Page 5 of Ruthless Riches
2
Alexis
I heard some machinery beep.Then a hushed whisper of worry. Feeling returned to my toes and fingers, and a throbbing started in my abdomen. I felt raw and cracked open. Filleted like a fish.
When I found the strength to open my eyes for the second time since my attack, I saw Nate sitting in a chair next to my bed, phone clutched so tightly in his left hand that his knuckles had turned white. His eyes widened when he saw me struggling to press the button to raise my bed so that I could be in a semi-seated position.
“She’s up,” he said into the phone. “Talk to you soon.”
I smiled weakly. “Hey. Who were you talking to?”
“Laurel. She called to see how you were doing,” he said. He leaned over to help me with the bed, being careful to move me up ever-so-slowly like the doctors and nurses had lectured me about earlier. The stitches in my stomach could rip open if I moved too rapidly, or with too much force. “Sorry I couldn’t be here when you woke up earlier,” he went on, brows pulling down into a frown. “The cops insisted on talking to you first.”
“I know. It’s not your fault.” I paused to smother a yawn. “I wanted to see you, but I could barely keep my eyes open once they were done questioning me.”
He leaned forward, shoulders tense and eyes flickering with anxiety. “How are you feeling?” he asked, one hand reaching out to stroke my hair.
I gave him a tight smile. “I’ve been better. I’m choosing to see it as karma, though.”
“Karma?”
“From when I stabbed you,” I said, raising a brow.
Nate shook his head. “I deserved that,” he said gruffly. “You didn’t deserve this.”
Pain suddenly lanced through my guts, worse than before. I grimaced, and Nate leapt into action to help me find the morphine pump the nurse had told me about earlier. “How many times do you want me to press it?” he asked, finger hovering over the button.
“Not too many,” I replied. “I don’t want to fall asleep again. I want to talk to you.”
He pressed the button twice, eyes focusing on my face to gauge my reaction. “I hate seeing you in pain,” he muttered. “I wish I could feel it all for you.”
“I’m not so noble that I wouldn’t take you up on that offer if it was actually possible,” I said, giving him a small, playful smile. “I’d give anything to not feel this.”
He gestured to the pump again. “More?”
I was starting to feel slightly dizzy, so I shook my head. “It’s enough for now.”
“What did the doctors say earlier?”
“I have to take a bunch of antibiotics for a few weeks and keep an eye on the stitches. No physical activity for a while, either.” I arched a brow. “That includes sex.”
“But you’ll definitely be okay?”
“Yes. Totally fine, apart from the scar.”
He squeezed my hand and leaned forward. “Do you remember anything?”
I blinked slowly. “Yes. But not enough to know who did it.”
“What do you remember seeing?”
I haltingly filled him in on the same story I told the police earlier. “I was fixing my hair in the bathroom mirror, and I felt a cold breeze on my arm, so I turned to the window and saw that it was partially cracked open. There was a person standing there, peeking through at me. They were wearing black clothes with their hood up and a mask on their face.”
“What sort of mask?”
“One of those Greek tragedy masks. You know what they look like?”
“Yeah. Kinda twisted-looking?”
