Page 127 of Darcy
“Jesus, how many drugs is she on?” Slate asks, and I twist my head to search for him, but it doesn’t work very well. Someone’s got my neck stuck.
Dodger half-chokes on his laugh. “I’ll hump the floor for you any time, sweetheart.”
Oh good. Somehow, that reassures me enough to let me fall back to sleep.
* * *
“Miss Belladonna,it’s not hospital policy to allow weapons—”
“Our father already approved it with management.”Is that… Harlow? No, it can’t be.
I set down my tablet as the door opens. It’s a rare afternoon where all four of my guys have had to leave me alone. I wasn’t expecting any visitors, and the last people I expect my poor flustered nurse to admit are two of my sisters.
“Are those for me?” I ask, grinning, as Tabby hefts the gift basket laden with guns across the threshold.
She doesn’t answer, passing me a loaded Glock before she heads for the window and begins checking the locks. Classic Tabby-Cat. Behind her, Harlow is carrying another—less dangerous—hamper full of cupcakes, pastries, and other baked goods. I eye them with suspicion as I check the safety on the Glock before shoving it beneath my pillow.
“Karma sent these,” she says, plopping her burden down on the table by my bed.
“And Raven had no part in it?” I check, eyeing the mouth-watering array with a healthy dose of suspicion.
A week ago, Raven sent a bottle of pillow mist that had been liberally laced with one of her potions. Instead of helping me sleep, as I’d assumed it would, it sent me into fits of laughter. The guys hadn’t understood what was wrong until Prophet fell victim as well, and by that point, it was too late. Dodger sprayed Slate, who accidentally caught Arlo when he tried to return fire, and minutes later, the entire room was awash with gut-busting giggles. It took hours to wear off, and my nurse was less than impressed.
I’m going to get her back for that… when I can walk again.
“No, she’s too busy basking in the glow of winning your ‘prank war,’” Tabby says, off-handedly, as she begins screwing something to the window frame. “She hid a camera in the packaging, so you’re going to have to delete the video when you get out of here.”
Taking a pack of antiseptic wipes from her bag, Harlow vigorously cleans the plastic visitor’s chair before she takes her seat, flicking her hair out of her face. She’s more tanned than when I last saw her, thanks to all the travels her guys have taken her on.
“You look good.” Both of them do, actually.
Although Tabby lacks Harlow’s tan, there’s a relaxed look about her that isn’t normally there. Both of them are dressed casually, but I know they’re armed.
“I’d say the same, but…” Harlow trails off, and I snort.
“Hey, at least my face is healing.” A lot of the superficial bruises there are fading, but I have a long way to go until I can get out of this damned bed. Hopefully, I won’t need any more surgeries on my legs now, but it all depends on what the doctors decide.
“Okay, I’ve replaced the locks on the window,” Tabby announces, heading back to her basket. “I’ve got a scanner I can put on the door. You’ve got three boxes of ammo there. I’ve also got throwing knives, frag grenades, a drone with a mini machine gun mounted onto the base…”
I smirk, because her plan to defend me while I recover is the closest to a declaration of love I’ll ever get from her, then grab the first baked item—a gooey triple chocolate brownie—from Karma’s basket and bite into it with a moan. Tabby continues reading out her list of weapons as Harlow settles back in her seat, biting into one of Karma’s cupcakes. The two of us share a look that’s equal parts amusement and exasperation.
My sisters are the best, and I can’t wait to see what the guys make of my “get well soon” gifts.
* * *
“Wow, that sun is bright.”I wince, covering my eyes with a yellow-and-green bruise-covered hand as Prophet expertly manoeuvres my wheelchair out of the hospital doors.
It’s taken two months, but I’m finally breaking out of here. I still have at least four more months of rehab, but I fully intend to enjoy being outside for what little remains of the summer.
“Ems should be meeting us at the car with coffee,” Arlo says.
He’s almost bouncing on his feet beside me with excitement and has been since the hospital finally signed me off to leave. Slate and Dodger are already at our mystery destination, which leaves Arlo and Prophet as my escorts.
“Here we are,” Prophet grunts, pulling my chair to a stop alongside a beast of a car.
“You own a G-Wagen?” I can’t keep the disbelief from my voice. “Really?”
It suits him. Large and bulky and practical. If it were anyone else driving, I’d have said the car was making up for a tiny dick.
