“Enough to take the edge off until she can be examined properly.”
You've hit the wall, Constance. You were never going to win this one, you know that, right? The Domme tsked, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor.
It was never about winning, she thought. It was about curling up into a ball and protecting herself. Finding somewhere quiet to dissect what was real and what she'd imagined, then healing. Or trying to, because in all honesty, this was the straw that had the potential to destroy her.
She shuddered when fingertips grazed her shoulder. Fingertips became the press of a palm rubbing a gentle circle over the tight muscles. She wanted to strike out at that caring touch, snap the hand off at the wrist for daring to touch her, but the spark was dead, burned out and useless. Her body cut the strings so she slumped on Atticus's lap as he sat, her brokenness exposed for everyone to see.
“Atticus, give her to me. No, don't look at me like that. She won't hurt me,” Anarchy murmured as she settled in beside him. “She's exhausted, traumatized, and injured. Lay her down with her head in my lap, and let me take care of her while you and Jasper bring some order back to this chaos.”
Time turned into a whirl of quiet sobs and soft reassurances. Her body was shifted carefully, her broken head gently placed on soft thighs. Fingers petted her hair lightly, and that simple touch helped ground Connie in the here and now. They stayed there on the couch as Connie's internal battery switched on the five-percent warning sign, her head lolling with the pull of sleep.
Just a few feet away, the EMTs had arrived and were strapping Thane onto a board, preparing to lift him onto the gurney and take him out to the waiting ambulance. The small one, a redhead with hazel eyes, kept shooting glances at Connie, her concern obvious. Connie drifted in and out of shock, pleased they were taking Thane's injuries seriously. She blinked up at the medic when she walked over.
“Okay, Jess is just doing the last checks before we get Thane tucked up in the rig. He's lost a considerable amount of blood, but Jasper did good getting a line and fluids into him. Heart is strong, breathing is good. He'll need surgery to repair that shoulder, but from the scar already there, he's no stranger to that.” The redhead sighed and removed her gloves, snapping on a fresh pair. “Let’s see what we can do for you, sweetie.”
“Connie’s hurt really bad, Ariel,” Archie murmured anxiously.
“She’s in pain, and she’s exhausted. Don’t worry until the doctors have done their exam, Archie. With this amount of bruising, she’s going to look rough for a while. Zach,” Ariel said quickly as the man in question walked past. “I need you to go out to the rig and retrieve the spare backboard. You know where it is, right?”
“Yes ma'am.”
“Good, be as quick as you can, then give Jess a hand with settling Thane on the rig. We'll need to make room for two, so help her move shit around in there until we can fit in a second patient. It'll be tight but we'll make it work.”
Connie didn’t have the energy to react. Hospital was bad. They'd poke her and prod her, make her take tests and have scans. They'd sedate her, and put things inside her. Oh, she knew the protocols. She'd counselled patients who'd survived the same procedures, but that didn't stop the knowledge from wringing her stomach contents into her throat.
Moaning under her breath, determined not to let them drag her unceremoniously into the emergency room, she made a concerted effort to sit up. Nausea spiked swiftly, her body crying to be left alone to rest. As hands stroked her, she threw up what little she had in her belly, wishing a glass of water would magically appear while the world faded away and left her in peace.
“A little vomit never hurt anyone. Just breathe, Connie. I'm going to take a look at your facial injuries while we wait for Zach to come back.” Ariel's hazel eyes darted to the left, and she smiled. “Jasper, you've already assessed her, right? What's your opinion?”
Connie moaned as the medic and the sadist launched into a conversation on scary medical conditions like bleeds on the brain, broken cheek bones, and fractured skulls. Concussions and contusions. All the outcomes she was aware of when it came to head injuries, but infinitely more terrifying when potentially applied to her. Her gaze drifted to the spot where Thane had taken a bullet and gone down, roaming over the dark splotch on the carpet. How much blood did it take to create a stain that size?
