The thought slams into me harder than whatever the fuck put me in here in the first place. Where is she?
“Erin!” I call as the sound of feet rushing toward me meets my ears. My brain's scrambled, confusing sounds with sights, but I use the bed rail to haul myself upright.
The room does a sickening barrel roll, and I taste bile. “Erin,” I say again. My voice comes out wrecked and rough, like I've been gargling gravel. My head feels twice its normal size, and what the hell happened to my shoulder?
The door bursts open, and two nurses rush in.
“Mr. McCarthy, you need to lie back down.”
“Mr. McCarthy—” Someone else is speaking into her phone. “He's out of bed. He's going to hurt himself.”
“Where's my wife?” I'm already moving toward them, one hand still braced on the bed because my legs feel as if they're made of jelly.
“Sir, you have asevereconcussion,” one nurse says, stepping closer with her hands up like I'm a spooked horse.
“Where is she?” I bellow.
They exchange a look. That's all I need to see. She's not here, and she isn't their concern.
The first nurse reaches for my arm. I don't think… I just move, sidestepping her. I don't want to hurt a woman, but I will if I have to. The second one—a man, thank fuck—grabs me, and I move on instinct. Elbow back, sharp and fast. The crack of cartilage.
He stumbles back with a howl, hands flying to his nose, blood pouring between his fingers.
“Christ!” the woman screams. “Get security!”
The second one tries to grab me from behind, but I drop my weight, twist, and drive my shoulder into his gut. He goes down hard, and then I'm past them both, my hand on the doorframe to keep myself vertical as the hallway stretches and contracts like something out of a fever dream.
Where’s my phone? Where’s Erin? I dial her number, and it predictably goes to voicemail. I dial Declan's number next. He answers on the first ring.
“Cavin, thank Christ. You alright?”
“Where's Erin?” The words come out slurred. I lean against the wall, pressing my forehead to the cold plaster. It helps a bit.
“We don't know. We've been looking—Cavin, are you out of bed?” He pauses, hearing something in my breathing. “You're in no condition?—”
“Where is she?”
Silence. Then, quieter: “Her car's at the house. Her phone's there too. But she's gone. We can't find her.”
Can't find her. “What the fuck happened while I was out?”
Declan doesn't respond right away. He knows something.
“Declan,” I say, my voice dropping to something deadly. “I'll fucking kill you.Where is she?”
“I don't know, brother. I'm telling you the truth.” He pauses.
“Did you say something to her about her da?”
“I may have mentioned it.”
I'm going to bloody kill my cousin. My vision's doubling. I close one eye, and it helps marginally. “What time is it?”
“Half eleven.”
“Cavin, listen to me?—”
Holy fucking Christ. I've got thirty minutes to pay the second tribute. I can't say it out loud where he can hear me. I push off the wall and start moving down the corridor. Security's coming—heavy footsteps, the crackling of radios.
