“Saline, antibiotics. Oral ketamine.”
Luther muttered an oath.
“Explains the agitation,” Dante said, sliding in to assist and steady Owen on the edge of the table.
Feeling powerless, Leighton watched as Owen stood. His knees gave way, but Dante caught and steadied him. Her stomach tightened, imagining how much it must hurt Owen to hook his right arm over Dante’s shoulder, what with the raw flesh and stitches.
“At least it’ll wear off fast.” Luther gathered some supplies, stuffed them into a backpack he had, then moved toward Abeni.
With a heavy breath, Owen darted a look around, reached for Leighton.
She started toward him, but his hand returned to Dante for support. “Are you sure you’re up to this? You can’t even stand on your own. You nearly died.” She looked to the other men, needing them to understand. “He nearly died.”
“We saw,” Dante said quietly, then adjusted to support Owen better. “I see your fear, but you can trust us.”
“I trust Owen,” she countered, not liking this rushing Owen from the doctor, but also aware that if Maaz sent people to retrieve her, that front door could open any minute and deliver more trouble.
“And like you said, he trusts us.”
“But I don’t like you,” Owen groused, touching his jaw where the stitches had left the flesh angry.
The nurse hurried to him and held out a bottle of pills. “The cuts are deep. He’ll need to stay on antibiotics for a couple of weeks. We don’t have that much, but this will get him through until he can see his own doctor.”
Owen swiped the bottle, glowering at Dante, then he eyed the pills. He squinted and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Everything is blurry.”
“Hey! Hey!” came a shout from the front, then thundering down the hall seconds before Mugo rushed in, skidding to a stop to avoid colliding with Owen and Dante. “The Cruiser—the royals are coming. They are almost here. You must go.”
Luther handed the camp manager a stack of bills. “Thanks.” Threading his arm into the backpack, he nodded to Dante. “Ready?” He produced a weapon.
Surprise held Leighton fast—not just that he had the gun but also that they’d bribed Mugo to stand watch? It was…clever.
Dante angled toward the door with Owen, whose feet seemed to be jelly. He wobbled, making her yelp, expecting him to crash to the wall or floor. Owen met her gaze. Gave a stiff smirk. “No more tears, right, Princess?”
Heat scorched her cheeks, but she straightened, surprised he had noticed her red-rimmed eyes. “You’re hallucinating.”
“Do you have a back door?” Luther asked the doctor.
“No.”
“Front door it is.” They shuffled Owen down the hall.
Leighton hurried behind them, not convinced moving him was the right decision but also well aware they had no choice. She watched Dante maneuver Owen to the side as Luther tactically opened the door, cleared it, then motioned them on.
Darkness beyond the door surrendered to string lights, pole lights, and naked bulbs that allowed the local market to descend into nighttime revelry. She eased the door closed behind her as their steps thudded on the hard-packed dirt path. When she turned, Leighton aimed toward the men. Somewhere in that turn, recognition struck. “Wait.” She’d seen a familiar pair of eyes that dumped ice down her spine. She drew in a breath, freezing as she searched the street carts and faces of the locals.
“Princess.”
“They’re here,” she breathed, unable to move. “I saw Ghalib!”
Owen faltered. “What—” He whipped around…and lost his balance. Staggering, he tried to right himself, but a vendor’s display of small wares clipped the back of his legs.
“Owen!” Leighton lunged to catch him.
He caught her hand. Blue eyes widened even as he realized gravity had won the battle—and yanked her down with him.
Pop-pop! Pop!
Her knees cracked against the hard ground. Leighton fought to avoid injuring Owen. “Sorry. Sorry.”
