Page 60 of Sinful Empire (Mount Trilogy 3)
“Anything. Name. Place. Hair color. I’ll hunt them down myself.”
“Shhh, David. Stop it.”
“Don’t tell me to stop it, Kath. Someone shot my little girl.”
I keep my eyes closed while my parents argue quietly. My lungs draw in and release one shallow breath at a time, and I focus on that because nothing else makes sense.
My memory is so fuzzy. Worse than the morning I woke up in Dublin.
Dublin.
“Dance with me, Lachlan. Dance with me in Dublin.”
“Where is he?” My croaking question rivals a bullfrog in the swamp.
“Who?” my dad demands. “The man who did this?”
I try to shake my head, but moving it makes me too dizzy. Is that a bandage wrapped around it?
I attempt to lift my arm to touch it, but it’s so heavy. No, it’s strapped down.
“What happened?” I ask again as I tilt my gaze downward to see a sling around my shoulder.
“That’s what we’re asking you.”
Bodies. Magnolia. Oh my God.
“Mags?”
“Did she have something to do with this?” My mom’s voice rises an octave. “Is she involved?”
I’m saved from having to answer any more questions when the door opens and several people enter.
“Ms. Kilgore, so happy to see you awake. How are you feeling?” a blond woman asks, and I tense.
Blond. My breathing picks up.
“Who are you?” My words come out on huffs of breath.
“She’s the doctor, honey. She’s been here all along. And here’s Millie. She’s been hanging around all night, waiting with us.”
I stare at the blond woman, my body’s fight-or-flight response poised for flight. Is that her? The fractured pieces of my memory are still cracked and broken, so I don’t know. My hands curl into claws, but I have no weapon. Nothing to keep me safe.
She’s the doctor. That’s what my mom said, but I can’t trust anyone. Not now. Where is Lachlan?
I look beyond the blonde, hoping to find his dark gaze on me, but all I see is a plump brunette who always has a ready smile on her face.
“Good to see you awake, Keira,” Millie says.
“Can you tell us how you’re feeling?” the doctor asks me again.
“Tired. Sore.” I keep my answers short. Not only do I not trust her, but my brain feels broken.
“I imagine. You sustained a gunshot wound in addition to head trauma. Can you remember what happened?”
I shake my head, but it’s a bad idea. Dizziness assails me, and I’m reminded of the last time I woke up in a hospital-like setting.
“I don’t remember anything,” I tell her. I don’t even have to try to make it sound convincing. My voice is wrecked.
