Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“I want to think he wouldn’t, but he…he went into the bullet’s path to protect me. He didn’t think about it, he…he ran straight toward death like a fucking idiot.”
“I don’t think he wanted to die per se. He just didn’t want you to die.” He pauses. “He’s a keeper, G. I like you much better when you’re with him.”
“Hey, does that mean you never liked me before?”
“You were always just fucking shit up while you were being a golden boy. Now, you’re all right, I guess.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Anytime, my bro.”
“Will you talk to your dad about protection?”
“I’ll make it happen.” His voice softens—as much softening as V is capable of. “I’ve got your back, man. Always.”
“Thanks. And, V?”
“Yeah?”
“You deserve better.”
He blows out a breath. “I know.”
“I’m always here. Until you figure your shit out.”
“Thanks, G.”
I’m about to insist on him talking to his dad when I see Simone hobbling toward me on a crutch, Jethro supporting her.
If it weren’t for Simone, I would’ve probably died. She called the police, so Grant and his men fucked off from the scene as soon as they heard sirens.
And Jethro, well, I don’t like him that much because he tried to stop me when I decided to go back.
If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have left Kayden, and he wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.
But I have no right to blame him when Kayden took that shot for me.
He’s dying because of me.
I meet Simone, my legs barely carrying me. “What’s…what’s wrong?”
“He made it.” She speaks through tears. “He’s alive. He lost a lot of blood, but he fought, Gareth. He’s alive.”
A strangled noise fills my throat as she hugs me, and Jethro calls us dramatic as he hugs us, too.
I wrap my arm around her, hiding my face in her shoulder, spitting out a shaky exhale.
He’s alive.
He didn’t leave me.
And I can breathe.
I spent the next few days by Kayden’s side.
He was in the ICU, but this morning, they moved him to the general ward, and he’s looking better.
I asked Jethro and Simone not to tell Rachel and Jina. They can’t travel to the States anyway, so telling them would only worry them to no end. Rachel actually has severe depression, and she tends to get too worried about him, so I chose to hide the truth. Something Kayden agreed with, then said we’d visit them when he’s better.
Even though the threat of his organization still looms, I have more security than a president around the hospital. Not only did Aunt Rai and V’s dad, the Russian mafia leader, come through, but my dad and grandpa were also extra and hired their own security.
Pretty sure they’d buy the whole hospital if we spend one more week here.
Grandpa can’t stand Kayden, even when he’s sick. Said he’s a goddamn leech and I was almost shot because of him, and he still insists he’s Dad’s age.
Not sure what Dad feels, but he’s at least thankful that Kayden saved my life, so silver linings, I guess.
Ever since Kayden was moved to this room, I’ve been cutting him apples and strawberries. He said he doesn’t really have a favorite fruit, but he grew fond of strawberries, so I got him those.
And I’ve been giving him lots of massages since he’s been lying in bed for a long time. I had one of the nurses teach me the technique, and since I’m a fast learner, I got it right away.
Now, they can get their greedy hands off my man.
What? They’ve been giving him heart eyes, and this one nurse keeps calling him Mr. Handsome.
I’ll cut her throat. Not even kidding.
A couple of days ago, I found this tall, buff guy talking to him in the ICU and, thankfully, I didn’t reach for my knife first and ask questions later, because, apparently, it’s his nephew, Kane.
Can you imagine the complications that we would be dealing with if I’d let my impulses win?
I did tell Kane I’d kill his dad, though, to which he simply smiled.
So, anyway, that’s who Kayden is currently watching on the laptop—his nephew playing in a college hockey game—while I press on his leg to help with blood circulation.
He releases a grunt and I look up, only to find him observing me as the commentator's voice fills the hospital room.
Kayden’s jawline is more defined, his stubble not as long—because I shaved him earlier—and his waist is wrapped in this godforsaken bandage that reminds me he could’ve slipped between my fingers, like the blood.
His color is slowly coming back, but his lips are still pale, and there’s a sheen of something unreadable in his stormy eyes.
I ease the pressure. “Does it hurt?”
“It does.” He taps his chest. “Here. Because you’re not talking to me.”
“I am talking to you,” I grumble as I resume the massage.
So maybe I’ve been in too much pain to be completely sappy, and I don’t know how to direct these emotions.