Page 7 of Wicked Deceit
“If they broke her fucking arm and crashed our car, then it can only worsen from here.”
“We’re putting Kaycee on a tight leash,” Zepp murmurs. “I’ll fashion one myself if I need to. She doesn’t leave our sight. She can’t go pee without one of us standing outside the stall. We need to be everywhere, so they can’t get to her.” Tears fall from his closed eyes, pooling on his long lashes, and cascade down his cheeks.
“We got this. We’ve got fucking Grumpy to figure this out, too,” I say, through the emotions bubbling up in my throat.
“Yeah?” Zepp’s voice cracks when he says the word. “And where was he tonight?” he whispers so low that my entire body locks up.
“We’ll figure this out,” I say, licking my lips, not wanting to believe what he said. My mind screams accusations left and right. If the Apocalypse did this, then where the hell was their Beta? And how much did he fucking know? Was he there again like he was before?
I pull away from Zepp and march around the room. My legs find their strength, but my head swims with dizziness, turning my stomach until the urge to hurl overwhelms me. I hold back the gag sitting in the back of my throat, forcing myself to find some clothes to wear. I don’t have fucking time to get sick or be away from Kaycee any longer.
“Jesus,” I murmur, picking up my shirt and jeans out of a small container left by the hospital staff.
Holding it up, my blood freezes in my veins at the carnage displayed on my favorite damn shirt. Fuck! This was something my mom gave me years ago, knowing it was way too fucking big. And now look at it. There’s dirt and dark red blood staining every inch of the fabric. To some, it would be ruined, but for me—it’s a damn treasure I’ll keep forever. I hold back my cringe when I redress in the bloody and ruined clothes, opting to ignore the stains and continue. I don’t have time to whine about my favorite shirt getting ruined. I don’t have time to complain about my revolting stomach or the band playing a loud and annoying drum beat in my damn head. There’s only one person on my mind right now, and that’s Kaycee. She’s somewhere in this hospital under the knife, and we need to get to her.
“I don’t think she was thrown from the car,” Zepp mumbles, bending down to tie my shoe when I hold my spinning head. Those deep, green, all-knowing eyes of his peer up at me from his knelt position, and he frowns. “Something happened there. But I don’t know what.”
“You think she’d remember?” I say with desperation. “God, whatever they did to her, I fucking hope not. If they broke her arm, Zepp….”
“I know,” he says, sadness taking over his voice. “I know, bro,” he whispers, slowly getting to his feet.
“Let’s go find our girlfriend,” I say, pushing open the curtain to our room, revealing the busy hallway of the emergency room.
Thesecondwestepout together and look around, we stop dead in our tracks. Two figures haul ass toward us with varying degrees of pain crossing their faces. Their eyes dart around like they haven’t spotted us yet, but they’re barreling this way, pushing nurses and doctors out of their way. Well, Grumpy is scaring them with his snarl—I should say. Chase bites his lips, extending his neck to look through the crowd while following behind the maniac pushing through the fucking crowd. Note to self, If I ever need someone to lead the way, Carter’s my dude.
I cock my head, focusing on Carter's twisted and sour expression. The intensity wafting off him smacks me in the chest so hard, it’s like a damn omen of danger telling me to get the fuck out. Looking around the crowded corridor, I think other people can feel his anger, too. Every doctor and nurse in the vicinity takes a step back, refusing to move until he passes by. By the look on his twisted face, he'd probably throw a damn doctor at this point just to find out answers. But when he makes eye contact with one male doctor five feet away, the doctor scurries away, clutching a file to his chest. Shit. Someone needs to loosen old Cruel Carter up or he’s going to die of an aneurysm or something.
Chase's expression mimics Carter's, but there's no cruelty on his face—only concern. His brows furrow when he spots us, and he taps Carter on the chest twice, nearly losing his damn fingers in the process. Carter scowls, picking him up by the scruff of his shirt until he points us out again with a squeak. If my head wasn’t hurting so bad, I’d laugh at the faces of the nurses, picking up their phones to call security. I’m pretty sure they’d have to tranquilize Carter at this point and put him down for a little nap.
Carter growls, putting him back on his feet, and then leaves him in the damn dust. In what seems like four long strides he stands before me, I raise a brow in waiting. He huffs and puffs like a damn angry wolf but doesn't speak a fucking word. Finally, Chase comes up in front of us and scowls in Carter's direction.
"Dick!" He hisses, crossing his arms.
“Where the fuck is Kaycee?” Grumpy asks, looking grumpier than ever with a scowl and wrinkled clothes.
Right. He’s getting right to the point asking about his obsession, and not us. We’re in this relationship, too. Dickbag.
“We’re fucking fine, too. Thanks for asking, assholes,” I mumble, trying not to talk too loudly. Every word I speak sends pain zapping through my damn brain and I just want to lay down. No matter how bad I want to yell at the dickbag before me, I can’t.
Zepp shakes his head, putting an arm across my chest. “Not here. Not now. Let’s talk somewhere else,” he says, with all his usual wisdom returning. Thank God, because I can’t navigate shit right now.
Zepp nods his head, and we all follow in silence. He pulls out his phone and quickly calls Kaycee’s mom, asking where her surgery is happening. He gets the information, but instead of heading directly upstairs, we take a detour and find ourselves in the hospital's parking lot at three something on Sunday morning.
“You better fucking tell me what the FUCK is going on before I jam my fist so far down your throat it comes out of your asshole,” Carter barks, standing rigid with wild fucking eyes. Jesus, someone needs to put him out of his misery already or he’s going to kill us.
“Now, hold on, Grumpy,” Chase says with narrowed eyes. “We don’t know what the shit is going on.”
“Yeah, don’t take your fucking grumpy, dick head routine out on us. Because we don’t fucking know either,” I shout, wanting to lunge toward him and knock his shitty attitude out of him.
But my legs wobble, and my head fucking spins, sending my damn stomach into a tilt a whirl. I still feel like I might upchuck on his damn shirt. Maybe that would make him fuck off. Or piss him off more. I can’t decide which solution is better.
Zepp licks his lips, pacing a tiny spot in front of us like he wasn’t just sick ten minutes ago. He shakes his head, biting at his nails.
“We were at the mansion,” he says in a small voice, looking around to ensure no one else had followed us. “We got into the car, and then nothing.”
“Fucking nothing?” Carter growls. “What the fuck do you mean?” He asks, clenching his fists, just twitching to knock someone in the face. Jesus, if we don’t get him to Kaycee ASAP, he might disembowel us before we get the actual answers. And I fucking like my insides, so I want them to stay, you know, inside my fucking body.
“He means, we can’t remember what the hell happened. It’s like a dark fucking spot in our memories,” I say in a small voice, a deep breath rocking through my bruised chest.