Her overtaxed brain wandered away for a while. There were shapes and voices she recognized, but they were inconsequential. Zach returned with the backboard under his arm, laying it on the carpet. She struggled with the sensation of falling as she was twisted and lifted, then lowered with infinite care onto the cold board. Jasper settled her into position and fussed with her blanket, then rose with more grace and poise than a damn tiger waking from a nap.
“I think we'll get you an IV set up,” Ariel told her. “Sedation would be best, but I'm not going to risk it. You've had some pain meds already, but a low dose so I can give you more if you need it. I agree with Jasper that you've got a mild concussion. The doctors will make that call. Your ribs and stomach are already bruising, so they'll be tender.”
Ariel lifted Connie's left arm out of the way as Anarchy tucked another blanket around her and, working fast, they secured half a dozen straps over Connie's body faster than she could blink. More blankets draped over her as Ariel inserted a cannula.
The pinch of the needle stung, bringing more tears precariously close to the surface, threatening Connie's composure. She'd already cried too much, and they weren't even halfway through the goddamn day.
“It's just fluids, I promise.” Deft fingers connected a tube to a full plastic bag of clear liquid, then removed the air bubbles from the pipe before it was attached to the cannula. “Atticus, can you and Jasper carry the board out? I need to keep this elevated.”
Humiliation complete, Connie closed her eyes and prayed she didn't wake up in hell.
*
“Sir, I'm afraid you need to get back into bed. You've just had surgery—”
Thane gritted his teeth and took another step, using his IV stand on wheels as a crutch. Dismissing the nurse flitting around him like a nervous hummingbird, he shuffled from the bathroom. The surgeon said the surgery had gone well. The bullet had gone straight through, missing bone and vital blood supplies, but it had bled like an absolute bitch, partially because he hadn't done the sane thing and tried not to move after being shot.
While he hated earning anyone's disapproval, he took pride in knowing he'd done what he'd needed to.
Now he was patched up, and once again, he was doing what was important. Vital.
Connie was on his mind. Every thought circled around her. Every question was about her. Since waking up the day before, his IV stand loaded with blood and fluids, he'd been itching to see his girl and make sure she was all right.
He’d just needed to pee without a damn tube up his dick first.
Dreams had plagued him, leaving him with a sickness in his gut that told him he hadn't been fast enough to stop Guthrie from working his cock into Connie, but he was lucid enough now to discern dreams from reality. Thank fuck. If he had one more disturbed nightmare where he woke in cold sweat, roaring like a wounded bull, while images of his woman being raped plucked his worst fears like guitar strings, he'd have tracked down Guthrie's body. Dismembered it. Anything to dispel the illusion of failing Connie when she needed him.
The Masters told him she was doing okay, but they didn't expand on it. It left Thane with questions he didn't like. Does she not want to see me anymore? Is she hurt more badly than anyone's telling me? Is she traumatized? No one seemed eager to give him straight answers, so he would grin and bear through the post-surgical pain and hunt her down himself.
“If you want to be helpful,” he told the nurse, “you can tell me where to find Connie Monroe.”
“I'm not a directory, Mr. Isaacson. I'm here to see you stay in bed and recover from the operation you just had. Now, come with me before you fall.” She offer
ed him a prim hand, her wedding ring gleaming gold beneath the soft lighting.
Ignoring her hand, Thane inched toward the glass front of his room, pausing on the threshold of the open door. Glancing around, he came to the conclusion this wasn't a regular hospital. Everything seemed smaller, quieter, more homely than any hospital he'd ever been in. A dozen rooms were contained in two rows of six, glass-fronted boxes with sliding doors. The corridor was wide enough to drive a couple of SUVs past each other, and there was a nurse's station planted in the middle. Two entrances, one at each end of the corridor.
What the hell kind of wonderland had he fallen into now?
“I'm coming, sugar,” he muttered, setting off down the nearest row of rooms as the nurse called him an idiot. “I may be an idiot, but my girlfriend is here, and I need to find her. You could make it a lot less strenuous.” He gave her a baleful look when she stared at him disapprovingly. “In case you missed it, that was your opportunity to give me directions.”
