Burn Down the Night (Everything I Left Unsaid #3)- Molly O'Keefe Page 0,20
“I can’t thank you enough—”
“Is he all right?” She talked right over my thanks. Put her hand right through my gratitude.
I blinked. Unsure of why I was thrown. This was exactly the Fern I was used to.
Suddenly chilled, I put my arms over my chest. “I think he’s getting a fever. He woke up not too long ago a little delusional.”
“I’m not surprised.” She put her bag down on the counter and began to pull out sealed big pharma bags. My crazy, black market first aid supply was always generic Chinese shit.
She had contacts high up somewhere.
“Where do you get all this stuff…?”
“I know a Canadian guy who goes to Cuba a few times a year. He brings it back.”
“Wow.” That was the power of my brain at this moment. Wow.
“You get the food in the fridge?”
“I did. Thank you.”
“I remember you don’t like that tuna, but it was all I had on short notice. You can go across the street and get those frozen burritos you used to live on when you were here.”
“I forgot about those burritos.”
“You ate so many, I thought you were going to turn into one.”
I did. I did eat so many. Gross gas station food instead of the weird healthy stuff she made with her own two hands.
“The tuna will be great,” I said.
“Your sister always liked it.”
“Dylan!” The shout came from the bedroom, and after one startled look at each other, we ran back to see what was happening now.
Chapter 8
Max
Ho.Ly. Fuck.
Something was wrong. Really really wrong. I felt like shit.
When I was a kid, I’d had the mumps. Or Dylan had had the mumps. One of us had had the mumps. I can’t remember because I’m so fucking hot. But the mumps…the mumps were bad. I remember Mom and Dad fighting about it on the other side of our bedroom door. Dad was mad because we were supposed to have gotten shots that prevented this shit from happening.
And she had spent the money instead of taking us to the clinic.
Classic Mom.
“Dylan?” I cried. Because that was Dylan saying that. Dylan was in this room. I lifted my head and peered into the shadowy corners. There was a low dresser right across from me. One of those double deals, like a his and hers kind of thing. Behind it was a sliding glass door covered with blinds.
Was Dylan out there?
I pushed up to get to my feet, but my hand was caught on something.
I glanced back at it and I couldn’t lift my hand away from the headboard. It was made out of iron and painted white.
I lifted my hand and the handcuffs rattled.
Handcuffs.
“Dylan!” I yelled. “This isn’t funny!”
God. There was something raging in my leg just under the surface of my skin.
I glanced down at my feet half-expecting there to be an actual fire burning in the bed. No fire, but there was a gigantic white bandage on my leg.
Fuck my ribs hurt. So did my head.
“Dylan!” I yelled. Because this was probably his fault. “Dylan!”
Two women came rushing in, and I jerked back away from them. One of them…the brunette with the tits…My gut said watch out for her. Be careful. She was trouble.
There were memories—important ones, things I needed to remember…but Jesus. It was too hot.
“Fever,” said the redhead. She was older. Stacked. She wore reading glasses and an expression I recognized because I’d seen it on on my own face.
I am the boss, her expression said. And you do not fuck with the boss.
The redhead—she might be trouble, too.
“Max,” Tits said. “You’re awake.”
“Where’s Dylan?” I asked and Tits and Boss-lady shared a long look. “He was just here. I heard him.”
“Dylan’s not here,” Tits said. “You’ve been shot. You have a fever…an infection.” She reached for me and I grabbed her wrist before she could touch me.
Her eyes—wide and green met mine. But she didn’t flinch. She didn’t hiss and try to tug away.
I squeezed her wrist harder, the bones rubbing beneath my grip. I was hurting her. Trying to hurt her but she didn’t seem to care. Something about that face—so still despite what I was doing to her. It rattled my cage.
“Do you remember who I am?” she asked.
“Joan,” I said. The name bobbed up from the murk in my head. The strip club. But was that right? Joan? Seemed wrong. “I wanted to fuck you.”
She smiled, or at least she gave the appearance of smiling. “Likewise.”