in the movies get beat up and walk away from it so easily. I feel like a tank took a long, slow ride over every part of my body.

“Ssh, don’t move so much. You’ll rip your stitches,” I hear from my right, and I turn my head to see Vincent rising from a little plastic chair.

He’s beside me in a heartbeat and cradling my face. It feels ten times its normal size and throbs like it’s got its own heartbeat. Man, I must look like Frankenstein’s monster.

“Vincent?”

“Ssh dove, everything’s all right. You’re in the hospital, and you’re…just fine,” he says calmly, though I see he’s upset in the way his fists clench before his hands unfurl to stroke my face.

“Water. Please,” I rasp, feeling my tongue lodge and stick to the roof of my mouth.

He grabs a cup and holds it to my mouth, cradling my head gently as I sip desperately at the icy cold liquid. Someone must have made sure to add ice, because hospital water is usually tepid and tastes of corpses.

“Thanks.”

My throat hurts, reminding me of Eric’s beefy paws and the unholy power of his grip, those clawlike fingers as they’d choked me nigh to death.

It’s silly, but I feel just as afraid for a split second as I did when it had happened, and I hear a frantic beeping.

“Calm, dove. There you go, nice, steady breaths,” Vincent croons, stroking my hair until I’ve managed to get control of myself.

I look over and realize I’m hooked up to one of those heart rate monitor things and that every time I have an episode he’ll hear it. I grab onto the wires attached to my chest and pull, ripping them away.

“Hey, no, dove—”

“Vincent, I appreciate your concern here, seriously I do, but if you don’t let me get out of bed for a shower I’m gonna have a fit,” I say, distracting both him and myself.

It’s true, I need a shower to wash away the horror I still feel crawling over my skin, and I know Vincent: if I don’t give him something to focus on right now, he’ll go all heavy on me.

I can’t deal with that right now, not and stay sane with the thoughts bombarding me.

“No. The nurses gave you a sponge bath already, and I combed your hair while you were sleeping. What we need to do right now is talk about—”

Ew, the thought of some stranger touching my junk makes me sick, but the thought of talking about what had happened…even worse.

“I don’t—”

“He got away, dove,” he interrupts, giving me a hard look that tells me to shut up and listen. “He fell onto the fire escape, and by the time the police got there he was gone. That animal is running around, free, at this very moment, so I need you to talk to me.”

Everything inside me shudders to a stop, and I feel something eerily similar to hysteria bubble up my throat.

“But…I heard him fall. How didn’t he die?” I rasp.

Uncharitable, Sissy. No one deserves to die that way, and you know it.

Yeah, but at this point in time, with my face looking like hamburger meat and beating like a drum, I don’t care. If he’s out there and armed…

“You need to call Jeffrey Parker and tell him to get Bee. She’s not safe—”

Vincent calms me by laying a gentle finger to my lips and stroking my hair, his eyes so somber they’re a dark, forest green.

“I already did. Her parents flew in this morning and have her surrounded by bodyguards. Jeff has taken it upon himself to hire help and is currently scouring the city, along with my own men. Don’t fret, dove, we’ll find him before he can do more damage.”

“He’s gone crazy, Vincent… Did you really get him fired?” I ask, remembering Eric’s accusations.

This whole mess had started when he’d lost his job, and while I appreciate Vincent going to bat for Bee, I can’t help but think this could have all been avoided if he hadn’t gotten involved.

“Yes. I called Barney Smythe. He’s an old friend. The man was reaching the end of his rope with Brennan’s behaviour around the women in his office… He was going to get fired anyway, dove, so don’t you look at me that way,” he warns.

My face reddens, throbbing more with the introduction of more blood to the sensitive tissues, and I duck my head, fighting back tears.