I laugh through my tears and wipe my nose and eyes with the back of my arm. Wendy loves a good story. “Yeah. God willing.”
“That’s right. God willing. You gotta believe in order to receive his blessing.” Royce rumbles his truth, and I let it sink into my heart.
“Where the fuck is she!” Michael Pritchard storms into the hospital waiting room, a desperate man on a mission. His navy pinstriped suit jacket flails behind him in his speedy strides.
He comes up to where I stand in the waiting room, fury mixed with anguish written all over the hard lines of his face. He’s not much older than the three of us, but he exudes barely contained power the likes none of us have ever seen. He grits his teeth and speaks through them.
“Where. Is. My. Woman,” he growls, and I can feel the vibrations of his torment rippling off him in scorching-hot blasts of fury.
I swallow and stare into his light eyes.
His darken as my gaze intensifies. “If she dies, I hold you responsible,” he warns with a sneer.
I nod. “She’s not going to die. Wendy’s strong—”
“You think I don’t know that?” he snaps. “I’m the one who plucked her out of her horrible, rat-infested apartment and crummy job unworthy of her goals and talents. I helped her get her education. In turn, she gave me life. Her life is my life.” He pounds on his chest. “She may be your assistant, even your friend, but she’s my everything. My world revolves around her wants, her desires, her love. So, I know Wendy’s strong. My Wendy—and every perfect inch of her is mine—is nothing but strength.”
Royce puts a hand on the man’s shoulder, and Michael snarls at the contact.
“Doctor’s here . . . ,” Roy says, and points to the waiting room door.
“You the family?”
“Yes,” all four of us state, much to Michael’s aggravation.
“I’m her fiancé. Please, tell me, how is she?” Michael says, emotion thick in his tone.
The tall dark-haired doctor clasps her hands in front of her. “She did well. The bullet went in through her chest, penetrated her lung, and ricocheted off her scapula. The lung was collapsed when she arrived. She lost a lot of blood. We’ve repaired the lung, removed the bullet, and put her into a medically induced coma until we can get her vitals back to desired levels. It’s going to be touch and go for the next twenty-four hours, but I have every reason to believe that, provided her stats keep rising, she’ll do very well.”
“Can we see her?” Michael requests.
“Once she’s out of recovery and settled in ICU, we’ll notify you.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Michael swallows, his voice cracking while his shoulders sink.
Behind the doctor, a nurse comes out with a clear bag and approaches Michael. Inside are Wendy’s diamond engagement ring and her padlock and collar. “I, uh, thought her family should hold on to these.”
Michael takes the bag and cradles it in his large hands. Tears fall onto the plastic as he falls to his knees.
“They cut her collar off.” He holds himself up with one hand braced on the floor, the other still holding on to the bag.
Royce and I crouch down and help lift him up and to a blue plastic chair a few feet in front of us.
“They cut it off.” He gulps, and more tears fall over his stoic face.
The leather band was cut cleanly near the loop and lock on the collar. He must have had the thing made for her with the two ends welded to loops that were connected by the dangling padlock. I move to finger the package, and he crushes it to his chest and glares at me.
“Sorry. I meant no harm.” I rip my hand away as if it’s been burned.
Michael pulls the collar out of the quart-sized bag. He tugs his tie loose and then undoes the first button of his dress shirt. Next, he pulls out a long beaded chain, similar to one you’d see dog tags hanging from. At the end is a silver key on which Wendy’s name is engraved. He takes the key, inserts it into the lock, and releases the silver padlock. He removes it from the destroyed collar, snaps the lock closed on his chain, and secures it into place before tucking the lock and key back under his shirt against his chest.
“She’s going to be okay,” I offer, squeezing his forearm in support.
He swallows slowly, and his gaze focuses straight out at the blank white wall, almost unseeingly. His voice is a low snarl when he responds, “She better be, or there will be hell to pay.”
10
“Why isn’t she waking up?” Michael’s barely contained rage is slipping every minute that Wendy stays in her coma.
