A female’s voice said, “I’m looking for Mr. Kris Winters.”
“This is Kris.” Goose bumps covered Kris’s arms. Something was wrong.
“My name is Teresa Thay. I’m a nurse at Granite City Hospital. Your name is listed as Corey Casey’s contact in case of an emergency. I’m afraid Mr. Casey has been in an accident.”
* * * *
Corey didn’t know whether to laugh with joy at being alive or cry from the pain of trying to breathe with smoke-damaged lungs. The sweet oxygen filling the mask on his face helped somewhat. Corey looked down at the bandages covering his useless hands. The doctors had inserted a nerve block in each so they could clean and repair the damage his attempted escape from hell had done to them.
Small burns covered his body, and he also had two staples in the back of his head. All in all, Corey hurt everywhere and could have kissed the nurse when she injected pain medication into his IV.
Cory hadn’t expected the policeman waiting for him when the nurses pushed his bed out of emergency and into a hospital room. For the last twenty minutes, Cory slowly explained what happened at that old house. His raw throat and sore lungs objected to every word.
“I can see you’re getting tired, Mr. Casey. I’ll try not to keep you much longer,” Detective Banks said.
The door opened behind the detective, and Kris slipped into the room. Corey held back his disappointment and irritation when Kris didn’t rush to his side. Instead, Kris quietly settled into a corner chair.
Maybe Corey deserved the lack of spontaneous and open feelings Kris was displaying. For the last year, Corey had played with their relationship like one would play with a yo-yo. Over and over, he had pulled Kris close, only to release him again.
Except, Corey believed, in the end, that it wasn’t in Kris’s personality to rush to his side. Not even at the beginning of their relationship had Kris demonstrated anything more than lukewarm emotions. Kris’s lack of showing passion outside the bedroom was one of the things that Corey had problems dealing with. He needed to know he was wanted.
One of the other reasons he had continuously left Kris was that, while he liked being the top in their relationship, he also needed to be topped. Kris would try, but neither of them enjoyed the experience. Corey longed to be part of a whole package. Unfortunately, during his extensive searches while going on a latest adventure, he’d never found it.
Corey had been stunned when his dad showed him a breaking news article on the Internet featuring an ex-mercenary gone rogue and Kris had been the victim. Corey’s love for Kris came rushing to the surface, and Corey willing pushed aside what he thought he needed and rushed to Kris’s side.
He didn’t regret it. He was adamant that somehow he would prove to Kris that they could be happy together forever.
“I’d like to go over everything one more time before I write up my report.” Detective Banks brought Corey’s attention back to him. “You stated that you delivered flowers to 1814 Division Street. Is that correct?”
Corey nodded.
“Did you see any vehicles parked in the driveway or on the street, Mr. Casey?”
Corey shook his head.
“What happened next?” the detective asked.
“The door was open when I arrived,” he said, wincing, barely able to get the words past the swollen tissue of his throat.
“From what you’ve told me, you went up to the door with the flowers and someone called out from inside the house.” The detective looked down at his notes and turned the page of his small notebook. “You described the voice as male. You said he indicated that he couldn’t come to the door and asked you to come inside the house.”
“He said he needed to finish hammering in the last nail, and I should put the flowers on the table,” Corey whispered.
“Did you hear him pounding on something, Mr. Casey?” The detective looked up from his notes.
Corey nodded.
“That’s when you went inside the house and someone hit you on the back of the head. Did you see your attacker, Mr. Casey?”
Corey shook his head. “He was behind me, and I was stunned by the blow. Before I could react, he dragged me into the back room.” In his mind’s eye, he put himself back on the hard floor in that dim room. “Wait. I saw the corner of some sort of black material swish around in the air when he turned.”
“Think hard, Mr. Casey. Let your eyes travel up the material to the perp’s head. Can you see a face?”
