Page 44 of Blackbeard
“Now that surprises me.”
I startled at the sound of Blackbeard’s voice. Turning my head, I found him seated in a chair next to the bed, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle.
A faint glow from the adjoining bathroom—door propped open a few inches—cast a golden gleam over his long hair. It was the first time I’d seen his hair down, tumbling in dark curls to his shoulders and it looked touchably soft.
His phone rested on his nightstand beside him, but he didn’t appear to be doing anything more than watching over me while I slept.
“Why?” I croaked.
God, my throat felt as dry as the Sahara desert.
“I figured you would be crowing about how your husband put you in danger as soon as you woke up,” Blackbeard said. “Never expected you to blame yourself. You’re usually the type to weasel your way out of shouldering any responsibility.”
He picked up a glass of water from the bedside table. I expected him to hand it to me. Instead, he slid his palm under my head and lifted me up, holding the glass to my lips while I took a sip.
“You said there would be no princess treatment in this house,” I pointed out.
Blackbeard hummed and eased my head back down to the pillow again.
“I wouldn’t exactly call this princess treatment. More like doctor-patient treatment.”
“In that case, I don’t mind a little roleplay in the bedroom, Doctor Sexy.”
“Stop,” Blackbeard said, trying to growl, even though it came out more like a soft admonishment. “You’re not lucid enough to flirt without embarrassing yourself.”
“I’m lucid enough to figure out that you haven’t left my side,” I replied, attempting to play it off as coy. Instead, I just felt…touched.
Blackbeard was a better man than I gave him credit for. I would betray him one day. And I’d certainly done everything in my power to make his life as difficult as possible lately. I didn’t deserve to be cared for like this.
Blackbeard looked away with a vague gesture.
“You were bleeding for a while. I had to keep an eye on you in case a transfusion was needed.”
“How long have I been out?” I replied.
“About twelve or thirteen hours.”
It made sense that he wouldn’t take me to the hospital unless it was something he couldn’t handle himself. Gunshot wounds got reported to the cops. Then they would start sniffing around, asking questions.
“Is Crash…?”
I trailed off, unsure what I wanted to ask. The Forsaken killed his brother. It was understandable that he would come after me—the President’s daughter. And God knows, when I finally betrayed the Blackjacks, every single one of them would want to kill me in retaliation too.
So I couldn’t exactly hold a grudge against Crash for doing what he did.
“He’s on toilet-scrubbing duty for six months,” Blackbeard said. “And his duration as a Prospect will be extended by another year.”
“Ouch,” I said.
A Prospect usually served on the bottom of the totem pole for one year before his club voted on whether he was granted status as an official member or shut out for good.
But Crash now had to endure twice that sentence.
I smoothed my hands over the sheets, shifting slightly with a wince at the tug of pain in my side. But I could tell I wasn’t restricted by jeans anymore. Lifting a corner of the sheets, I glanced down at my body for confirmation. Yep, just my bra and panties were left.
“Were you the lucky one who volunteered to get rid of my clothes?” I asked.
“No,” Blackbeard replied. “Baby Doll took care of that.”
