“I can’t,” I say, sobering up as everything comes crashing back down on me. “I’m hungry, upset, angry, tired...”
“Hangry.”
“What?”
“You’re hangry. I can fix that.” He stands up and holds his hand out for me.
Hesitantly, I take it and let him help me up. “Why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”
“You mean something to Richard,” he says evasively, avoiding looking at me. “That’s enough.”
I take it at face value and follow him down the marbled hallway and into a clean, modern kitchen, where he sets about making me some food.
ChapterSixteen
James
Pacing up and down the front room of this large townhouse in Mayfair, I wonder how such a prominent doctor fell so far down the ladder that he takes on dodgy clients in the middle of the evening at his home.
I cast a glance to Cameron, who is seated in an armchair, his ankle on his opposite knee, flicking through a magazine.
“How do you know him again?” I ask, wildly curious that enthusiastic Cam has a dark side.
“Went to Harrow together,” he replies, not looking up from his flicking. “Saved his face a few times.”
“Huh,” I murmur and then look up as Philip, last name not given, enters the room, covered in bloody scrubs.
I gulp.
“He’s going to be fine, but he should be in a hospital.”
I shake my head. “No hospitals.”
“I get that, but I have to say it. He could do with a blood transfusion.”
“Okay,” I say, rolling up my sleeve.
“What’s your blood type?”
“A positive.”
“Ah, good, a match. Follow me.”
Cam’s gaze follows me out of the room. His own curiosity is well beyond piqued, but he knows me well enough to know that he won’t get answers right now, so he doesn’t bother asking.
Entering the room right behind the front room, I stare at Richard. He is awake, just about, but completely unrecognisable.
“You’re a dick,” I inform him loftily.
“Grrrrnnn,” he groans, holding his left side where the bullet went in.
“What was that?” I ask, cupping my ear and being a complete twat.
He grimaces. “Never gets old.”
“Unlike you, you’re a mess.”
“Fuck you, cuntweed.”