Corey ignored the throbbing pain in his head and behind his eyes. He strained to remember what he’d seen in that dark, hazy room. A slice of startling white flashed through the gloom. Corey looked at the detective. “I saw the side of his face. It was pure white. I must be mistaken because I swear he had a ghoul’s face.”
Furious scratching of a pen against paper was the only sound in the room. “Was it painted on or a mask?”
“I don’t know,” Corey whispered.
“You stated as you became aware of your surroundings you heard liquid splashing outside the door,” the detective said, changing the subject. “You smelled gasoline before you heard what you described as a whooshing sound. That’s when you smelled smoke. Do you remember anything else?”
Corey shook his head. He wished he hadn’t when pain sliced through his brain. “I tried everything to get out,” he stated.
“Did you hear any other sounds from outside?” The detective scribbled something in his notebook.
“Someone pounded on the board covering the window,” Corey whispered. He wished the detective would be done with his questions. The drugs were kicking in, and his body needed to rest.
The detective kept his head tipped down, but his eyes peered up at Corey. “You stated a large man broke into the room through the window and carried you out of there. Was that the same man who put you into the room, Mr. Casey?”
Corey blinked. “No way,” he said, shaking his head again. “The man who saved me was huge. The guy who put me in that room was a lot smaller. When he pulled me in there, part of my back, butt, and legs dragged along the floor.”
Now the detective closed the notebook and gave Corey his full attention. “I find it interesting that you used the word guy to describe your attacker and man for your rescuer.” The detective chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment before smiling. “If you remember anything else, my number’s on the card I gave you. Call me at any time, night or day.”
Corey nodded, glad the question and answer session was over. He watched the detective stand up.
“I know you aren’t feeling the best, Mr. Casey. Thank you for answering my questions, and I’m glad you made it out of that situation safely.”
Corey nodded before asking, “What is the man’s name who rescued me?”
“Oh, let’s see.” The detective pulled the notebook back out. “His name was Storm, Storm Donahue.”
“Was he hurt?” Corey remembered seeing the man lying on the ground as the EMS attendants lifted him into the ambulance.
“I can’t divulge any personal information, Mr. Casey. I do know he’s being treated down in the emergency room.” With a parting nod, the detective went to the door. Turning back, the detective asked, “By the way, can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you, Mr. Casey?”
Surprise had Corey blinking again. This detective continued to keep him off balance. “No, I can’t think of anyone,” he whispered.
The detective nodded, and the door closed behind him. Corey looked across the room, and his gaze met Kris’s worry-filled light blue eyes.
Chapter Four
Storm was not a happy man. First, they’d forced him to endure a ride in an ambulance when MD could have driven him to this place of misery. Did anyone care that the ambulance ride was probably going to cost him an arm and a leg? Storm didn’t think so.
The sadistic torturers that worked here then shoved a needle the size of a light saber from a Star Wars movie into his good arm. Adding to his humiliation, they demande
d he sit in a wheelchair and pushed him to the x-ray department. The chipper lady with a bouncy ponytail and pink athletic shoes proceeded to demand in a sing-song voice that he hold several positions of agony while she took pictures.
Now he was back in the emergency cubicle, and any thoughts of making a break for it were clearly dashed as he looked up into MD’s unsmiling face.
His friend crossed his thin arms and said, “Don’t even think about it. The guys are out in the waiting room, and the doctor should be here any second.”
Before Storm could answer, the man in the white coat, who minutes before had dug his fingers into Storm’s poor shoulder and screaming ribs, walked into the room carrying a file folder. Storm hadn’t bothered to remember his name. He had no interest in getting up close and personal with any doctor.
“Well, Mr. Donahue, the good news is the x-rays show that your ribs aren’t cracked or broken. Unfortunately, your shoulder is dislocated,” the doctor stated. “With your build, we are going to have to give you a muscle relaxant if there is any chance of getting that back in where it belongs without taking you to surgery.”
A red blinking neon warning light lit up in Storm’s brain at the word surgery. There was no way they were cutting anything on his body. Storm sat up and started swinging his legs off the bed. “I’m out of here.”
