“We need to move,” Aaiden interrupts from the doorway, Jade pouting at his side. “The cleaners need to get to work.”
Gabriel straightens with a sigh. “I don’t think we’re getting out of going back to the manor.”
“How big is the bed in your suite?” I ask.
“Big.” Gabriel plucks at my bloody shirt. “I have a two-person shower, too.”
“After you both receive medical attention,” Damien says, leaving no room for further argument. “Car. Now.”
Gabriel pulls away first, but his eyes remain on mine, holding contact even as he moves toward the door.
I follow, drawn in his wake like gravity.
That is, until Aaiden steps between us to end the moment. “Save the romantic confirmation of life for when we’re not in the middle of a crime scene. Move.”
We follow him past Winters’s body without giving him a second more of our attention. I refuse to give him power over me again, even in death.
Outside, the night air hits me with a shock of cold, washing away the stench of blood and fear.
Two black SUVs idle at the curb, engines running, windows tinted to block anyone from seeing inside. Rockford security personnel stand at attention, their presence transforming the quiet cul-de-sac into a secured zone.
“My motorcycle…”
“We’ll have it brought to the manor,” Aaiden reassures me, and holds out his hand. “Keys.”
I hand them over, only for Jade to snatch them from Aaiden’s palm. “Dibs!”
Before he can scamper away, Aaiden grabs him by the collar. “No.”
I turn away as they start to argue. I don’t care who drives my bike, or whether it ever reaches the manor. The Rockfords can replace it. Staying close to Gabriel is the only thing that matters.
Whatever happens next, I won’t let him out of my sight again.
22
The elevator doors close with a soft hiss, sealing us into the metal box that will carry us from the underground clinic at Rockford Manor up to Gabriel’s suite.
My back rests against the wall, shoulders bunching beneath the thick layers of medical tape. The mirror-like surface of the doors throws our images back at us, two battered men held together by stitches, bandages, and nervous excitement.
Gabriel stands close enough for our arms to brush, his left arm cradled in a sling across his chest. A purple bruise blooms along his jawline, disappearing beneath the white bandage on his temple. He shifts toward me by fractions, and I adjustwithout thinking, needing to touch him again to remind myself he’s still here.
Gabriel’s breathing comes uneven, each inhale catching before releasing. The doctors downstairs said his ribs were bruised, not broken, but the distinction matters little when each breath brings pain.
“You should have taken the painkillers,” I murmur, watching the floor numbers illuminate one by one.
“So should you,” he rasps, throat wrecked from screaming earlier, when Darrow worked him over.
The memory fires through my nerves, threatening to drag me back to that townhouse, to the coppery stench of blood and the sound of Gabriel fighting for his life in another room. I blink hard, forcing myself back to this metal box, to the present where both our hearts still beat.
“You can relax now,” Gabriel says, his uninjured hand sliding down to brush mine. “We’re inside the most secure building in the city.”
My fingers twitch, but don’t pull away. “I’ll feel better once we’re in your suite.”
The numbers continue their ascent, each floor taking us further from the underground medical facility where Rockford doctors spent hours running x-rays and cleaning wounds.
Not once did they ask how we got our injuries, nor did they handle me with less care than they did him.
When the elevator stops at the fifth floor, Gabriel sways, and I wrap an arm around him. He leans into the support with a sigh of contentment, as if we’ve been propping each other up for years instead of hours.