“Mr. Isaacson, you're going to fall unless you sit down and rest. You really shouldn't be wandering around so soon after a major surgery. You lost an incredible amount of blood, which several donors have kindly replenished, and I'm not happy about you—”
“Look, Dina,” Thane snapped, hobbling to a halt and turning in a slow, undignified circle with his stand. “I went through hell yesterday. I got shot, which isn't new to me. Aside from the inconvenience, I couldn't give a shit. But I went through hell because I left my lover unprotected, in a situation she couldn't defend herself from. For all the hell I suffered through, it's nothing compared to hers. She needs me now, and I'm not going to let her down twice in as many days, do you hear me?”
Impatient jade eyes narrowed on his face as the nurse shoved her hand through short blonde locks. “If I promise you I’ll do my best to get the woman you’re looking for to you, will you please return to your bed?”
His legs were starting to wobble, much to his disgust. He tightened his grip on the stand, just in case, grimacing when his bruised appendage cried for mercy. Beating the hell out of a guy played hell with the knuckles. “Is that a sincere promise? Because I will walk every floor of this damn place until I find her. No one's giving me anything but generic updates on her condition, and it's not gonna fly anymore.”
Nurse Dina threw her hands up in the air and huffed. “Why do they always assign me to the stubborn assholes?” she muttered to herself. “Every time. For once, I'd like one of the nice, quiet, amenable patients who don't make it their mission in life to piss me off.” Still muttering, she stalked over to the nurse's station and used an intercom to contact someone. “Zach, are you in the control room? Yeah, I need someone to bring Ms. Monroe down to the recovery rooms. Yes, now.” Without waiting for an answer, she scowled at Thane. “Back to bed, Mr. Isaacson. Before I change my mind.”
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me.” She jabbed a finger at him when he opened his mouth, then at the open doorway behind him. “Take the five minutes I'm giving you to see yourself back to bed, Mr. Isaacson.” Dina tsked at him and fussed with his IV as he painstakingly turned himself around. “I’m sure your girlfriend won’t want to see you sprawled on the floor in an assless gown.”
“She probably wouldn’t be pleased,” Thane agreed solemnly, forcing his whimpering body to take little steps, wincing as his bare feet padded on the cold tiles. Fuck, he’d forgotten he was wearing the stupid gown, and how taxing the first few days after being cut open and stitched up could be.
“My advice would be not to exert so much energy.” The nurse chastised as she looped her arm around his waist and took some of his weight. “It’ll only take you longer to heal.”
Thane tried to keep up the pretense of fine for his own benefit, but the moment his ass hit the sheets, he let the fatigue wash through him. Fear for Connie kept him awake, his eyes on the door as Dina got him exactly where she wanted him.
When she slipped out of the room, Thane didn't mind, using the alone time to keep his fear at bay. The last time he'd seen Connie, she'd been prostrate. That beautiful body screwed up like a butterfly wings in a careless hand, bruises painting her soft skin.
His fist clenched, activating the badges of revenge in a shitstorm of pain. Had he killed Guthrie? It wasn't a great loss to the gene pool if he had, in Thane's opinion. The asshole who'd hurt Connie deserved to die for even thinking about taking what wasn't his, and for hurting the one good thing in Thane's life. Thane knew the gun had gone off—it had knocked him off his feet. But where the bullet had gone was a different question.
Jasper would have taken care of the asshole, he reminded himself. If his shot had missed the fucker, Jasper's wouldn't. One way or another, Guthrie would meet his maker and pay for the crimes he'd committed throughout his miserable life. Thane wanted to be part of the team that took Stevens down, part of the justice that would be brought down on his head. He was just as responsible for this as Guthrie, more so in fact.
The commander had obviously found power in controlling his minions. As a Dom, Thane understood the lure of such power, the sweetness of command, and how heady it was to have someone follow orders without question. But he would never use it to harm, to order ruin on another.
“Maybe we shouldn’t disturb him,” a familiar voice whispered from the doorway.
Thane crashed rudely out of his contemplative doze, jerking from his slumped position. He bit down on a yelp when his shoulder pulled, wincing as he felt the stitches pull. He turned his head to blink at the beautiful vision hesitating at the door. “Connie.”
