Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Or even a Javi, who, like Cap, wasn’t all fired up about it, but he knew he could probably exert some pressure on Harlow and she’d totally cave, but he didn’t because being an Angel was an important part of who she was. And he wanted the woman she was, not the woman she sacrificed bits of herself to be for him.
But noooooooo.
It was me who got the one who gave me an ultimatum.
Give up the Angels and have me, or stay with the Angels and lose me.
I stuck with my bitches.
And lost Knox.
So, uh…yeah.
I shouldn’t be here.
I shouldn’t care.
What he did was messed up.
But here I was.
Because fuck me, I was in love with the guy.
It was on this thought that Cheyenne showed, returning from her visit with Knox (and it wasn’t a very long one), and the room went wired. Partly because she showed and everyone wanted news about Knox, but probably also because she had a look on her (very pretty, damn it) face that could curdle milk.
And it was aimed at me.
She stomped right up to me.
I braced.
Raye, on my right side, shifted like she was going to get up and shield me (or get in a catfight—with Raye, anything went). Cap, Mace and Brady started to move in. Jessie, on my other side, straight up took her feet, definitely to be my shield.
But Cheyenne just shot daggers at me with her eyes and spat, “He wants you.”
And with that, while my insides froze solid in stunned surprise at hearing these words, and Harlow whispered, “Oh my,” and Shanti muttered, “Well, all right,” Cheyenne marched away.
My head screamed, Don’t go see him!
My heart had other ideas.
Therefore (because I might be learning, but I hadn’t actually learned), I got up and started walking.
I stopped and turned to look at Mace. “Do we know what room he’s in?”
“Three west,” Mace said.
I turned and started to hoof it to wherever three west might be.
At the T of the hall, I began to go left, but Cap called, “Right!”
Okay, I should have paid attention to where Cheyenne headed. Then again, I didn’t think my feet would be taking me in this direction, and as a rule, I tried not to pay too much attention to Cheyenne.
I shifted right.
Three rooms in, to the right again, was three west.
I stopped at the door.
He wants you.
I felt my heart flutter, and I took a breath to prepare for what I might see.
He wants you.
I pushed open the door.
When I entered and saw Knox in the hospital bed, I was surprised.
I was ready to witness tall, built, handsome, vital Knox Chambers with a tube down his throat, more in his arms, his skin pale, his affect haggard.
He was none of these.
So he was a little pale.
But mostly, he just looked asleep.
Just asleep in a hospital bed with the covers folded carefully over his boxed abs, his magnificent and perfectly hairy chest bare, his shoulder bandaged, an IV in his arm, and one of those heart monitor thingies on his finger.
That was it.
He looked like he could get up, tug on some clothes and take a hike or go for a run.
Okay, so he’d have to cool it and not go gung-ho due to what was under those bandages.
But still.
Jesus.
I mean, what was with these Nightingale guys?
I walked to the side of his bed and whispered, “Hey.”
His eyelids rimmed by those beautiful fans of dark lashes didn’t even flutter.
Did he fall asleep in the few minutes between Cheyenne leaving and me arriving?
Well, he’d been shot (twice). That would take it out of a guy. Even a Nightingale guy.
“Knox?” I called quietly.
He didn’t move.
I didn’t like this.
Knox was a mover.
Even when we were at someone’s pool party, he was not the one who lounged on a float and sucked back a margarita. He was the one who suggested pool volleyball. Or he tried to round up a touch football game. When he sat, one of his legs bounced, like he had other things to do and many places to go, and he had to be ready to go those places and do those things.
He was a man who was made for the military, the first part of his career.
So he was also made to be a private investigator, what he was now.
He was a man in motion.
A man of action.
Though, I’d seen him motionless. Watching some game at a sports bar or during a Superbowl party. He got pretty intense when he watched sports.
Or asleep in bed, at my side, and in those times, I’d watched him for what felt like hours, mesmerized.
Un-hunh, yeah.
I didn’t like this.
I took his hand, leaned toward him and whispered, “Hey, baby. You awake?”
Again, nothing.
Shit!
I was starting to freak out.
At this point, a nurse came in.
I turned to her as she headed to the monitors on the other side of his bed.