The doctor and MD rushed to him, both shouting about a stupid idea of him getting back into bed. Storm was just about to shake them both off when one of his teammates from his former unit stepped into the curtained-off cubicle. Mr. Rugar made people pause everywhere he went. His aura, soulless black eyes, and a slashing scar bisecting his left eyebrow created an imaginary wall around him. Few people crossed that wall to get to know the real Rugar.
Storm feared no man. But he deeply respected Rugar’s killing abilities. It was because of Rugar’s talents the members of their unit had been able to retire alive.
The day hadn’t come that Storm was angry or drunk enough to try and take the deadly Rugar on. Storm sighed heavily, showing the room his irritation before settling back into the hated bed.
The curtain moved again, and more doctors and nurses approached his bed. One doctor fiddled with his IV.
“Just relax, Storm, it’ll only take a minute,” MD said.
The world around Storm became cloudy, and for some reason, the hated bed under him felt so good. Some kind of cloth was slipped behind his back. The cloth tightened before hands lifted his useless arm.
Sharp knives of pain sliced through his shoulder and arm. Storm sat up and opened his eyes.
“Give him more juice. He’s going to have to be completely out if we’re going to be able to manipulate those massive muscles,” the doctor said from somewhere above Storm.
Squinting and trying to clear his blurry sight, Storm watched the cloudy image of a nurse use a syringe to inject something into his IV. Storm smiled at the people around him.
“So you think I have big muscles?” he asked before everything went black.
* * * *
After the Granite County detective had left Corey’s room, Kris went over to the bed. Picking up a paper cup containing ice water, he asked, “Can I remove the mask for a second so you can have a drink of water?”
The surprise flitting over Corey’s black-smudged, smoke-covered face confused Kris. Being confused was nothing new for Kris in their relationship, so he pushed it aside.
“I can hardly believe something like this happened,” he said as he attended to Corey. “Being trapped in that burning room must have been horrible. Are you really okay? What did the doctor’s say?”
Kris watched Corey drink deeply from the straw. The knot of frustration eased. For once, something he’d done helped Corey. When Corey’s lips released the straw, Kris placed the mask back over his nose and set the cup onto the portable table.
Corey patted a spot on the bed next to his hip. When Kris hesitated, Corey frowned. Kris pushed aside his concerns and carefully climbed onto the bed. Acid smoke saturated the air around Corey.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“You look tired. Rest for a minute,” Corey whispered.
It shocked Kris that Corey was worried about him. The man had just lived through a harrowing ordeal, yet here he was doing his best to take care of Kris.
“Can I see your head? Are there stitches?” Kris asked. He wished he could take the words back when Corey tipped his head down, revealing a shaved patch of skin with two huge metal staples embedded in the skin.
Kris’s stomach tightened. He had a lot of grizzly wounds covering his own body. Somehow Corey’s injury seemed ten times worse.
“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out.
Fine lines of pain fanned the corners of Corey’s pretty hazel eyes. “In a few days, I’ll be good as new.”
Kris tentatively touched the corner of Corey’s bandaged hand. “These look like they’re going to take more than a few days to heal.”
“Just some scrapes and splinters,” Corey said.
“Did they say how long you have to stay here?” Kris asked. He didn’t know what to do. This should be a tender moment, a victory of Corey surviving a life-threatening event. Instead, they struggled with the cloud of tension that hung over them since they had gotten back together.
“Overnight.” Corey’s eyes closed.
Kris thought Corey would get more rest if he sat in the chair next to the bed and started to shift around. A soft touch to his arm brought his gaze back to Corey.
“Will you do me a favor?” Corey whispered.
“Sure,” Kris answered.
“Can you go check on the guy that saved me? See if he’s okay?”
“All right, I’ll be right back.” Kris slid off the bed, happy to be given some kind of direction.
“Kris.”
“Yeah?”
“When you come back, can you lie by me on the bed?”
