Page 142 of Lady Killer

My throat hurt, still tender from . . .

“Michael!” I cried. Knives stabbed my throat, causing me to curl in on myself.

“Easy.” Nixon’s arm wrapped around me, rubbing my back. “Here.”

A glass of water appeared in front of me.

“Drink this.”

The ice-cold water burned as it trickled down my bruised throat, but just as quickly, it started to numb the pain, and I gingerly swallowed down a couple more sips.

“Where?” I rasped.

“Jesus, pet, you don’t stop, do you?” Nixon growled.

Turning slowly to shoot him a dirty look, I took him in more closely.

He was paler than usual, and I could see a faint web of purple growing underneath his eyes. The accusation in them wasn’t surprising.

The concern was.

“You nearly fucking died again tonight,” he said, a little too loudly.

“That? That . . . was . . . nothing,” I said, speaking carefully around my throat.

My attempt at humor failed as Nixon’s familiar scowl returned. “Do you even fucking care?”

As if he wasn’t rooting for my death only a couple months ago.

“Do you?” I bit out.

He stood up, aggressively running his hands through his hair. “Do you know what your death would do to Alister? Hell, to fucking Everest?”

If he could change the subject, so could I. “Michael?”

Every word hurt, but I needed to know.

Nixon looked at me incredulously. “You don’t give a fuck about anyone but yourself, do you?”

“You don’t know anything,” I said, tears brimming in my eyes from the pain.

“I know that you almost fucking died tonight, and you’re acting like you don’t give a shit!”

“BECAUSE I CAN’T!” Tears broke free, running down my face.

Every word was agony.

Before I could fully process the pain, Nixon was on me, gripping my head gently in his hands.

“I ha—‍”

His lips were on mine before I could finish, and suddenly the roar of blood rushing between my ears was all I could hear as Nixon Blackwell became all I could taste.

And see.

And smell.

Closing my eyes, I lay back on the pillows, taking him with me.

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