Since I was shot.
Since our world went to shit.
Ella wrings her hands together, a nervous tic she’s always had. My lips nearly twitch, but then she speaks, and the vulnerability in her voice has my pulse thrumming.
“Do you need anything?” Her voice quivers as she asks, her gaze darting toward the door. Her movements are disjointed asif she’s trying to anticipate every possible need while fighting the urge to flee. “An extra pillow? A blanket? Oh, maybe the doctor should come to check on you. Yes. Definitely.” She takes a hesitant step away, her intention clear.
“Stop,” I interrupt firmly, my voice surprisingly strong. She freezes, her wide eyes fixed on mine.
“W-what?” Her stammered response slips from her lips. I can see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but I hold my ground, determined.
“Come here,” I command, my voice carrying the weight of authority, even as it rasps with disuse. Her eyes widen, and for a fleeting moment, I worry she might leave. But she silently obeys, shuffling across the cold floor in her long black gown.
My brows furrow when I notice her feet are bare, but I don’t comment on it. Not yet.
Ella stops beside my bed, her fingers hesitatingly tangling with the stark white sheets.
“Look at me.”
She shakes her head, refusing to meet my gaze, her eyes fixated on her own fingers.
I utter her name, a deep rumble, “Isabella. Look at me, baby.”
With a small gasp, her eyes slowly lift to meet mine.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice laced with worry.
She shakes her head once more, and I feel a pang of dread. I’m flooded with concern as I scan her face, searching for any signs of injury.
“Were you hurt?” The thought of her being harmed sends my heart racing.
Again, she shakes her head, this time more firmly. My lip twitches with a mixture of relief and frustration.
“Are you going to speak to me?” I ask softly.
She exhales, her nostrils flaring, her mouth opening and closing in an attempt to form words. But nothing comes out. She offers a helpless shrug.
God, she’s so fucking adorable.
But she still doesn’t move or speak. My eyes rake down her body, taking in every detail. The tiny scrapes on her exposed knuckles. Her face is red but free from makeup. Her tangled mess of smashed curls. The diamonds still draping her delicate throat, her ears.
Gifts from the guys.
Guilt swamps me.
I should have gotten her something.
My gaze snags on her wrists, where I know leather cuffs are doing their best to keep her calm. It’s not working, though, not really.
I watch as her eyes cloud over with unshed tears, and my girl does everything she can to keep from falling apart. Her hands are trembling, her body swaying with exhaustion.
And it hits me then.
Ella is fuckingterrified.
I don’t know why, but I have a few guesses. Maybe because of what happened in that parking lot, to me, to the guys. I swallow thickly. Damn, I don’t even know what happened to them. My stomach twists, and my heart throbs, but I shove it away. I’ll ask about them soon.
She’s my priority.
