I’ve had enough of this.
“DoIhave a say in any of this?” I ask, finally speaking up.
“No,” they say in unison, and my jaw drops.
“Excuse me?” I cross my arms over my chest, the fabric of the hospital gown bunching up around my waist. Damon and Quin snap their heads in my direction, both wearing an expression of immediate regret. “Given that you’re discussingmysafety, I think I’m allowed to voice an opinion.”
Quin briefly shoots Damon a hardened side-eye before he hurries to my side. “Of course, your opinion matters, darling,” he says, plopping down on the rolling stool beside my bed. He attempts to take my hand but I keep my muscles rigid, refusing to melt under his touch. He clears his throat. “All we mean is that you?—”
“Is that you should focus on recovering,” Damon says, strutting over to the other side of the bed. He hovers beside me, averting his gaze.
He hasn’t fully looked at me since we left Italy. Not in my eyes. My stomach sinks. He’s still hurt. I understand. But I want him to look at me. I need him to look at me. If he looks at me then he’d see. He’d see just how desperate I am for his connection.
“Recovery. That’s your main focus now, Emery,” Damon continues. “Everything else, Quinton and I will handle.”
“He’s right, darling,” Quin whispers, stroking my forearm. “Your only job is to get better.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine. You were here, weren’t you? The doctor said all my wounds are superficial and will heal in acouple of weeks. I don’t need to be treated like some fragile little flower.”
“You’ve got a hematoma on your ribs, Emery,” Damon snaps.
“That’s just a fancy name for a fucking bruise, Damon,” I growl back, irritation spiking. “If I say I’m fine, then I’m fine.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Quin says, lowering his voice to a soothing whisper. “The last thing we need is to stress your nervous system.”
“Oh my God,” I whimper, about to lose my shit. “My nervous system is fine! I’m fine! You both need to back off! I don’t need?—”
Before I can explode, the doctor strides into the hospital room, a prescription bottle in her hand. “Is everything okay in here?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at Damon and Quin. They nod, and I fight the urge to thrash around the bed in pure frustration. The doctor gives me a warm smile, handing me the pills. “While we don’t carry Munosol in the UK, I’ve been given the okay by Dr. Marquis to switch you to Promitosol. It’s also available in the US. Take them as you would your other immunosuppressants.”
“Thank you,” I say, yanking the pills away from her. When she exits the room, I snap my gaze to Quinton. “Since when are you my primary physician?”
Quin swallows. “Munosol has been shown to have negative side effects, specifically depression and suicidal thoughts. Promitosol is a far more effective medication. Trust me, Emery. You’ll see a difference.”
“Fine,” I sigh, unable to fight back on the subject. Maybe he’s right. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up and shit rainbows and sunshine. “Now listen to me…” My gaze flits between Damon and Quinton. “I think you both make valid points but this is my suggestion: I think we should inform Interpol of what happened over the past week. Maybe even the FBI. Obviously, leave outthe uh…otherdetails that would incriminate the two of you.” Quin grins triumphantly, and I turn my attention to Damon. “I also think a safe house is a good idea. The way I left things with Toni… It wasn’t good. I’d rather be safe than sorry. Given her expertise, I don’t doubt she could find me. Also, I think in addition to Interpol, we should hire contractors to find Simone and Toni.” Damon begins to smirk, but I cut him off. “Find, Damon. Not kill.” His smirk flatlines. “Well?”
“I suppose it’s a fair compromise,” Quin says, forcing a smile.
Damon, on the other hand, merely glowers at the idea. “Fine. Whatever.”
“I’ll contact Vivienne immediately,” Quin says, reaching into his breast pocket. He pulls out two phones, handing me one. I frown. “Don’t worry, I’ve had a friend remotely install encryption software on all our devices. Take it.” I warily reach for the cell phone. “I asked her to sync this to your personal phone. Everything should be on there.”
Afriend? How many ‘friends’ did these two make while I was chained up in a basement?No. Nope. Not doing this.Can’t get mad. Equally guilty.
Shaking off the twinge of anger, I cringe when the phone turns on and dozens of missed calls from my parents appear on the screen. I suppose I should send them a quick update. The last thing I told them was Merry Christmas. That was two weeks ago.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Quin says, hesitating before leaving me alone in the hospital room with Damon.
And then there were two.
The last time Damon and I were alone in a room together, I rejected his proposal and told him we couldn’t be together. That seems like ages ago. But it wasn’t. It was so recent that I can see the open wound I left bleeding. It’s written all over his face. Yet, he’s here. He hasn’t left my side. Not for a minute.
“Damon—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Emery,” Damon says, defensive and so fucking guarded. “I’m not leaving you. Not until we catch them.”
A deep frown mars my brows. “Is that what you think I want, Damon? For you to leave?”
He turns away from me, the back of his head concealing his emotions. “I haven’t forgotten our last conversation, Emery. I know how you feel. You’ve made it very clear.”