“Glad to see you’re back in bed, resting. Dina has been pulling her hair out with your antics. Goddamn idiot.” Atticus's glare was a hard green laser, searing Thane's skin with its heat as he ushered Connie inside. “This is a recovery ward, Thane. You’re here for a reason, so keep your ass in bed and recover.”
“It’s a flesh wound,” Thane ground out. “I got shot in the shoulder, Atticus. I'm not dying. All I want is to see my girl.” He held out his hand to her, keeping his dismay off his face as he studied the mess Guthrie had made of hers. “I missed you, sugar. So damn much.”
“Sit down, little sub. You have your own doctor’s orders, remember.” Atticus guided her to the chair beside Thane’s bed. “Twenty minutes. That’s all you get for now. Both of you need rest.”
“Give us a break, would you? My last memory of Connie isn't conducive to happy thoughts.” Don't think about it. Do not go back there now. “I need to make up for the fact I couldn’t help her when she needed me.”
Atticus let his hands fall to his sides as his eyes softened into sympathy. “Brother, you went above and beyond.” He inclined his head. “Take all the time you need, I’ll handle the damn doctors.”
“Quick question, Att?”
“Sure.”
“Did I get the asshole?” Thane demanded.
“Yeah, buddy, you got him. Wasn't quick or clean, but you can get some satisfaction he died suffering. Don't know if you were aiming for his throat, but you put a nice hole in it.”
Okay, so maybe he got some satisfaction in knowing Guthrie had probably cried like a bitch before he died. If not, Thane was happy enough to imagine him doing just that.
“Did you find any dirt on Stevens?”
“Oh, we have more than dirt. Anarchy worked her butt off yesterday through the chaos. She had his life spread out on her screen before you were whisked off for surgery, and sent the data to the relevant parties last night. Commander Stevens was apprehended this morning, and the military is conducting their own investigation into his conduct.”
Thankfully, Thane was sitting down. The rush of relief was vibrant enough make him light-headed. “So it’s over. The whole sordid mess is done?”
“Your part in it is, for now. They may want you to testify if it goes to court.”
As long as Stevens couldn't harm anyone else, Thane couldn't care less if he was dangling by his ankles in some damp dungeon. Th
e commander had damaged something precious, intending on doing harm and succeeding. He should be held accountable for his crimes.
“Look, just stay in bed so you don’t moon everyone in a ten foot radius,” Atticus said with a wry grin. “Those gowns are the bane of a patient's existence. I've had firsthand experience in dealing with angry nurses, and they are not pushovers. They will use every trick in their sneaky little book to make sure you abide by their rules. And if you don't…well, don't be surprised if you wake up with a catheter in your dick. It’s over, Thane, so just relax and focus on healing.”
Thane's pride and joy, which hadn't been erect anyway, wilted further. Even his balls tucked up. “Already pulled one of those out today, thanks. I'm not thrilled with the idea of another one going back in.” He shuddered at the thought. “I just want to spend time with Connie, I’m not going anywhere.”
“All right. Hit the button if you need help.” Atticus’s expression was grim as he went to stroke Connie’s shoulder, then seemed to think twice about doing so. In the end, he didn’t touch her, just nodded at Thane and left the room, not quite closing the door fully behind him.
Thane swallowed and tried to read the situation. The woman he loved, the woman it felt like he’d been waiting forever to see, was different. Understandably, he thought, but didn’t stop his heart aching. She still hadn’t taken his hand. “It's okay if you don't want to talk, Con. We went through a lot yesterday. I got shot, but you…you got the sharper edge of the sword. I just…I want to be here for you. You're mine, sugar, and that means we go through this together.”
He murmured to her, leaving his hand dangling off the edge of the bed. He wasn’t aware of how much time passed or what his tired brain encouraged his mouth to say, but he was on the verge of sleep when the first tentative touch roused him—just a brush of skin against his palm, a fingertip maybe. He heard a soft sniffle, then that brush of skin became a caress, evolving into her hand clutching his.
Talk For Me: Club Avalon Book 3 Page 41
