Page 82 of The Toy Collector

Piper’s head hits my shoulder, and for a moment, a brief, insane moment, I think she might be gone. But then I hear it—the slow, uneven sound of breath. It’s not enough, and it won’t be until she’s awake.

Every step echoes. Every moment stretches.

My. Toy. Is. Fucking. Unresponsive.

Fuck!

If something permanent happens to her, I’ll scorch the entire world.

My steps stay measured, but my breathing is anything but. Every inch of me is screaming to find that fucker and end him.

“We’ve got him, Enzo. Where do you want—”

Baring my teeth at Cy, I growl, “Not now.” I don’t fucking care that my anger is misplaced. Nothing matters until I know Piper’s going to be fine.

I know my friend wants to know where to put Ben Jacks until I’m ready to deal with the low-life who drugged my toy, but I can’t think about that right now. He’ll figure it out.

Finally reaching the medical room, I give a sharp nod to Dr. Emily Voss, who’s waiting. She’s already gloved up, machines humming behind her. I called her the second Piper was in my arms to let her know we were coming.

“Vitals cart is ready. We’ve got tox panels standing by,” Voss adds, businesslike. “Put her over there on the bed.”

The second I lay her down, my hands itch to take her back. To pull her into my chest and shield her from the fucking world. I want to crush her to me and never let go. I want to lock her away until she understands thatnothing—not even her—can match my fucking need to keep her.

“Fuck!” I roar, forcing myself to step out of Voss’ way so she can do what needs to be done.

While she attaches monitors, I tell myself to calm the fuck down. My hands clench and unclench, and I want to drive them through the wall. But no, I need to remain calm.

“I’m going to draw some blood,” Voss states in her prim tone. I give her a sharp nod, not looking away as she fits a needle into the crook of Piper’s arm. “And I’ll need a urine sample to confirm what’s in her system,” she states, efficiently prepping the next step.

“Whatever you need,” I say through clenched teeth.

“She’s out cold, so I’ll need to use a catheter,” she adds without flinching. “Standard procedure.”

My nostrils flare. I hate the thought of anyone touching her like that. But this isn’t about preference.

“I’ll run a rapid tox screen,” she mutters, tapping the vial with practiced fingers. “We should know what she took in under an hour. We’ve got a lab tech on-site to process the panel. Blood’s being run now. Urine’s next. I’ll notify you when it’s confirmed.”

The rhythmic beep of machinery is the only sound I really hear. It’s proof that my toy is still here, still breathing, still mine to drag back to the place she belongs. At my fucking side.

“Can you give us some privacy—”

“I’m not going any-fucking-where,” I snarl, interrupting her.

She huffs, but doesn’t argue as I stay close by, watching while she works. Well, mostly I watch Piper, who doesn’t as much as flinch when Voss touches her.

While Voss runs tests, I run out of fucking patience. “What’s taking so long?” I snarl.

“Her heart rate is irregular, but holding. Pupils are sluggish. My bet’s on a fast acting benzo. Possibly alprazolam, or something in the same class.” Voss glances up. “We’ll confirm shortly.”

“See that you do,” I bark.

Voss acts like I haven’t spoken at all as she continues her explanation. “I’ll monitor her respiratory response through the night. If her breathing slows any further, we’ll have to intubate.”

My teeth grind and my fingers curl.

She adjusts the IV line and makes a final note on the chart. “There’s nothing more you can do here, Lorenzo. She’s stable enough for now. Let me do my job.”

I don’t move.

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