Savage Vandal (82 Street Vandals #1) - Heather Long Page 0,27

Cedar and sandalwood, like the theatres with their big wooden stages, with hints of a citrus scent like polish. Weird, but I kind of liked it. There was something a little harsher under it. Paint, maybe? It wasn’t bad, but it made it hard to focus.

My brain was so messed up.

“Is there more ice?”

“Yeah, I can get you some,” he offered. “But there’s water too.”

I frowned, and when the room swayed, it took me a minute to realize it wasn’t the room, it was me.

“Back in bed.”

“I don’t want to,” I argued. “I just—I need to go.”

“Yes, you need to lie down before you fall down. Get in the bed, okay? I’m trying to give you space since you’re a fretful little magpie, but you’re killing me with this.”

I was killing him?

I glared at him and glanced around for the other door, since the one I’d been at wasn’t a real door. Who left a door in a wall like that? The other door wasn’t far from where he’d been sitting. The whole room seemed oddly laid out, but I started for it, and tall, blond, and irritating got in my way.

“The bed’s over there,” he told me.

“I know where it is. I’m leaving.”

He sighed, and when I tried to side-step him, he blocked me again. Aggravated, I slammed my hands against his chest to shove him out of the way and regretted it instantly.

Pain ripped up my arm, and I stumbled. Once again, he kept me from hitting the floor as he picked me up. The pressure of his arm against my back actually fucking hurt, and I couldn’t suck in a deep breath.

“You’re a fucking brat,” he told me as he set me in the bed gently, despite the growl in his words. I half expected him to just drop me.

“Fuck you,” I snapped back up at him. “I don’t even know who you are, so why the hell would I listen to you?”

What little emotion had been on his face vanished behind a blank mask.

“Because I’m one of the guys helping you,” he told me in a flat tone as he loomed over me. “You’re hurt. Doc’s been in and out of here a few times. One of us has been with you since you got here. Stop being a spoiled princess.”

Spoiled princess.

Asshole.

Curling up to a sitting position, I ignored the pull of my muscles and slapped him before he could jerk back. At least this time, I remembered to use my uninjured arm.

When he lifted a hand, I scooted backward and did my best to ignore my screaming wrist as I tried to scramble out of reach. Everything about him went still, and he touched his fingers to his face. My pulse jump-started, hammering away, and I swore I could feel it pounding a path into my brain.

He stared at me for a long moment, then dropped his hand. “I’m Rome,” he said.

“What?”

“My name,” he said in that inflectionless voice. “My name is Rome.”

I licked at my lips, desperate for even a little moisture. His eyes hardened, and he turned away. I sagged, blowing out a breath. I knew better than to hit, it always invited retaliation, but I wasn’t a fucking princess.

I’d never been a damn princess.

Instead of leaving the room though, he went over to the chair, and there was a rattle of plastic before he lifted a bottle of water. He had the cap twisted off before he handed it to me, and he didn’t come any closer than arm’s reach.

A part of me wanted to refuse the water, but I needed it and I needed every resource I could on my side until I could get out of here. His fingers didn’t touch mine as he passed the bottle over. I drained it in four swift gulps.

All Rome did was raise his brows, and then he went and got another bottle of water.

I choked a little on this one, coughing as it went into my windpipe, but I didn’t let it slow me down. The water felt great in my mouth and on my throat. The whole time, Rome stared at me, his expression still blank and his eyes hard points of color.

“Are you hungry?” he asked finally, and I started to shake my head, then thought better of it.

It already hurt enough. “No.”

“Okay.”

Still, he stood there another long moment before he moved back to the chair and picked up his notebook or whatever it was. It looked like a pad of