For fuck’s sakes.
It’s not nearly as bad as the throbbing in my chest that threatens to suck my breath from me. I try to sit again but fail.
“Quit wriggling, you ass. You got three cracked ribs,” Raoul says as I fall back against the pillows. He’s still smirking. Probably thinks this is one big fat joke, especially after my comment about his nursemaid bodyguards. I’m not in any condition to object at this point. I feel like I’m staring at them through a fog of pain. My mouth tastes like shit and cotton wool. I raise my hand to my forehead.
“You got a concussion, too,” Dario adds. “And of course, when you regained consciousness here, you came up fighting. They had to sedate you.”
That explains the bitter taste in my mouth.
“Did they get the guys who—?”
Dario’s already shaking his head.
“Bastards got away. No plates or any chance to ID the vehicle. And the guys were masked, so they didn’t get a description.”
I knew that much, too. Though I guess it’s irrelevant. Who they were is less important than who sent them. And we all know who that is.
Mark Whitlock.
There’s some satisfaction in knowing that his plan failed. Though he got the message through loud and clear. He knows I’m on his tail. Dragging me back to him would’ve only been an extension of that message. He’d rough me up, try to knock some fear into me.
That’s never gonna happen.
“When can I get out?” I look around the place. I’ve been stripped and changed into one of those goddamned hospital gowns. My clothes have to be here someplace.
“Not till tomorrow,” Dario says. “Doc wants to keep an eye on you overnight. Besides, those ribs are gonna hurt like a bitch. They’ll be dosing you with pain meds.”
“Bullshit. We need to find Andy.” I scowl and grit my teeth as I push myself up again, determined to get out of this damned bed.
“’Teo, if you fall on the floor and wave that hairy ass in the air, I’m not picking you up,” Raoul says. “I’ll take a pic of that shit and put it all over Instagram. Although I gotta tell ya, your ass is probably prettier than your face right now.”
“You’re a dick,” I growl, reaching a hand up to explore my temple and cheek. I can feel the swelling there. The inside of my cheek is cut up too, when I run my tongue over it, wincing. Bastard must’ve got a couple of good kicks in.
“Yeah, but I’m a dick who got eyes on Whitlock’s little shag pad a couple of hours ago. No sign that he’s been there recently. And your girl definitely hasn’t been spotted there. So, you have a small window for now.”
“Not enough of a window,” I mutter, though I feel a surge of gratitude that I allow to seep out in a faint smile. He gives a wink, then turns to haul a chair up to the edge of the bed.
“While you’ve been getting your beauty sleep, I’ve been filling Dario in on what we’ve uncovered so far,” he says as he leans back into the seat. My half-brother gives a nod as he finds a place to sit, too.
“I think it’s time for us to make a plan to get rid of that motherfucker,” he says darkly. “Tell us what you know about him. You must have more dirt under wraps…stuff from your Fed buddies.” He’s not wrong. I haven’t given them everything – sometimes you have to play your cards close to your chest. That time has passed.
I start talking.
Chapter 10
Andy Carter
Heavy thumping on my front door rouses me from sleep. I wish it hadn’t. I’d been dreaming of strong hands on me. Lips on my skin. Skin that’s burning for Mateo’s touch. It’s so fucked up…I don’t trust him anymore. Never will again. But I’m still burning. I groan.
I’m hungover. I roll over on the mattress, hearing something thunk onto the floor. I peer blearily down, seeing the empty Stoli bottle rolling away from the bed. I finished the whole damn thing last night. Switched from pouring it into the mug to simply drinking it straight from the bottle.
Jesus. I think I need to puke.
I heave myself up, letting my bare feet drop onto the floor and drop my face into my hands.
God. My head.
The thumping on my door continues. Heaven knows I should be used to the noise by now. The wailing of babies and groaning of junkies has become the soundtrack I live my life by. But as much as I wish I could ignore it, whoever’s on the other side doesn’t seem likely to give up anytime soon. Can’t be Al. He’s pretty much left me alone since I gave him the false impression I had HIV.
