The sneak peek you’ve all been waiting for, now with cover reveal!
This book is being edited by the lovely Stacia Rogan (check out her website, she rocks!). This isn’t the final version of the text but I know I’ve kept you waiting for too long, so here it is. Enjoy!Read Chapter 1 here.
I woke to the sensation of something stuck inside my throat. I wanted to pull it out but my right arm was bound and when I tried to break free, it felt as if a knife went through the upper right side of my chest.
“Easy! Easy!” A woman’s voice came out of nowhere. “You’re all right.” She soothed me. “I’ll get that for you.”
I coughed out the feeling of the tube being pulled out through my mouth, trying hard not to puke. It felt as if there was an anvil resting on my forehead. Breathing was hard, and I had to blink a couple of times in order to focus my sight on the nurse looking over me. She was pretty, with dark hair and caramel eyes.
“Be calm.” She interrupted me when I was about to speak. “Your throat may hurt. Do you want to sit?”
Yeah, shutting up was probably a better option. I nodded and she helped me get into a sitting position before securing a nasal cannula around my head and under my nose. She then rearranged the blanket around my chest.
There were tubes and monitors all around me. A nice-looking, disinfectant-smelling intensive care room if you asked me.
“I’ll get Dr. Williams.” Her smiling brown eyes shone under the dark fringe.
I managed to peek through the door when she walked out of the room and saw a man standing outside, dressed in black. I figured it would be a Met officer. The whole place must been flooded with Met, Interpol, SOCA… the whole lot.
All of a sudden everything was coming back to me. Armand being handcuffed, shooting Romulus… I felt my face get hot and had to blink back the tears.
“Good morning, Miss Lang.” A doctor strode into the room, clipboard in hand, followed by the nurse. He was tall, with auburn hair tied back into a ponytail. “How do you feel?”
“I’ve been better.”
“My name is Dr. Williams and this is Johanna. She’ll be your nurse all the way through your stay here.” He checked my drips. “Are you in pain right now?”
“A bit, yes.” I tried to push myself up but my left arm protested. “How long have I been out?”
“A little over forty-eight hours. You were shot on your left upper arm, your right leg and the right side of your chest, where the bullet went through, exiting through your back. Both your left arm and right leg wounds will heal promptly since the bullets tore little muscle. The one on your chest is another story.” He and the nurse stood on each side of the bed. “Thankfully, it was a small caliber, but it did fracture your clavicle and shoulder blade. You were lucky it didn’t hit an artery.”
He took a pen out of his pocket, scribbled something on a paper, detached it from the clipboard, and handed it to me.
“Let me take a look at your stitches.” He crossed me, eying the piece of paper in my hand.
Armand is alive and well. He asks for you to be patient.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I turned to the nurse and she smiled.
The heat came back to my face. He was alive.
The doctor had set his clipboard on the bed and was looking intently at me, awaiting my answer.
“Yes. Sure. Okay.” I let him uncover my wounded shoulder.
I reread the note before Johanna took it and threw it in a rubbish bin.
“He’s one of our top donors,” the doctor whispered to my ear. “Funded most of our pediatrics burns centre.”
Armand the philanthropist. I can’t say I was surprised.
The instinct to turn my head towards him spiked a sting-like pain that rode from my shoulder up to my neck.
“Ow.” I breathed.
“Try not to do that. And keep your arm in the sling at all times. It’ll take some time to heal completely.” He replaced my bandages and set the sling back in place. “Your leg and arm will take less time.”
I bent my right leg at the knee and, yes, it didn’t feel as bad.
He grabbed the clipboard. “You will be transferred to a private room. Johanna will take good care of you.” He scribbled something on his clipboard again, this time it wasn’t for me to see. “Get some rest now. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
As soon as he walked out of the room, Johanna produced a syringe from one of her pockets.
“This will make you feel better in no time.” She said as she injected its contents into my IV.
“What about George?” I bet she knew.
“He’s with Mr. Sayer.” She disposed of the syringe before getting back to me. “Now try and get some sleep.”
They were both alive. The thought of it made me feel so much better. Or was it the meds?
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about anything.
But dreams don’t take orders from anyone.