Page 6 of Wicked Deceit
“Kaycee,” Zepp says, desperately searching Mercy’s eyes. “What is she in surgery for? How long? Is she going to be okay? I…” He cuts himself off, sucking in another frantic breath.
She holds up a hand. “She’ll be fine, I promise. After being ejected from the vehicle, she fractured her elbow and had minor scratches, bruising on her face, and a broken nose." I cringe thinking back to the bruising on her face after Hadley beat her ass a few months ago. Unfairly as fuck too. Thank Fuck for Zepp and his crazy bruising cream, we were able to help the swelling and bruising go down. Maybe we can do that this time, too. I shake my aching head, groaning through all this new information, and tune back into her words at the worst fucking moment.
"It’s a very minor surgery. They just need to put in a metal plate and some pins to hold her bones back together.” She gives a sharp and reassuring nod and starts talking more. But my mind can only focus on the so, totally, not fucking okay details she gave.
Pins? A metal plate? In the realm of everything that’s fucking okay, that’s not fucking included. A flush works its way up my neck and sweat coats my palms. My stomach turns at the thought of them drilling into her bone, and I swear a green tint takes over my face. I’m two seconds away from hurling until I hear my brother yacking into the vomit bowl the nurse left us as just in case. My stomach protests and twists from the sound of his heaves, threatening to spill whatever the fuck is in my stomach.
“I’m fine,” Zepp gasps, shaking an arm in the air.
Yeah, so totally fucking fine, my ass. I blow out a breath and get my fucking stomach under control. When the bile settles back down and my mouth no longer waters with the urge to purge, I turn my attention back to Mercy, who watches us with a keen eye.
“Pay him no attention,” I grumble, holding my stomach. “Him and hospitals don’t mix.” Her brows furrow in concern as she watches him with a close motherly eye.
Zepp's eyes peer around the room again, as he takes in heavy breaths. A glaze falls over his eyes, probably taking him back to the moments of our mother’s death in this very hospital. Since being here every day during her cancer treatments, and then watching her die at the incompetent hands of the hospital, Zepp hasn’t stepped foot in here since. And I feel him, I really fucking do. The last place I want to be is here, where my mom took her last damn breath because they couldn’t figure out she had cancer for months.
Walking over to the mini sink, Mercy wets a paper towel and gingerly hands it to him, watching his every move. He wipes his mouth, hovering above the bowl in case anything else decides to spew. Heaving a few more times, his body finally slumps in defeat, and wild breaths pour from his parted lips.
Her brown eyes look between the two of us as a knowing smirk twitches the edge of her lips. Something clicks into place in her eyes, and she nods.
“I have a feeling my daughter has been keeping some big secrets from me,” she murmurs with a warm, knowing smile.
At that moment, I know we’re truly fucking made—she knows about us. Well, two of us, at least. Fuck. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem like the type of mom to blow a gasket on her kid for having two boyfriends. Not with the way she’s affectionately looking at us with warm love in her eyes. But how the hell will she react when she realizes there’s four of us, not two. Fuck. We’re in so much damn trouble. I swallow hard when I think about the rest of her family. Met her sister, she was cool. But Body Slammer? Fuck. He’ll spike us into next week. And isn’t her dad a big, scary guy? I’ve seen pictures of him. He will murder us, tear us into tiny pieces, and dispose of us where no one could find us.
I swallow hard, and my eyes widen. “I’m innocent,” I blurt before I can think.
She barks out a laugh, much like Kaycee’s, and shakes her head. “Okay, Boys, here’s my phone number. Call me whenever you’re out and want to come to her room. She’s going to be here for a few days, at least until Wednesday, so they can observe her injuries. They said she’d be out of it for a while after the surgery. So, we’ll be playing the waiting game.”
Mercy waves her goodbye and waltzes out of the room with a slight backward glance. Her eyes sparkle with knowing, and I slump back into the hospital bed.
“Well, shit. We’ve been made,” I say, lightly running my fingers down my bruised-up face.
