Keeping one hand on London, I move the other to my ribs and wince as I apply the slightest pressure.
"I take it things didn't go well?" Alec says to me from up front.
I swallow the coppery taste in my mouth. "It went fine. He totally bought the story."
Alec glances at me and turns his attention to the road, swerving around a car that pulls out in front of us.
"Really," I insist. "He bought it but that didn't mean that we still didn't have to pay for what Miller did."
The desire to sayI told you sois strong and yet I keep it to myself—it wouldn't do any good, especially with Alec, who has done nothing wrong.
"I'm sorry," Alec says, his voice low.
"Focus on getting us to the hospital."
"Is she going to be okay?"
I look down at the bloodied girl in my lap, my heart aching at witnessing what she deals with on a normal basis from the one man who is supposed to always keep her safe—her father. "I don't know."
The rest of the drive is quiet, my eyes only taking a break from London briefly to check where we are every so often. I study her chest, the slow rise and fall, and the tension that coils in her at each bump in the road.
"Pull straight up to the emergency room." I point ahead at the sign to guide Alec on where to go.
He does exactly as I say and jumps out, rushing around the side to open the door. Without being told to, Alec scoops London's frail body into his arms and bolts through the gliding entrance.
This is the part in movies where hospital employees come running out to greet us and ask what happened and insist on putting the injured person on a gurney and escort her back immediately for help, but none of that happens. No, instead, we're greeted by the many eyes of the packed waiting room who no doubt wonder if their ailment will be put on hold to tend to the broken girl we just brought in.
I slam my hand on the receptionist's desk, and the woman blinks up at me, chewing her gum obnoxiously.
"I'll be right with you," she says with no sense of urgency.
I snatch the phone out of her hand and shove it onto the receiver. "You'll help us now or I'll make sure this is your last fucking day." Whether I mean at work or alive is left to interpretation.
The curly-headed middle-aged woman continues to smack on her gum. "Listen, lady, take a number." She points to the stand with tickets and then at the monitor on the wall. "Someone will come get you checked in shortly."
I lower myself onto the top of her desk and take a fistful of her shirt into my hand. "I think you'll help us now. See that girl right there?" I tilt my head toward London hanging in Alec's arms. "That's London Gardella, Ricardo Gardella's daughter." And for extra emphasis, I add, "Friend of Dominic Adler."
At the mention of the last name I dropped, her eyes bulge and she hops up from her desk, shooting her chair out of the way as it rolls toward her.
"Come around here." She cups her arm and waves it around the corner of her desk. "Right this way."
I tilt my head to signal to Alec to come on and follow her wherever she's taking us.
The woman bangs on a door and opens it a second later without allowing the person to respond. "Doctor Trevani. You have a patient here who needs to be seen immediately. London Gardella. Ricardo's daughter. Mr. Adler's friend."
The man snatches his stethoscope off the small table next to him and drops his drink, spilling it without a care. "This way." He doesn't question us until we're in a small patient room, the receptionist lingering behind him. "Set her down here. What happened?"
Alec lowers her onto a hospital bed gently and steps back.
"We were mugged," I blurt out, the only lie I could think of off the top of my head.
Trevani meets my gaze, his brown eyes boring into me with great intensity. "I don't need to know what happened, but I need to knowwhat happened to her, do you understand?"
"She was kicked, repeatedly." I do everything I can to block out the image of Ricardo slamming his shoe into her over and over, her body growing more limp with each blow. I don't think there was a part of her that he didn't inflict at least some pain on. Mainly her torso, but he spared no remorse for her legs, her arms, or her head.
When he was finally done, she was contorted and bloody and barely moving.
"Get my care team in here," Trevani tells the receptionist and then looks at us. "Get back." He leans toward London, his hands working over her body, lifting her shirt and taking in what he can.
