Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Yeah. You were bleeding all over it,” I said. Were those… tears in her eyes? Did she think I was stealing from her? “I put it in your wallet,” I explained watching as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
It was only like a couple hundred bucks.
It wasn’t like it was her life savings we were talking about.
But, clearly, she needed that money.
It was a fact that should have made me feel better. It would be easier to get her to agree to silence if she was strapped for cash.
Somehow, though, it wasn’t satisfaction I felt.
It was something more like sadness or empathy.
Money, well, it hadn’t ever really been an issue for me. Or anyone I know. That was a good thing about being a part of the Family. Cash was never hard to come by. And even if you found yourself strapped for some reason, someone was always around to toss a couple grand your way.
Hell, I’d been locked up for fucking fifteen years, but someone was always there to put money on the books for me, to send me shit, to bring me shit.
I’d never been financially hurting.
That said, I grew up in the city.
I saw homeless people and struggling people every single day I walked the streets.
I understood how hard it was to get and stay ahead in a city as expensive as ours.
And Whitney was, what, a teacher with a waitress side gig? Yeah, she couldn’t exactly be rolling in it.
“How’s the pain?” I asked, wanting my mind on something other than sympathy for her shitty financial situation.
“Don’t drug me again,” she demanded, jaw tight.
“I was going to offer regular pain pills, not to knock your ass out again,” I said, shaking my head. That shit was precious. I wasn’t going to waste it like that. “Getting shot hurts like a motherfucker.”
“How would you know?” she grumbled. “What are you doing?” she hissed immediately after as I reached behind my neck to pull my shirt up and off.
“Showing you how I know,” I said, balling the shirt in one hand, and waving down my body with the other, then turning to show her my back. “Take your pick,” I added, facing her again. “They all hurt.”
“You’ve been shot four times?”
“Five,” I clarified.
“Wow. So you’re a jerk to everyone, not just me,” she said, holding back a smirk. And, hey, I had to give her credit for having the balls to snark off to someone like me.
“I’m a jerk for fishing those bullets out of you, cleaning your wounds, and stitching you up?” I asked.
“Well, maybe you wouldn’t have needed to if you hadn’t—“ she started, but clamped her mouth shut when the door opened at the side.
“He’s her—“ Cesare started, then his brows furrowed. “Why is your shirt off?” he added.
“Who is here?” Whitney asked, straightening, her eyes going wide.
“Do you want the pain meds or not?” I asked, pulling my shirt back on.
She gave no answer to that, making me sigh.
“Suit yourself,” I said, leaving to go talk to the boss.
CHAPTER FIVE
Whitney
I was punishing nobody but myself.
My shoulder and thigh were in absolute agony.
I was just being stubborn because the guy was kind of an asshole.
Not even kind of.
He was a complete asshole.
Some part of me just didn’t want to take anything from him. Even if it would make me feel better.
I slammed my head back on the cushion of the slightly elevated table, staring at the ugly lamp above me, wondering who the hell had shown up that had made this Surgeon guy rush off like that.
His boss, I guess?
What did you call a gang member’s boss?
Were they leaders?
Kingpins?
And what did it mean for me that one had suddenly shown up? Were they going to decide to let me go? Or would the boss say they screwed up in taking care of me? Was I going to end up with a bullet in the head after all?
No.
No, absolutely not.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Taking a deep breath, I sat back up, letting the pain help me clear my mind of niggling thoughts.
Steadying myself, I lifted my bad leg and started to scoot my butt, using my handcuffed wrist to help me maneuver, and just barely managing to bite back a string of curses as the pain racked my system.
I could make out the deep vibrations of male voices from somewhere outside the exam room, and I figured I had at least a couple of minutes before the door opened again.
If I tried hard enough, I might be able to figure out how to get out of the handcuffs. Or at least find some sort of weapon to protect myself with.
I was nobody’s action heroine.
I had a hard time even watching action movies with some kick-ass woman saving the day because it was just so far from my reality that I had a hard time suspending disbelief while I watched.