Zepp straightens over the bowl, blowing out a breath. When he stands to dispose of it, he turns an ugly shade of green, stopping in his tracks. When he finally gets himself under control, he disposes of the vomit and wipes his face off with the paper towel again.
“She’s……”
“Intimidating, for fucking sure,” I sigh, pulling the blanket higher up my body and check the clock. 3:00 A.M. Fuck. They better let us leave soon, or I’ll throw a bigger fit than before. I’m about to yell out when the curtain yanks to the side, and our very relieved looking nurse waltzes in.
“Alright, Mr. West and Mr. West,” the nurse announces with a bright smile. “The doctors have made an exception and cleared both of you for discharge. You’re mainly bruised, but you’ll both live. They recommend some ibuprofen, antibiotics in case of infection, and rest for you to heal.” She raises a brow, turning to Zepp, who looks more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen him in the corner of the room, hovering around the garbage can. “This goes for both of you. You boys are extremely lucky you don’t have more injuries than a slight concussion and abrasions. So, get some rest and take your anti-inflammatories, and you’ll be okay. Luckily for you two, you were seat belted in.” The nurse works around us, clucking her tongue at me for pulling out my IV and places gauze on my wound. She cleans me up, removing everything I was hooked up to, and says her gleeful goodbyes.
“Thank you,” Zepp says with a polite nod, shoving his hands into his pockets.
As soon as the nurse walks out, I heave my aching legs over the edge of the bed with a groan. Fuck. Pain ricochets everywhere, bouncing off every damn muscle. I don’t think the fucking pain meds did a damn thing for me long term. They worked for a fucking minute, but the moment she stepped away, it came back with a vengeance. My nerves fire off in a display of fucking fireworks. I grip the edge of the bed with bruising force, white-knuckling until I pull myself to my feet.
“Fuck,” I growl, balancing myself with the edge of the bed again. Zepp stands awkwardly in the corner of the room, staring straight ahead with big eyes, zoning out to who the hell knows where. “Hey, man,” I say, snapping my fingers to gain his attention. His eyes widen, and he shakes his head a bit, knocking himself out of the horror show playing in his mind. “We’ll call her mom and get up there as soon as possible, okay?” He nods again, taking a deep breath.
My fucking brother, man. He can look the devil in the eye and march through hell to get there, but he can’t stand to be in the hospital. I don’t blame him. This is where our mom went in her moment of need, and they fucked her over with a cancer diagnosis. She was in and out complaining of stomach pains for months, and they did nothing to help her. It wasn’t until she was on her deathbed, that they finally had an answer for her. So, our trust in this hospital and its doctors is minimal at fucking best.
“Yeah,” he says in a small voice, hanging his head. “Seg,” he mumbles, shrinking back into the damn corner. Fuck me. I need to get him out of here.
“Zeppelin Dominic West, you ugly bastard,” I gripe, stumbling toward him on baby deer legs. I clasp his good cheek, forcing him to look at me. “Stop thinking those stupid fucking thoughts. You got me? We don’t know what the fuck happened. If it was a drunk driver, which I highly fucking doubt, then that’s what happened. If it was that asshole who shall not be fucking named, then it wasn’t your fault. You feel me, Zepp? You fucking got that?” With every passionate word I speak, my grip gets tighter and tighter, until I’m squeezing him hard enough to make him flinch.
I want him to know that this shit wasn’t my fault or his fault, or our girlfriend’s fault. It’s no one’s fault, but those fucking Apocalypse bastards—it has to be them.
“If it was them,” Zepp says, swallowing hard. “Then they’ve upped their game.” His voice dips so low that I feel all the emotions coming from him when he says it.
“Yeah,” I breathe, leaning my forehead against his. “They’ve upped their shit, and it’s turned very fucking physical.” We close our eyes, soaking in the presence of each other, taking in our strength together. Our twin connection has always been something we’ve depended on. Now more than ever.
“We knew they were capable of so much, but this?” Zepp murmurs, pressing harder into my forehead. “What will they do next?”
