He doesn’t have to say by who.
But it’s a bluff, right? I turn to Flint, but his slight nod is confirmation.
Fuck.
I call Ash, hands shaking as I wait for it to connect.
It rings and rings.
But he doesn’t pick up.
He won’t if he’s driving. Won’t even use fucking Siri.
So I do the only thing left and scroll through my apps, clicking on theFind Myapp. There he is.Fuck’s sake, Ash.“He’s on his way.”
Flint sighs. “How long?”
I shrug, only then remembering about my stitches, but there’s barely a pull. “About twenty minutes.”
“Bollocks.” Flint pulls his own phone out, tapping away on it for a minute before standing. “Lynx’ll be here in a sec.”
I scowl. “Wonderful.”
Flint’s lips twitch but he doesn’t say anything else. Not to me, anyway. “I’m gonna go meet Ash at the gate with Callum. You coming?”
Jet glances behind him, and it’s only then I notice another occupied bed further down. “No. Unless you can’t handle the hum—himby yourselves?”
Flint’s eyes widen a second before he quickly schools his expression, but my heart stutters at Jet’s words.
I glance between the two of them, my mind adding two and two together and coming up with nothing I want to fucking think about while I’m trapped in this bed. I reach for the water next to me, mouth as dry as the desert again.
Flint’s stare is like a lead weight. I don’t want to look, though. Don’t want to show him what’s in my head right now, because I know it’ll be written all over my face.
Eventually he stalks off, followed by Jet, and I finally settle back on the bed.
My reprieve is short-lived though, because although Flint left the room, Jet is now sat next to the occupant of that other bed. And his sharp gaze is trained on me.
I look away quickly, but I canfeelit.
This has been the worst week of my life. And it’s not over yet. I rub my temples, trying to ward off the headache that— Oh. It’s gone.
There’s no dull throb, no nausea now either.
I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure concussions don’t wear off that quickly. Seems Corey is either full of shit or incompetent. Not sure which I’m rooting for.
I don’t get long to contemplate either before I have more visitors.
Why are the hot ones always such wankers?
My body is a traitorous piece of shit, pulse immediately kicking up as Lynx walks over to my bed. He’s got Corey with him, but I barely notice him. Not with Lynx stood next to him, looking rough and windswept. He’s all angles and moodiness, and I really shouldn’t find that as appealing as I do. He’s wearing his cut now, and the black leather bearing his club’s name only serves to make him that much hotter. He’s gotbad boywritten all over him.
He’s so much worse than that,I remind myself.
Lynx Harper isn’t just bad, he’s lethal. I need to remember that amongst all my drooling.
My reaction pisses me off, because I don’t like him.
He’s an arsehole.
