The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,135
after me and staring at Sam from a safe distant. I was a doctor. I’d seen blood and gore in my life. But there was something about Sam’s pain that was too intimate and real to me. He lay there with his eyes closed, this beast of a man, so imposing, so imperial, and yet so quiet and boyish right now.
“Oh, Sam.” I cupped my mouth, rushing to the foot of the bed, sinking down to the floor and burying my face next to his arm. “What have they done to you? Please make it through this. Please.”
Tears coated every inch of my face. I moaned loudly, howling, making noises I had no idea I was capable of. He was finally mine, and I was losing him.
It was the sort of cruelty I couldn’t fathom.
“There is so much I have to tell you. So much news. You can’t die on me now. It’s a highly inconvenient time, Sam. What kind of gentleman are you?” I huffed.
I thought I felt him move slightly next to me, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t even groan, so obviously I was just imagining it.
“I quit my job. I’ll be on the lookout for residencies. I need you to help me sort through them. And what about kids? I want a lot of them, and we need to start practicing. Then there’s the Cillian and Hunter matter. Who will annoy them, if you die?”
Another small movement. I jerked my head upright, studying Sam’s face closely. His eyes were still shut, his breathing labored. I stared at him as I opened my mouth, cautiously speaking again.
“Of course, if you die on me now, at some point in the future—very far in the future—I’ll be able to get over you and move on. But for now, I just want you to—”
Sam’s hand moved slightly. He grabbed my wrist and tugged me to him, his eyes snapping open. He groaned in pain at the sudden movement and flashed me a canine scowl.
“No one is going to get over fucking anyone, Fitzpatrick. Now shut up and let me rest.”
Surprised, I stared at him with open delight. My ploy had worked. I pouted, leaning backward and giving him some space. His hold on my wrist tightened, but he was still so very weak.
“Let me rephrase … let me rest where I can see you, feel you, and smell you.”
“You asshole,” I hissed under my breath. “I thought you were going to die.”
“Yeah, I heard about the Grand Prix dick tour once I’m in a coffin. It’ll have to wait another few decades or so. Sorry.”
“I was just teasing to see if you were conscious. I thought I felt you move,” I explained, watching as his eyes shut again, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow.
“I know, sweetheart.” His tone turned soft, scratchy.
“Can I do anything for you?” I asked.
“Can you climb on top of me and ride me?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t do anything for me, Nix.”
“Everyone is waiting outside. They are worried sick.” I rubbed his uninjured arm. “I should go out and tell them you’re okay.”
He nodded then grunted again, realizing his mistake. Everything must’ve hurt, and I made a mental note to ask the nurses to up his morphine dose.
“But I’m not going to go out there until you promise me something,” I warned.
His eyes were still closed when he asked, “Yes?”
“You asked me to quit my job, and I did, even though I did so with a heavy heart, knowing I won’t be able to help so many people who are in pain. Now I’m asking you to bow out of the battle with the Bratva, Sam. No more bloodshed. No more. I don’t deserve to become a widow because of your pride. Give up Brookline. Turn your back on this side of the city. Troy never took it over for a reason. Promise me.”
“It is not in my nature to lose.”
“Yet sometimes—not often—you will. You have to lose Brookline or you’ll be losing me. This is an ultimatum, Sam. I will not be made a widow at twenty-eight.”
He opened his eyes, looking at me, surprised.
His voice dropped low. “Are you threatening me?”
“Yes,” I said simply.
I had to do this. For him. For myself. For his family and our future children. If he cared more about a piece of Boston than he did about me, marrying him was going to be a mistake. I felt oddly reassured by that simple logic. We held each other’s gaze, silent for