Page 12 of The Demons We Hide

“Darrio?” She sounds resigned as she speaks.

I shake my head, cursing the bastard she married again in my head as I take my seat from earlier. As I toss the remains of the courier box into the trashcan next to G’s bedside, the phone in my hand vibrates with a flurry of new messages. Lex must have set it up before he shipped it over.

I ignore the ones from the guys I sent out looking for Juliet and focus on the newest text from Lex himself. Clicking on it, a photo pops up.

Juliet Donovan’s face is soft in sleep, her electric blue hair spread out over a black satin pillow. Under it are four words.

We have a problem.

5

GIO

My stomach rolls before I’m fully awake. The sudden bout of nausea cramping up my entire body has me scrambling towards the edge of the mattress before my eyes are even open.

“Whoa, shit, hold on, G.” The distantly familiar voice is there and then back again as a solid hand lands on my back. My eyes crack open to find a puke pan being held in front of me, and I’ve never been more grateful in my life.

The need is too strong for me to resist the urge to vomit. I don’t even care if there’s someone else in the room, I simply open my mouth and let it all come up. Acid and bile war for real estate on the back of my tongue, but my whole mouth tastes like a loaded dumpster.

Gasping, I manage to make it through a few more heaves before I sigh and shove the puke pan away. Scrubbing a hand down my face and sitting up, the pain assails me in the next breath. I groan, putting a hand to my abdomen. Throwing up never makes me feel great, but it also doesn’t make me feel like someone has taken a sledge hammer to my ribs and stomach.

No, but metal pipes and fists might.

I blink my bleary eyes open at that thought as the memory of my attack comes back in full force. White on white on motherfucking white. Shit. I’m in a hospital room. Turning my head, I find Nolan standing there with a grimace on his face and the puke pan I’d just vomited my guts into held between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Yeah…” He says, turning towards the door. “I’m just gonna put this out in the hall for one of the orderlies to come get.”

My stomach isn’t the only thing hurting. “What the fuck did they do?” I demand, grinding my jaw at the throbbing there.

Nolan snorts and reaches for something on the stand next to the bed. A second later, he holds out a plastic cup full of water. I take it and gingerly sip until I’m sure I can keep it down. Then, I down the fucker, needing the taste of my own vomit out of my mouth right fucking now. When I’m done, Nolan puts the cup back on the stand and takes a seat in the chair next to my hospital bed. Dull, early morning light turns the white room a hazy shade of gray.

“Beat the hell out of you and left you for dead.” Nolan’s voice holds no amusement as he kicks his feet up on the edge of the mattress.

I shift around, the crinkle of plastic under the mattress topper grating against my sensitive ears. “That’s for damn sure.” I wince and put a hand to my temple. “How long have I been out?”

“About twenty-four hours,” he admits. “You might’ve been up earlier, but the Doc had you on some medication to keep you out because there was some worry about swelling in your head.”

“Swelling?” I glance to the side, noting that the only other furniture in the room is a cushioned chair with a divot in the center of the ass. Next to it is a half-finished knitting piece and two needles stuck out of a ball of yarn. “My mom?”

“She’s downstairs getting breakfast,” Nolan tells me. “She just left about ten minutes ago—she’s been here since you were admitted. Your dad came by sometime in the night.”

But the fucker didn’t stay. Can’t say I’m surprised. I lower my hand back to my side and grit my teeth against the onslaught of pain that pounds against the inside of my skull. If I’m awake, then the doctor had called off the meds—was that all of them including anything for the pain? It certainly feels like it.

When I finally return my gaze to Nolan’s, it’s to find him quietly observing me with a shadow across the upper half of his face. “Do you remember anything about your attack?” he asks. “Any details about the guys who came after you?”

“There were at least three of them,” I tell him on a sigh. “They swung at me with what felt like either an iron pipe or a baseball bat before I even realized they were there.” It was sloppy of me to not have been paying attention. I’d been so focused on thinking about Juliet that they’d gotten the jump on me. My hands clench into fists at my sides. It wouldn’t happen again, that was for damn sure.

Nolan nods his understanding. “Lex is pulling camera footage of the surrounding area,” he says.

“My father?—”

“Claims to have nothing to do with the attack,” he cuts me off. “But he knows about Juliet now and he’s not happy.”

I eye Nolan cautiously. “Do you believe him?” I ask. “About the attack.”

Silence stretches between us. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But we don’t have a motivation for him to have been the one behind it.”

“He hates me,” I snap. “What other motivation could he need?” Without giving Nolan a chance to answer, I slide my legs over the side of the bed and pull the sheets off my lower half. My bladder screams for relief.

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