The surgeon stands stiffly, waiting while Michael breathes and attempts to get himself under control.
“She’s been asleep for two days,” Michael says.
“We tried to wake her this morning,” the doctor says. “She is no longer receiving any form of sedative to prevent her from waking. We believe when she was shot, she also endured a concussion in her fall. Her body and brain are healing from the trauma. She has normal brain activity, so there is no fear of any brain damage. However, the brain is a tricky thing. Your fiancée will wake when her brain and body tell her to do so. All we can do now is take care of her current injuries and wait.”
The doctor reaches out a hand to Michael’s forearm. “I understand you are eager for her to open her eyes. We all are. Unfortunately, she is not ready. Just talk to her, let her know you’re here and ready for her to wake up.”
Michael’s entire body bristles at the doctor’s orders. He grits his teeth and speaks through them. “Fine.” He spins around and moves back to Wendy’s bedside, where he’s been for two days without leaving to shower or change clothes. He’s still in the same suit he arrived in, even though his assistant arrived yesterday with his luggage and set him up in the hotel next to the hospital.
“Hey, Michael, why don’t you go get some food in you, shower, change clothes,” I say.
He shakes his head stiffly and holds Wendy’s hand to his lips, staring at her face with a pleading expression.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Man, she needs you. More than ever.” I hold back the emotion that wants so badly to spill out. With her upper body wrapped in bandages, an oxygen tube in her nose, her normally pale skin almost see-through, she looks so peaceful, though none of us are. We’re four strung-out males ready to lose our minds if our girl doesn’t open her pretty blues and nail us with one of her smart remarks.
“Which is why I’m not leaving . . . ,” Michael growls.
“Mick . . .”
He turns and snarls, “Don’t. Call. Me. That.”
I swallow against the dryness coating my throat. “I’m sorry. I can see that you are too far gone to be any help to her. You need to go to the hotel, eat something, shower, and change. If you could nap, that would be even better. You are no use to her or anyone running on empty. Please, man, do this for her.”
He presses her hand against his cheek. “I can’t leave her alone.”
“She won’t be alone. I’m here. The guys are coming soon to relieve me, so I can do the same in a couple of hours. Whether you like it or not, we’re her extended family now, and we take care of our own.”
His voice cracks, and he closes his eyes. “Why won’t she wake up? I need to see her eyes, hear her voice to know she’s going to be okay.”
“Doc said she’s going to come out of this aces. You, on the other hand, won’t be worth anything to help her heal if you’re down for the count. Go. Freshen up. Eat. Shower. You stink.”
“I do not.” He narrows his gaze.
I chuckle lightly so he knows I’m playing around. “No, you don’t, but you will if you wear that suit one more day.”
He sighs deeply and dips his head over Wendy’s form. My gut clenches and my heart pounds. It’s almost wrong to witness this man’s pain and suffering, but there is real beauty in his devotion to his woman. He’s a man lost at sea, the woman he loves his lock on land. Without her, he will allow the tide to carry him away.
My feet start to feel heavy, laden with the burden of my own lost love.
Michael stands abruptly. “You’re right. You’ll stay with her?”
I nod.
“I’ll be back soon, Cherry. I’m going to refuel, change, and I’ll be back soon, my love.” He kisses her on the forehead and then on the lips before looking at me. “You’ve got my number if anything changes. And I mean anything. She wiggles her fingers, I want to know about it.”
“You have my word.”
He nods curtly and leaves me alone with her.
I sit by her side and grab her hand. “Hey, minxy.” I squeeze her hand and wait for a response, but there’s nothing. She’s lost to dreamland. “I wish you’d wake up. Your man is about to have a coronary waiting for you to open your pretty blue eyes.” I stare at her and hold my breath. Nothing. No movement. I hold her hand between both of mine. “I’m so sorry, Wendy. So fucking sorry you got hurt. It wasn’t supposed to go down like that.” I shake my head and allow the guilt and shame that’s been hiding just under the surface to spill out now that I’m alone with her.
