It never matters.
At this point, the US government would have to send in the military to deal with this mess.
Even then, I betcha we’d give ‘em a run for their money, guerrilla warfare style.
“Can we have a minute?” I ask, and the woman pauses, like maybe she wants to protest. In the end, she nods and steps outside of the room, closing the door behind her. “What happened to you?” I ask, reaching up to put my hand over Sin’s where it still rests against the side of his neck.
“I got grazed by a bullet,” he says, his eyes narrowing slightly with the memory. “Well, I got shot.” He moves the sheet aside, and then points to a spot on his arm, his shoulder, his waist. “Nothing vital. Except for this. A shot grazed my neck.” Sin wets his lips. “I was bleeding fucking everywhere.” He shivers and exhales, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “I was sure that was it for me, Gidge.”
I sit on the edge of the hospital bed and lean my arm against his, the fingers of my left and his right hand tangling together. Warmth travels through me, but not sexual warmth.
Okay, that’s a lie. Some of it is sexual, whether I want to admit it or not. My body is reacting to Sin’s in the same way his is reacting to me, even if neither of us is up for sex at this moment.
But mostly, it’s emotional warmth.
It’s possibly … no, no undoubtedly—much as my fucked-up brain hates to admit it—love.
That’s what it is.
Like a rose blooming in a field of weeds.
I wasn’t sure that I’d ever see Sin again after taking off to find a gun, running into Gaz, watching my father lift a weapon and point it at my face. Where is Cat now? What is he thinking? What is he doing?
Because he can’t be doing well emotionally speaking, not after shooting his only son.
From four children down to … one.
Down to me.
His least favorite.
Shit.
I was right all this time to fear Cat, wasn’t I? I mean, I knew that I was, that he really would kill his own child if necessary. But then, how am I still standing here? What was different about my betrayal as compared to my brother’s?
“Grainger almost died, but Beast and Crown are okay,” I tell him, and even though Sin doesn’t reply, I can feel him looking at me, waiting for an explanation. Speaking of, Crown should be here, shouldn’t he? He’s been missing for hours, more than enough time to load Gaz into a hole. Another disappearing act. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Grainger exactly, but it was … it was bad. Catastrophic, actually.”
Sin lifts my hand to his mouth, the tubes in his arm bumping together, and presses a gentle yet domineering kiss to my knuckles, like he owns every bone in my hand. And damn it if I don’t like it. Also, it annoys me.
“That declaration I made to you the other night,” he tells me, and I pause to look over at him. Our eyes meet, and we both know exactly what he’s talking about. “Never in my life have I been more grateful for anything.”
“The declaration where you said, “If you really want this though, just be aware: I will be all over your ass.”” I give a wry twist of my lips to try to make it snarky or funny, but the attempt falls flat and that’s okay. So long as we understand each other.
“If I’d died, or if you’d died, at least we would’ve both known the truth.” Sin exhales and leans his head back against the thin, shitty hospital pillow behind him. He closes his eyes, but then cracks one back open to look at me. Can he tell how hard my heart is beating? How very un-Gidget-like I feel in that moment? “But also, yes, I do own your ass.”
He narrows that one open eye of his as I raise my brows in quiet defiance of his statement. He knows damn well that nobody owns my ass but me.
“What? Beast might have your hand, and Crown might have your house. Grainger … well, I don’t know what Grainger has, but that ass—it’s mine.”
“Even if Cade fucked it first?” I query, and Sin flips me off with his left hand. Our brief moment of playfulness fades into yet more anxiety as the mention of Cade’s name reminds me that as of a few hours ago, he was literally dying. What a wedding day, eh? “Gaz is dead?” Sin queries, steering us back to business for a brief, emotional reprieve.
“Cat shot him in the back of the head,” I say, and then swallow hard past a rush of emotion. “But he knows, Sin.”
Sin opens his other eye and, with great effort, lifts his head back up to stare at me.
