I could admit to craving her, but I had no delusions about keeping her.
Chapter 8
The bullet hit me!
A searing burn forced me awake, ripping a scream from my throat.
I shot upright, taking in my surroundings with a quick sweep. I was on the couch, blankets bunched at my waist, while my chest was bare. It took less than a second for me to snatch them up and cover myself.
Sinclair pinned my arm, stopping me from thrashing around. He hovered over the couch, crowding my vision. Panic seized my throat, but came to a screeching halt once I saw the tube attached to the inner side of my elbow.
“It’s almost done. Don’t fuck with it,” Sinclair ordered. My focus trailed higher to the slice in my arm, now covered with a rectangular bandage. “The stitches should be fine. It was my fourth time.”
He raised an eyebrow, much too blasé for my peace of mind.
“Lie down,” Kyan ordered gruffly, leaning forward from the chair he was sitting in, his eyebrows in a scowl. I didn’t move, so he placed his palm on my shoulder and forced me onto my back. I settled on the cushy couch; my body nestled in the crevice. “The wound would have killed you if you hadn’t received treatment.”
He was lecturing me? He kept going, but I was too busy wiggling my fingers and toes to make sure everything was still intact.
I felt good.
Better than I had in months.
Emotion surfaced, and tears pricked my eyes. I closed them and focused on my breathing, while he continued explaining what they’d done.
For a second back there, I thought I wouldn’t make it . . .
Kyan shrugged on a coat, the thick corduroy hugging his tall form.
“You’ve been sleeping for almost seventy-two hours.”
I lifted my arm and eyed the IV taped to the inside of my elbow.
“No wonder I’m so sore,” I croaked, rolling my ankle in a circle. A pulse radiated up my leg.
“You have to eat.” He jerked his chin to the round Styrofoam container. “Takeout. I selected something light with lots of iron.”
Despite Kyan’s order to stay lying down, I hugged the blanket, inching myself up with difficulty. Sinclair’s arm was suddenly there, and I was upright. Using the heels of my feet, I scooted backward until the armrest braced me.
“I’m surprised you can function,” Sinclair mused. “You were severely dehydrated. Are diets worth feeling like shit? You damn women.”
I could only stare at him.
The irony of his words.
“What?” He cocked his head.
“You own a strip club.”
“Aaaand?” His eyebrow went up.
“Never mind,” I muttered, shaking my head. Even if I explained, it wasn’t my place to make him care that the patriarchal society forced women to fit the mold of attractiveness based on their desires. Omegas had that especially badly. Council law said we were revered and to be taken care of, but it was all pretty phrases to mask the fact that we existed to breed more Alphas and Omegas into the world. Hence, why I refused to depend on any Alpha.
“For the record, I was on the run for a few days,” I lied, but I wasn’t about to tell him I had been living out of my car for the last six months. Ever since I was fired, my building was condemned in the same week. All bullshit, it was connected to Bourne Pack.
I hadn’t conceptualized how evil some people could truly be. Greymont Pack were vulgar, lethal businessmen who hosted illegal gambling events and had a record of paying people off to get charges dropped.
But Bourne Pack? They were true evil. I hadn’t known there were levels above Greymont Pack, but harming animals and children . . . I couldn’t fathom it.