“Aw, Wendy, won’t you wake up? I need to see you’re okay. Need to hear you tell me it’s all going to be okay, because right now, I’m drowning, honey. Drowning in a sea of uncertainty. You’re hurt. Bo and Royce are beside themselves. Your man is about to strangle the next person he sees. And I’m a goddamned mess. Straight Looney Tunes. I haven’t talked to Sky, and I know you want me to. I did text her. Told her you’d been hospitalized here in Montreal with a gunshot wound. She didn’t respond, and I don’t know why. Maybe because she hates me for not calling her sooner about our crap.” I hang my head. “I need you to wake up, sis, wake up and yell at me. Tell me what to do. How to make everything better.”
“I don’t hate you, Parker.” A whisper reaches my ears, and I slowly turn around.
She’s like a golden halo of light. Her blonde hair falling in glowing waves around her face. Her caramel-brown gaze reaches straight into my chest and locks around my heart.
“Skyler . . .” I choke out her name and stand up.
Tears fall down her cheeks in a river of torment. She licks her lips. “I could never hate you. I love you.”
“Jesus, come here.” I hold out my arms, and she runs the ten feet it takes to get to me before plowing into my body. She wraps her arms around me tightly, and I’m engulfed by her warmth.
The scent of peaches and cream fills the air, replacing the bleach and antiseptic smell of the hospital with my favorite smell in the world. I burrow my face into her neck and hair and inhale long and deep. Her body trembles against mine, and her nails dig into my back. They graze the wound in my shoulder, which stings and burns, but I don’t care. Nothing could prevent me from holding this woman.
“Honey, I’m so sorry . . . for everything.” Her voice turns into sobs against my neck, her tears wetting my long-sleeved shirt.
I tunnel my good hand into her hair at the base of her skull and hold her to me, soaking up every ounce of her being plastered against me, alive, and in the flesh.
How did I live without this?
Without her.
I tighten my grip on her body and close my eyes, letting our bodies connect for a minute, two, ten. I don’t know how long we stand there just holding one another. And then reality seeps in.
Hurt.
Dishonesty.
Betrayal.
Gritting my teeth, I push her back and away, swallowing down the bile that rises with the act of putting space between us. My mind swirls with the need to get her into a private space and interrogate the hell out of her, or toss her over my shoulder, throw her on the bed, and fuck the sins out of her.
“Park . . .”
“What are you doing here?” I clear my throat and take a step away.
She lifts her arms over her chest and rubs at her biceps, seeming suddenly chilled, though I think it has more to do with the space I put between us than the temperature.
Skyler frowns. “What do you mean? You told me Wendy was hurt.” She lifts her hand toward Sleeping Beauty. “Wendy’s my friend. She’s like a sister to my boyfriend. Of course I’m going to drop everything and be by her side, by yours.”
“I didn’t expect you to come all this way.”
“Parker, we have to talk. I am not the enemy. I’m the woman who loves you.”
Loves you.
Her words shred my resolve, and the last two weeks pour over my body like acid, burning its way through flesh and bone.
My anger at her for being with Johan.
My love for her battling against what she did.
Alexis clamoring after me.
Wendy being shot.
It’s all too damn much, and I feel like a volcano ready to erupt.
Bo takes that moment to enter. “Whoa, howdy.” He glances from me to Skyler to Wendy and then back to me again. “Uh, should I come back?”
I clench my jaw and stare at Skyler, taking in her flowy dress, simple sweater, and knee-high suede boots. She’s my living dream come true and, at the same time, my waking nightmare.
“You need to stay with Wendy until Michael comes back. Contact him if there is any change whatsoever. I promised him. I need to deal with her.” The words are like poison on my tongue as I stomp over to Skyler and grab her hand and drag her out of Wendy’s room.
“Where are we going? Where are you taking me?” She tugs on my good hand, and it pulls against the stitches in my shoulder. I wince but grip her tighter. No way in hell I’m letting her go.
