Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
All I know is if I make it out of this alive, Lucien will not get away with it and if Slade doesn’t kill him first, then I can guarantee that I will. I hope he enjoys ruling his empire because soon, it’s all going to come crashing down and I can’t wait to watch it burn.
The ambulance finally pulls up to the emergency bay outside the hospital. Thomas prepares me for transport in the three seconds it takes for the driver to get out and race around to the back doors. I’m pulled out and within moments, we’re moving.
“Gunshot victim,” Thomas says factually as we’re met with rushing doctors and nurses. “Name is Skylah. Car went over the Aston Creek bridge. She’s been resuscitated, but still having trouble breathing.”
“Got it.” The doctor thanks him and within the blink of an eye, Thomas is gone and I’m being rushed through the internal doors.
The movement added with the drowsiness starts to get the best of me and I see a nurse flashing a light in my eyes as we run. “She’s unresponsive.”
My eyes are heavy. My throat burns. My fucking thigh aches.
I see the darkness coming.
No, I’m not ready to go.
“Skylah, stay with me.”
It barrels down on me and as the doctors slam their way into the surgery, it claims me and the pain fades away as I fall into a sweet, sweet unconsciousness.
----------
The fogginess begins to lift as I hear the rhythmic beep of the hospital room. My stomach sinks. I was hoping this was all some sort of nightmare that I was about to wake up from, but I should have known, I’ve never been that lucky.
Considering that Slade, Shay, and Ben aren’t preparing for a funeral right now, tells me that maybe I have at least a little luck on my side. Surely, I couldn’t have lived through all of that without some kind of greater power looking out for me.
I was dead.
I fill my lungs with a deep breath, welcoming the clinical bleachy smell that accompanies it. It still burns but at least I’m not gasping.
I try to mentally map my injuries. My lungs are aching but I was expecting that. My thigh burns but I can wiggle my toes so I guess that’s a bonus and my head is pounding, though I’m assuming that’s something that will stick around for another few days.
A hand moves in mine and I let out a sigh of relief. I’d know the feel of that large, calloused hand anywhere.
Slade.
Finally.
My heart races as I pry my heavy lids open, ignoring the strain it puts behind my eyes. I glance around, desperately needing to take him in.
He sits in the chair beside my bed, one hand clutched firmly in mine as he leans forward with his head in his other hand. He looks completely deflated. I’ve seen him pissed and hurting, in pain and hating on himself, but this is different. This sorrow and agony are eating at him as he waits for me to wake.
Desperately needing to ease his pain, I squeeze his hand, rubbing my thumb over his big knuckles and watching as his head snaps up. Slade’s eyes immediately come to mine and he breaks. His brows dip as relief washes over him.
Slade falls from the chair onto his knees as he pulls my hand to his face. He presses a gentle kiss over my fingers and keeps it there. “Fuck, Skylah,” he breathes, needing a moment to gather himself. “I thought I’d lost you.”
I forget about the pain, forget about the fact that we were run off a fucking bridge, I forget what it feels like to have a bullet shooting through my thigh, all that matters right now is him.
“Hey,” I whisper, my voice croaky and sore. “I’m okay.” He kisses my fingers again and I twist my hand in his so that I can touch his face. “Slade, I’m okay.”
He meets my eyes, letting me in and I see it all. He blames himself for this. “I’m so sorry, Virago,” he murmurs, pushing up from his knees and leaning toward me. He drops his face to mine, being careful not to jostle me. “I failed you. I promised you that you’d be safe with me, I failed. I…”
“Stop,” I croak, reaching for his face again and forcing his eyes on mine. “You saved my life. Without you, I’d be gone.”
“You’re in this position because of me. It was my truck, my responsibility. I should have kept you safe. I could have driven anywhere else, but I took the bridge.”
“Stop it,” I tell him, my eyes filling with tears. “You got me out and that’s all that matters. I thought I was going to lose you.”
“Never.”
He drops his lips to mine and finally, everything seems right in the world. It’s a gentle, soft brush of his lips but it’s enough to have the emotions overpower me and force the tears to spill.