Creatus

He paused and whooshed out a deep breath, running his hand over his mouth. “But I’m sure Michael didn’t plan on killing him. I’m certain he just wanted the file.”

His father shook his head, seemingly exhausted of the entire situation. “Let’s go see what sort of medical attention he needs, and then we’ll decide what to do with him.”

Derrick shook his head at his father’s comment. He had to remember his father was around through two World Wars and several smaller ones. The mindset for them was you had to heal your prisoner of war, not dispose of him. Not that Derrick could ever hurt an innocent person, but if he’d seen Vic and Michael dueling it out after already witnessing his swan dive off the bridge, he’d know that they weren’t normal. So they’d definitely have to question the man. But then what? They couldn’t keep him prisoner in the psyche ward forever. Someone would come looking for him.

Chapter Forty-two

Michael glanced up from his hospital bed as the door inched open ever so quietly. He forced a smile when he saw Victoria, but inside, his stomach wrenched.

“Hey… you’re awake,” she whispered.

“I was hoping I was dead,” Michael groaned.

She sat on the edge of his bed, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, obviously checking if he had a temperature. “Why on earth would you hope that you were dead?” She lifted up the pitcher from the bedside table, poured him a cup of water, and held it out to him. “You need to drink more; your temperature is still hovering above a hundred.” She glanced up at the antibiotics in his IV drip. His father must be concerned with the bullet causing an infection.

Michael accepted the Styrofoam cup, grazing her hand with his fingers in the process. It wasn’t his stomach wrenching, he realized, it was his heart. “Because I’m pretty sure if the bullet wound doesn’t kill me, I’m going to die of embarrassment.”

The edges of Victoria’s lips turned up and she wiggled her eyebrows at him playfully. She always did like it if she thought she’d beaten him in anything. Only she didn’t know that he let her beat him in sports and running, just because it made her happy. “You mean when everyone finds out I kicked your butt?”

He choked out a laugh, but then winced at the pain. “No…” He took a sip of water to gather his thoughts and then narrowed his eyes at her. He couldn’t let her think she’d won this match, though. He had to assure her he’d never hurt her purposely. “I wasn’t fighting you, Vic, so it doesn’t count.” He attempted to reposition himself on the pillow, which had fallen too low when he took a sip of water, but he grimaced in pain again. What the hell did the bullet do, play pinball inside of him? he wondered. It felt as if every internal organ hurt.

“Here let me do that.” Victoria moved the pillow so it was directly beneath his head and then propped her hand up against the mattress on the other side of his body and leaned into it, staring at him. “Why are you embarrassed then?”

He pursed his lips and huffed out a breath. “You heard me. You heard what I said when I thought I was dying.”

“So,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “It didn’t mean anything. Of course you love me. We’ve been best friends since we were toddlers, for heaven’s sake.”

With every ounce of effort he could muster, Michael reached for her hand. Thankfully, she didn’t fight him. “I didn’t want to be lying on the ground gushing blood when I told you, and I certainly don’t want to discuss any of this while I’m an invalid on a hospital gurney, but I have to beg one thing of you.”

She gave him a gentle nod, but didn’t respond.

“Please don’t leave with Jonas, Victoria.” He squeezed her hand in his and pulled it to his chest. “Give me a chance before you go away.” He paused, letting his words sink in, hoping that she understood this wasn’t a friend request. “I’ve waited too long for you—”

“Shh,” she hushed him, placing their linked hands against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere, Michael. And I’m definitely not going anywhere with Jonas. He and I would never work. He’s too much of a hothead. One hothead in a relationship is enough, don’t you think?”

Michael forced a smile. “You’re not a hothead. You’re opinionated and tough; there’s a difference.”

Vic pulled her hand back and folded her arms over her chest. “Yes I am, but see that’s the difference. You know me, and we’re comfortable together.”

He pressed his lips in a straight line, holding back his words. He didn’t want to be comfortable with her. He was so far past wanting to be comfortable with Victoria, his arms ached to pull her against him right here on the tiny hospital bed. Out of nowhere, the realization that he’d known her his entire life and had never once been able to feel her lips on his drove him mad. He’d never longed for anything this much in his life. But, as long as she wasn’t going anywhere, they could have this conversation later. Preferably over dinner… with candlelight, red wine, and a bubbling Jacuzzi in the background.

All these years he’d just been filling his needs elsewhere, waiting for her to notice when he should have just demanded her attention. “When can I get out of here?” he blurted out.

Vic patted his hand in a very platonic way, causing his heart to wrench again. “That’s up to Dr. Ashton. I’m not your doctor.”

He smiled, thinking that could be fun. He pulled her closer, but she hovered over top of him, moving both her hands beside his head to support her upper body. “Will you go out with me then, as soon as they let me go? Alone. Just the two of us.”

“Sure, Michael,” she agreed. “But right now, why don’t you concentrate on getting better? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She leaned lower and pressed her lips to his forehead. Well, that was something anyway, he thought, feeling his body drift off.

Chapter Forty-three

Reece opened his eyes and glanced around at what looked like a hospital room, only it was empty, other than the bed that he was lying on and a woman sitting next to him. The same stunning woman who had kicked the hell out of the man who’d kicked the hell out of him. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that, but she was breathtakingly beautiful, he remembered.

Of course that angel with long onyx black hair had then kicked the crap out of him. One second he’d been so taken with her beauty that he was asking what she was, certain she had to be a goddess or an angel, and then the last thing he’d seen was her fist coming down against his face.

She sat in a chair next to his bed staring out the window, so he watched her instead of letting her know he was awake. Her hair fell over the back of the chair and it took every ounce of strength he had not to reach out and touch it. It looked like black silk.

Her features were strong, but attractive. She was tall, close to six feet, he remembered. And her eyes… They were a dark sable, the richest and deepest eyes he’d ever seen, set inside smooth olive skin. To say that the woman was exotic looking would be an understatement; she was the most unique woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

As she’d glared down at him in the alley, ensuring him she’d kill him if the other man died, all he could do was gaze into the depths of her lustrously dark eyes. Never had any woman ever turned his head completely, and yet, he wondered if she was actually a woman or some type of cyborg.

In his thirty years, he’d never seen a woman fight like she had. And he’d seen some bad mammas in the military and when he’d work UC in Miami and South America.