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable without me bumping you while you’re trying to sleep?” Kris asked.
“Please?”
Kris frowned. He was trying to be a good boyfriend and help Corey get his rest. But, as usual, Corey wanted something else. Kris wondered if he would ever get it right.
“Okay. I’ll go check on that guy and come back and lie by you,” he said, conceding to Corey’s wishes.
The smile Kris received was dazzling white against Corey’s soot-covered skin. Kris wondered if from now on he should ask Corey what he wanted instead of trying to figure it out. That thought kind of irritated Kris. He should instinctively know what Corey needed. They were a couple.
Turning, Kris left the room more confused than ever about his and Corey’s relationship.
Ten minutes later, Kris stood inside the exit door of the large emergency suite and watched a bunch of well-dressed, tall, muscular men leave one of the curtained-off areas. As they passed him, Kris couldn’t help but enjoy the tattooed eye candy. Each was extremely handsome in his own way and Kris always had a weakness for muscles and tattoos.
Once they left, Kris started toward the curtains. According to a nurse, Kris was looking for exam stall #4. Somehow it didn’t surprise him that #4 was where the handsome hunks had come from. After all, he was checking on a hero, and any of those men clearly could be one.
Kris stepped through the opening of the curtain and froze. In Kris’s thirty years, he had never been so close to his idea of a perfect looking man.
“Hi there, beautiful. Why don’t you come over here and greet me properly?”
Kris didn’t know what to do. The most magnificent man he had ever seen was looking at him. He was talking to him. And the guy wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“Don’t be shy, sugar. Look at those eyes you have there. I’ve never seen such a beautiful light blue color.” The man crooked one long, thick finger at Kris and gestured that he should come nearer.
Kris’s mind blanked out, but his feet knew what he wanted, and they took him over next to the bed. Up c
lose, Kris’s gaze was drawn to a massive, bare chest and bulging biceps. Now he saw raw-looking scraps, cuts, and burns covered the man’s skin. A sling encasing one arm couldn’t hide the tattoos covering his wide shoulder and arm. A shiver slid up Kris’s spine, and goose bumps rose up on his skin the nearer he was to the man.
“What’s your name, sugar?” A dazzling white smile graced the man’s rugged, handsome face.
“Are you Storm Donahue?” Kris asked. The effect the guy was having on him confused Kris. But he was here for a purpose, and he needed to remember that.
“That would be me. My, my, your shiny dark hair is thick. It makes me want to feel if it’s as soft as it looks. Come on, sugar, give a guy a break. Why don’t you bring your cute little self just a wee bit nearer?”
Kris took a step back. He wasn’t used to guys coming on to him like a steamroller. After getting his bearings, he noticed the man’s pupils were dilated.
Smiling now that he figured out Storm was higher than a kite, he asked, “How many drugs did they give you?”
Even drugged up and injured, the man was fast. Before Kris could blink, his hand was snagged, and Storm pulled him up onto the bed. His objections and squirming resulted in one huge, muscled arm wrapped around him as though it were an anaconda.
“Now, now, sugar, you need to be careful there. You don’t want to be hurting me after all the abuse I’ve been through today.” Mr. Smooth failed miserably at looking miserable.
Kris stopped trying to get off the bed. He would feel bad if he hurt the man. At least that’s what he told himself.
“Were you really abused today?” he asked, looking up into big blue eyes. Kris had never experienced both excitement and contentment in the circle of someone’s arm as he did in Storm Donahue’s.
“I surely was,” Storm said. “I am not a fan of being a patient in a hospital. You’d think my ex-teammates would honor my wishes. But no, instead of helping me put my shoulder back in where it belonged, MD called in the commander. Actually Synn is my ex-commander, as we’re all retired now. And, to be honest, maybe MD didn’t call him, but they both ganged up on me, and the next thing I know I’m in the ambulance on the way here.”
Progressing with Storm [Granite County 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting ManLove) Page 3
