Page 34 of Little Sunshine

When she’d hauled ass away from me like the devil, hellhounds, and costumed card slappers were chasing her, I’d have put all my money on never seeing my little thief again.

At least not in real life. In my head was another story.

But there she was. In the lobby of Moonlight with a hoodie pulled over her head. Even not being able to see her face, I knew it was her.

My body had known it was her.

I’d been the sick fuck getting a hard-on from seeing her. All the damn while she was in pain.

I wanted to remove her hood to get a better look at the damage, but I didn’t want to spook her. Her shoulders already rose and fell too quickly. Her voice was so small, I could barely make out her words. “This was a mistake.”

I didn’t get the chance to ask what she meant when she suddenly dropped.

No sway. No wobble.

No attempt to catch herself.

For the second time in a handful of days, I caught her before she hit the floor. But unlike last time, she was out cold.

Lifting her into my arms, I ignored everyone else as I stalked back to the reserved elevator. Calling an ambulance would be fast, but I could drive faster. I just needed my keys from where I’d left them in my office.

When the front desk had called me, I’d been finishing working over a scammer in The Basement—the bottom floor of Moonlight where we brought people who’d fucked up.

The last time I’d had my keys in my pocket during one of those sessions, they’d fallen out and gotten covered in so many bodily fluids, I’d had to disinfect them for a week.

I jostled her just enough to press the button to start our quick rise. Once the doors slid closed behind us, I gently moved her hood aside to see more of her face.

Fuck.

Fucking damn fuck.

Her face was a damn mess. Her left eye was swollen. Her cheeks were blotted red. Her lip was split. Scrapes and abrasions covered one cheek, almost like she’d dragged it across sandpaper covered in shards of glass.

Christ, her airbag did a number on her.

Explains why she came here.

She must have a helluva concussion.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped into the small waiting room. Cole and Marco were at Nebula with Maximo, so the floor was empty. I used my thumb to get into my office.

Snagging my keys from where I’d tossed them on my desk, I turned back toward the door when she suddenly twisted in my arms. If I hadn’t been holding her so tight, she’d have fallen and made her injuries worse.

Her urgent voice pitched sharper. “Put me down. Put me down. Put me down, asshole!”

At her increasingly panicked insistence, I gently set her on the leather couch at the side of the room. She scrambled back, her fear fucking palpable.

Christ.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me,” I said, like that meant a damn thing to her. I kept my distance and lifted my hands placatingly at her. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m just taking you to the hospital.”

She stopped moving, but her body vibrated with tension. Her eyes widened, giving me a little more of her pretty blues. The swollen one had to hurt like a motherfucker, but she didn’t even flinch. “No hospital.”

“You said you were in an accident,” I told her slowly, wondering how bad her concussion was. “Were you driving?”

Rather than answer, she averted her eyes and whispered, “I have to go.”

“Tell me what happened.”

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