Page 13 of The Heart We Guard
“Wait there while I get you a bottle to relieve yourself in.”
“Not peeing…in a fucking bottle.” I try to push myself up onto my elbows, but Greer places her hand firmly on my chest, away from my injured shoulder, and pushes me back down.
“And I didn’t stay awake all night, watching over you for signs of fever, distress, or pain, just so you can blow my handiwork because you don’t want to perform a perfectly natural bodily function into a bottle.”
I glare at her, the kind of glare I’d give one of my men to yield immediate capitulation. It’s the kind of glare that says I’m not messing around and they better get the fuck on with whatever I asked them to do.
It garners absolutely zero response from Greer. Worse, she sneers.
“Is that your death stare?” She huffs a laugh. “Lie your ass back down and get over yourself.”
She goes to the box of supplies and pulls out what looks like a squat bottle with concertinaed edges. She tugs on both ends, and it expands into the receptacle I guess I’m supposed to piss in.
When she hands it to me, I simply stare at her. She stares at me.
And before I realize what I’m doing, I’m taking it from her.
She turns her back to give me some privacy.
“Fuck this shit,” I mutter as I mess around beneath the sheet until I’ve got the end of my soft cock tucked inside.
The sound of my piss hitting the plastic is a new low.
It’s better than pissing in a steel toilet in prison.
The reminder is enough to make me get over myself for a moment. If I’d shown up at the hospital, there is no doubt in my mind, the cops would have connected me to the Zakharov killing.
For a moment, I wonder if the rest of my men are all safe. I wonder if Smoke got out of the parking lot cleanly. I wonder if Atom and Wraith and the others all made it out okay.
I swear my kidneys and bladder ache as I relieve myself, the pressure on them so very great.
Embarrassment washes over me when I pull my cock out of the bottle and hand it to Greer, who disappears into a room off the hallway.
While she’s gone, I zip my jeans back up and take a moment to lift my head a little and survey my surroundings.
The home is pretty and simple. Lots of white and natural tones. Light wood, jute rugs. But there’s absolutely no personality. It could be a show home for all I can see of Greer Hansen in it.
No pictures on the walls, just bland, abstract art.
When she returns, the bottle is empty, and there’s the scent of hand soap.
“I’m gonna have to move off this table, Greer. It’s killing my back.”
She places the receptacle I just pissed in on the counter next to the sink, then returns to me. “It really would be safer to just stay there for a few hours longer.”
“I’m moving with or without your help. But with your help would be a damn sight easier.”
She sucks in a breath, then blows it out again through pursed lips. “Fine. But let me set something up in the living room for you, first, before I move you.”
I watch her until I can’t see her anymore. The sounds of furniture being scraped across the floor are peppered with a litany of cusswords, and it weirdly makes me smile that Dr. Calm, Cool, and Collected finds furniture removal on the list of things she loses her mind over.
“Okay,” she says finally, the sleeves of her top pushed up over her elbows, a pillow in one hand. “Let’s get you up.”
She hands the pillow to me. “Hold this firmly against your abdomen. We want to keep your torso as still as possible.”
I do as she says.
“Right, we’re going to roll you onto your uninjured side. Then, I’ll help you slide your feet off the table and get upright. When you’re upright, the world is really gonna spin. So let me hold you until you have your balance.”