There is no stopping this train. I’m out of my mind right now, and I need peace and quiet in order to deal with the raging emotions swirling like a vortex inside of my mind and body. “Hotel attached to the hospital. You wanted to talk. We’re going to talk.”
She keeps up with my pace, though mine is more of a jog than a fast walk.
The second we reach my room I insert the card, push her in, and shove the door closed with my foot. She whirls around, her chest lifting and falling with her labored breaths. Her eyes are a wild mixture of brown and caramel, and her cheeks are pink. She’s never been more beautiful.
Fuck!
“Parker . . .” She licks her lips, and I lose it.
Gone.
I grab her at the waist, spin her around, and press her up against the hotel door, smashing my body into hers. She gasps at the contact, and I take full advantage of her open mouth, kissing her. She tastes of mint and madness. Or maybe that’s me. Whatever it is, I lick deep, suck her tongue, and swallow every last one of her moans. Her tongue dances with mine in an illicit rhythm that has every one of my nerve endings heating and popping.
I grind against her and cup her ass, getting closer for more friction. She rips her mouth away, sucking in much-needed air. “Oh God . . .” She tips her head back, and I run my lips down her throat, biting and nipping, not caring if I mark up her pretty skin. She deserves it, the bite of pain. I want her to feel what I’ve felt.
“You like this, Peaches. Me losing my mind over you.” I nuzzle at the scoop neck of her dress and push up her tits, not caring that my hand is killing me. I bite down on the fleshy globe of her plump breast, and she cries out at the pinch.
“Yes. You’ve made me crazy!” She battles, tugging at my shirt, lifting it up until she can get her hands on my abdomen. Her knuckles trace the square ridges of each abdominal muscle, and it’s like a direct shot of arousal to my dick. The beast stands at attention, swelling and growing harder with every sigh from her lips, every flutter of her fingers against my bare skin.
I ease back and pull my shirt over my head and push off her sweater. Her dress would take too much time. Her fingers are quick at my slacks, opening them and dipping both her hands in to cup and fondle me.
Ecstasy.
Pure heaven.
Her touch is molten lava against my skin as I thrust into her palm.
“Please . . . ,” she pleads, a desperation I know all too well.
I slip my hand under her dress and find a lacy thong. “You wore this scrap of lace for me?” I growl and take her mouth in a deep kiss. The lace is flimsy enough I’m able to rip it easily with one fierce tug.
She cries out at the pinch on her sensitive skin, and I pull the shredded lace from her body and tuck it into my pocket, pressing my hard cock against her while I ease my hand up her thigh.
“You wet for me?” I lick up the side of her neck.
She moans. “Always.”
“Hmm, guess I’m going to have to find out myself.” I palm her center possessively; her desire coats my hand. “Did you get this hot for Johan?” I grit through my teeth, and press two fingers deep inside of her.
Her mouth opens on a silent cry, and she shakes her head. “Never for him.”
I finger-fuck her, grinding my palm against her wet clit. “He touch you like this when you went to his hotel? He put his fingers in you, make you scream his name?” I ease my fingers in and out in a rapid, torturous move that I know will keep her excited but isn’t hitting the right spots to make her go off.
“No!” She smacks my chest with her hand. “I wouldn’t do that to you. To us!” Her eyes flare with white-hot anger and disgust. It does something to me. Something I needed more than I could ever voice.
It gives me hope.
I remove my fingers from her slick heat, and she cries out, “No!”
“Wrap your arms around my shoulders and hop up,” I demand.
She doesn’t hesitate for a moment before she responds. I catch her with my good hand on her ass and press her harder against the door. She holds on as I push up her dress up and maneuver my cock to the slippery center between her thighs.
I hover with just the tip inside. It kills me not to power home, but I need to know. She squeezes her legs, trying to get me to move, to sink inside, but I can’t. Not until I know for sure.
I look her right in the eyes and hold her gaze. “Did you sleep with him?”
Her lips twist into a grimace. “No.” Her eyes shimmer with unchecked tears.
“Did you cheat on me, Sky? Tell me the truth.”
Montreal (International Guy Book 6) Page 12
