Page 121 of Dash

It opens out into a waiting room, a reception desk on one side, a stern-looking woman behind it. I bypass her completely, looking for him.

“Excuse me, you can’t go through there. You can’t—security!”

A huge-looking guy appears out of nowhere, grabbing my arms so tight, it feels like he bruises the skin instantly.

I thrash against his hold, needing to reach Dash. “You don’t understand. I need to see him! He was stabbed! Please?—”

“Hey! Take your fucking hands off her now!”

Riot’s winded, but he doesn’t falter as he shoves the guy off me, grabbing my face between his hands. “You okay?”

I shake my head, still trying to catch my breath from running. “I need to see him.”

“Sit. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

He guides me over to a chair, pushing me into it. His hand lingers on my shoulder for a moment before he goes to the desk.

My lungs burn, my legs too. I breathe deep, trying to calm my overloaded system until Riot returns.

“He’ll be in surgery for another few hours.”

And the wait begins.

The minutes pass like they’re trying to torture my sanity out of me. Riot brings me coffee, food, water, whatever he thinks I need, but I don’t touch any of it. I can’t swallow, can’t think. The only reason I’m still breathing is because my body does it automatically.

It’s late when an older guy in scrubs finally steps through the doors. As soon as he walks towards us, I stand, terrified of what he might say, terrified of what he doesn’t.

Riot comes to his feet with me, his hand pressed to the small of my back, as if he knows my legs might give out.

“You’re the family of Mr. Maddox?”

“She’s his wife,” Riot says.

I would call him on the lie, but I don’t care what label they give me. “Is he okay?” My voice cracks.

“He was stabbed in the lower left abdomen,” the doctor says. “The blade nicked the bowel and caused some internal bleeding, but we got it under control in surgery. We didn’t need to remove any of the bowel, and he’s stable for now. We’ll be watching closely for signs of infection or complications.”

I hear the words, take them in, but my brain can’t make sense of them.

“We’ll reassess in the morning. The nurses are getting him settled, and then you can see him.”

Riot squeezes my shoulder when the doctor walks away and I sink back into the chair, my legs like noodles.

It feels like it takes eons for the nurses to come and get me.

And even though I’m desperate to see him, I paused at the door.

I’m scared at what I might see on the other side. “You want me to come in with you?” Riot asks at my back.

I shake my head, draw in a breath, and step into the room. My feet stutter at the moment I clock the bed.

He’s pale, his chest bare, his tattoos stark against the horrible lighting in this room.

There are little pads on his chest, wires coming out of every part of him—or so it seems.

My gaze lingers on the stark white bandage around his side, the bloodstains screaming at me.

The wound that nearly took him from me.

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