Page 59 of Inked Desires
“Right. So this is a man-on-a-mission kind of story. Like there aren’t already a thousand of those—with shitty endings, by the way. Fantastic,” he mutters.
“No,” I whisper.“This is a fight for love.”
He turns toward me sharply.
“I’ll regret this, but screw it—you’re not doing this alone. We’re calling the crew. You won’t get far on your own.”
“No,” I say firmly.
“That wasn’t a suggestion, asshole,” Kiran snaps.“We swore we’d always fight together. I intend to keep that promise.”
I shoot to my feet, ready to knock some sense into him with my fists, when the door suddenly bursts open.
A man steps inside, followed by others. All their heads are shaved down to the exact same buzz cut. They look at me with wide grins and take position side by side, arms crossed.
“Hey, AC,” the leader calls out.
I blink at each of them, confused out of my mind. What the hell is going on?
“Looks like baby boy’s gone speechless,” the last one chuckles.
The years have left a few wrinkles around his eyes, but that spark of mischief is still there.
“I took the liberty of calling everyone and bringing them here,” Kiran announces, tossing a folder onto the table I hadn’t even seen in his hand.
“Everything’s in there. What we need to know, what we need to do. We’re not charging in blind, AC. We need a real plan if we’re gonna save your lover,” my best friend says, voice firm.
ANDREW
A sharp beep pierces through the fog in my head. A loud, grating sound rings in my ears, refusing to stop, until sleep starts to slip away. Every part of my body aches, and I don’t dare open my eyes.
What the hell did I do last night? This has to be the worst hangover of my life. I haven’t felt this awful in years.
I blink slowly against the light. A stranger’s face hovers over mine, smiling softly. How many drinks did I have? I don’t even remember being at a party.
“Oh! Hello! You’re awake,” the woman says.
Disoriented, my gaze drifts around the room. That’s when I notice her green scrubs. Everything is white and sterile. A small TV hangs in the far-left corner. A white blanket with thin stripes covers my body. The smell of disinfectant stings my nostrils.
“Why am I in a hospital?” I croak, throat dry and raw like I haven’t spoken in days.
The woman, probably in her forties, keeps her gentle smile.
“What do you remember?” she asks calmly.
I shut my eyes. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just a void—and an unbearable pounding behind my eyelids. Then an image flashes through my mind. My fingers curl, my stomach lurches. It’s strange. It’s not a bad memory.
“I was supposed to meet my friend... Jace. Jace Benton. Is he here?” I whisper, eyes flying open.
Her smile falters.
“I’ll get the doctor,” she says and hurries out of the room.
I watch her go, confused. Did I say something wrong? Where is Jace? Was he with me when I was brought in? I vaguely recall we were supposed to have dinner.
An older doctor walks in, his thick gray hair combed neatly. He pushes his glasses from his nose up to his forehead and takes the seat beside the bed.
“Welcome back, Mr. Benton. Are you in any pain?” he asks gently.
