Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I frowned.
He looked sick.
I wiggled my toes, but the playful gesture costed me as any type of movement—even breathing—made my head want to explode.
The smile that he gave me, although small, was still worth the pain that I felt.
Something that Big Papa noticed when his eyes caught mine.
But before he could say anything, Dr. Tommy Tom, the hunky man, stood up and gave me a light tap on the cheek with two fingers.
“All done. Don’t do any strenuous exercise with that hand until the cast comes off and new x-rays are run to be sure that everything has healed up just fine.
“Okay,” I sighed in exasperation. There went all my forward progress on my bench presses. “I’ll be sure to…”
“What the fuck!”
I winced, both because of what Randi’s extremely unhappy screech did to my head, but also because Randi was here, and she was pissed.
Truth’s hand squeezed my arm lightly, and I would’ve squeezed him back were I not hurting.
“Somebody better move so I can see my best friend, or I’m not going to be very nice about this,” Randi snapped from somewhere beyond the doorway.
The bikers parted, allowing my friend entrance.
The minute she saw me, she paused, composed herself, and then started forward once again.
“You look like ass,” she declared.
I flipped her off, but didn’t reply.
“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” she asked, her eyes studying my face.
“She was about two inches from taking a bullet to the face,” Truth growled. “How do you think she is?”
I made a feeble effort to smack him on the thigh, causing him to chuckle.
“I’m fine,” I told Randi. “My face hurts, and I probably have a small concussion. I have a bruised eardrum, and my arm is broken. Aside from those things, though, I’m doing just great.”
Randi just stared at me for a long few moments before turning around and walking right back out the door.
She was gone for a few long seconds before I heard a muffled, angry scream, and then she was right back at my side, her game face in place.
“What do you think of the color?” I asked, holding my arm up.
The medicine that I’d been given for my headache finally started to take effect, and it was slowly beginning to release me from its painful grip.
It sure was easier to think when your head wasn’t pounding so hard that your stomach churned.
“I think it’s hideous, but you know how I hate pink.”
She did hate pink. She didn’t own a single pink garment, not a shirt, not a pair of underwear, not socks or workout gear. Pink was my favorite color, though, and I had tons of things in all different shades of it.
I grinned, my face stinging from the multitude of tiny cuts that dotted my face, causing me to wince in response.
“What the hell happened?” she asked, touching her fingers to a point just underneath my eye.
Right underneath the stitches.
“We’re going to take this into the hall, baby,” Truth rumbled from my side.
I felt his hand in my hair, brushing it away from my face, and then he placed a soft kiss on my cheek—one of the only places that wasn’t cut or hurting—and left.
Leaving me to explain to my best friend what exactly had happened.
“So…” I started.
“So…” she snapped.
Oh, man. She was really mad.
“Your friend was shot at and nearly took a bullet to the head,” Marnie started off without preamble.
I winced.
I’d been trying to ease gently into that part.
“What?” Randi shrieked. “What the fuck, Verity? Is that true?”
I nodded, my stomach started to roil. It felt like three days ago when I’d woken up with a hangover, only ten times worse.
“Yes,” I sighed. “And no, I don’t know what’s going on. That was what the big bad biker meeting was when you came in. Apparently, the sexy older man who was standing just inside the doorway when you entered heard about it and tried to intercept us before anything could happen, but they were a few minutes too late. Just as they were pulling alongside of us in the funeral procession, some sniper took a shot at me – right through the windshield! They’re fairly convinced that the sniper was after Truth, and not me. It was just bad luck that I was the one driving his car.”
“Verity…” Randi said. “I don’t even know what to say.”
I shrugged and immediately regretted it.
“I don’t either,” I admitted, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t take much movement on my part. I finally settled with my knee half bent, and my head lolling against the white railing that was attached to the bed. “I’m just as in the dark and confused as you are.”
“The sound of the bullet coming through the glass and hitting the seat next to her head made her jerk the wheel, causing her to overcorrect and slam into a dumpster filled with cinder blocks on the side of the ride at this construction site we happened to be passing. The impact shattered her arm, and her head hit the steering wheel. Her right ear drum is bruised, and could possibly burst, so they’re keeping a close eye on it.” Marnie kept going, “She has a concussion, some contusions on her face from the glass when the windshield shattered, and stitches under her right eye from what they think was some glass that got trapped between her face and the steering wheel when she smacked her head on it.”