Page 12 of Dark Angel

Across the room, Jaden drops the patch into a small cylinder. It's like watching a spider tuck away its prey, setting it into this tech-infused web he calls a lab. The cylinder slides into a tunnel, vanishing into the bowels of whatever masterpiece of engineering this place is.

"Need a top-up for the pain?" Jaden’s voice is a melody that's at odds with the sterile backdrop of medical equipment. I shake my head. No, I don't think so. It's hard to tell as my senses dance to the lullaby of his words. What I want is whatever he did earlier that made the horrid pain so much better.

Here I am, plunged into the guts of a real-life Batcave with a stranger—a compelling, yet clearly dangerous, stranger. He just killed a guy for fucks sake, and all I can think is ‘good riddance’ to the fucker. And instead of guarding my vulnerable state, I'm drenched in the sweetness of his voice, in the closeness of his touch. Am I that desperate for a modicum of warmth? Evidently, yes.

His needle bites into my flesh, yet each prick is paradoxically soothing. It's not just the numbing agent; it's the fact that he, in this chaos, remains a constant. His hands work deftly, each stitch a testament to a strange mix of brutality and care. And hell, why am I hung up on studying his every move when I should be watching my own back?

You're losing it, Rayne. This guy's cut into me, drugged me, and I'm under some kind of spell, his rhythm, his everything. Dangerous doesn't even cover it—he's a ticking bomb and I handed him the detonator. And what for? To get a good look at his ass? Seriously? This weird link we've got messes with my head, blurring how risky he is. But deep down, I know the only damage he could do is to my heart—if I give him the chance. “That drone of his is off on a long trip," he says. How reassuringly vague. The drugs tear down my shields and the bitch in me comes out to play.

"So, where the hell are we?" A voice in the back of my head murmurs that I should give a damn, but right now, everything's hazy.

"We're in my lab." He finishes up the stitches, starts wrapping my arm. A lab that feels like it could be either my coffin or some twisted sanctuary. God, even I want to roll my eyes at myself. Melodramatic much, Rayne?

Then his hand lightly brushes my back, and damn if that doesn't send fire down my spine. "You okay?"

I shake my head, not letting my eyes meet his. Because the only pain that's real right now is the one I'm inflicting on myself—the walls I've built up cracking under the weight of something I can't even name yet.

“Rayne." With that one word, his tone changes from sunlight to storm cloud. I swat his hand away.

"Okay, okay, you got me. It sucks. Isn't the second day always a bitch, anyway? But I'm solid." My heart's pounding like a drum solo, but whether it's the meds or him messing with my head, who knows?

Jaden prods my kidney just enough to make me double over. "As I suspected. Let's assess the extent of the damage."

"Great." I let him lift my shirt. He absorbs the full spectacle—bruises, cuts, all of it. No doubt pity drips from him as he takes it all in . . . I refuse to look at him. I won't let myself break, not because of physical pain or anyone's judgment.

"Shall we continue the examination?" He steps back, hands folded, waiting to pounce.

I roll my eyes and shed the pants. Undies are non-negotiable. His expression darkens, like storm clouds rolling in as he surveys the damage. "You need an x-ray."

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Indeed.” His voice drips with so much sarcasm you could bottle it. "You didn’t answer my question about blood in your urine."

I flick my hand dismissively mustering up more bravado than I feel. "Look, there’s a little blood. Not the end of the world. Are we done here?"

Without another word, he guides me to an adjoining chamber with an x-ray machine. The scan is swift. Then he points. "As you can see, your rib is fractured. I presume it's painful to breathe."

Hell yeah, it is, but I refuse to admit it.

He raises his eyebrow as if calling me on my stubbornness but says, “Your rib needs to be stabilized with tape."

He snips off several lengths of KT Tape and waits for me to give the go-ahead. Despite the temptation to refuse just to prove I can, common sense takes over. I relent, removing my shirt to give him better access but can’t stop myself from covering my small boobs with my arms. The room goes quiet except for the sound of tape unspooling and securing flesh to flesh.

"Monitor your kidney. Any changes, particularly increased blood, you need to inform me."

The taping's done, and he starts cleaning up. Mindful of my ribs, I fight the urge to lunge for my clothes.

As I struggle to get my shirt on, I take a closer look around. “So, what's the deal with this place? It's like Batman's hideout. Is there a Batmobile in the garage or something?" Yeah, it's a dumb question, but I’ll do anything to direct his attention from my half-naked body.

Jaden's rare grin warms me in a way I don't want to admit. It's like a Chinook wind that creeps in, slowly melting the self-imposed glaciers surrounding my insides. "I call my safe room the Hole, but if you want to talk Batman trivia, I'm game.” And suddenly Mr. Hyde retreats, leaving Dr. Jekyll to morph into an animated Prince Charming. “The original Batmobile was a 1939 Cadillac. The series used a Lincoln Futura. The Tim Burton movies used a Chevy Impala chassis."

"Yeah? Well, the Tumbler says 'fuck your chassis.' It’s its own beast, more tank than car," I shoot back. “And I think I’ll stick to calling it your Batcave.”

He chuckles, his chest puffing out with a tangible sense of pride. "Uh-huh, but it can't beat my Bugatti Chiron."

I don't even know what a Bugatti Chiron is, but I'm already pulling up a mental note to Google it later. "You some kind of car junkie then? Because you’re totally a Batman geek."

"Nah, cars are cool, but my real love is knives and dragons," he says.

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