Something’s wrong.
My gut sinks, and I pull my phone out of my pocket, glancing over the texts she sent me barely twenty minutes ago, making sure I read them correctly. I was just leaving work when I lastchecked in on her. Harper told me that she was just finding her car to come home, and assuming she took her time, at this time of the morning, it should have taken her no more than twelve minutes, but it’s been well over twenty.
Hoping like fuck I’m overthinking this, I stride deeper into my home, flipping on lights as I go. I make my way to our bedroom, quickly scanning over the perfectly made bed before heading for the en suite bathroom. After work, I like to decompress by sinking deep inside her, but Harper is the type of woman who would prefer to stand under the shower, soaking in the warmth until the water runs cold. Then she’d spend the next few hours driving me wild with that sweet cunt.
“Doll?” I ask, reaching the en suite and peeking in, only the lights are out, and there’s not a damn sign of her in my home.
Something is very wrong.
Not having realized how tightly I’ve been gripping my phone, I loosen my hold and bring up her name before immediately pressing call and lifting it to my ear. I make my way back to the front door, more than ready to go find her.
This girl is a magnet for trouble. She doesn’t go out looking for it, but no matter what, it will always find her.
The call rings and rings, and when there’s no answer, I immediately call her again, already storming down my driveway and unlocking my truck. Sure, I’m probably overreacting. If anything, she’s stopped at the McDonald’s drive-through and is currently smashing a burger, and knowing Harper, that burger would outweigh answering my call a million times over, but I can’t shake the unease pulsing through my veins.
There’s still no answer, and as I climb up into my truck and crank the engine, my phone screeches to life. Only as I glance down at the screen, it’s not Harper’s number staring back at me. It’s the hospital.
Fuck.
The unease turns to lead in the pit of my stomach as I hit the gas and floor it toward the hospital. “Hello,” I say, panic gripping my chest in a choke hold and refusing to release me.
“Is this Knight Slater?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, Knight. This is Dr. Levine from Blackstone Private Hospital. Amelia. Harper’s friend. I met you—”
“Yeah, I know who you are,” I rush out, not bothering to mask the irritation in my tone, and certainly not giving a shit how rude I sound. I can apologize for that later. Right now, there’s only one thing I need to know. “Why are you calling me? Where’s Harper?”
“She’s being prepared for surgery.”
“Surgery?” My foot slams against the gas, propelling me faster through the streets of Blackstone, fear tightening around my throat and threatening to pull me under. “What the fuck? What happened? Is she okay?”
“I’m unsure at this point. The police were just arriving on scene as we were rushing Harper back into the hospital, so I’m sure they will have more answers than I can supply right now,” she explains. “However, it appears that Harper was attacked in the hospital parking garage after her shift. There’s a significant stab wound to her abdomen, and she has lost a lot of blood. She, uhh . . . She requested I call to let you know.”
I let out a breath, my cheeks blowing out as I shake my head, at a complete loss. Who the fuck would attack Harper in the parking garage? “I, uhhh . . .” I let my words fall away, my mind reeling with so much concern, fear, horror, and all the questions firing off in my head.
“Listen, I have to go,” Amelia tells me. “She’s just about prepped for surgery. For now, she is in stable condition. We’re going to go in and repair any damage we can find, and ensure there’s no internal bleeding. I don’t anticipate being in surgeryfor long. However, knowing Harper, I am sure she would appreciate seeing a friendly face when she wakes.”
I swallow over the lump in my throat, trying with everything I have not to allow my voice to break. As I grasp the steering wheel in a death grip, images of my girl bleeding out on the fucking ground assault my mind. “Already on my way.”
“Okay. We’ll see you shortly.”
Amelia ends the call, probably having no fucking idea of the horrific state she’s just left me in, but all I can do is try to get there as fast as I can to be with Harper, to hold her hand as she wakes up, to be the one who comforts her when the memories flood back and she breaks into a million tiny pieces. But fuck, I’ll do anything to put her back together, one little piece at a time.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning a ghostly shade of white as I try to figure out what kind of monster would do this to her. Hasn’t she been through enough as it is? Harper has survived the impossible already. She was jumped by that asshole janitor and his friends barely a month ago. Her bruises have only just faded, but she still bears the scars from the day. Not to mention the mental trauma she’s suffered from weeks of being haunted by the demons inside her own mind.
We only just got her back on track with therapy and meds. She’s been making incredible leaps to trust her own mind. And now this?
Fuck. I’m going to have to keep her bubble-wrapped.
Reaching the hospital parking garage, I pull into the closest available space to the main entrance and quickly cut the engine. I’m desperate to sprint up toward her car, to search every corner of this goddamn cinder block for any clue as to who would do this to her, but getting to her bedside and hearing the rhythmic beep of her heart rate monitor outweighs everything else.
Instead of searching for the answers I’m so fucking desperate for, I hurry to the main doors of the hospital, desperately seeking someone who can help me.
The place is massive, but apart from doctors and nurses who look as though they’re struggling through the last few hours of a double shift, it’s practically a ghost town. I race through the lobby before finally reaching the main reception desk and not bothering to wait until the woman behind the counter can give me her attention.
“Harper-Rayn Madden,” I state. “She’s in surgery.”
