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"Not at this early stage, no." Connie tucked the covers in around Archie. "The faster she snaps out of it, the happier I'll be. If she can do it naturally, I'd prefer that. Shooting her up with that sort of drug doesn't sit well with me, not without knowing her prior medical history."
"Att should have given us an update by morning. We'll have more information to work on."
"Hopefully, some good news. We should both get sleep—tomorrow is going to suck. I'll crash in here with Archie for what's left of the night."
Anarchy stared up at the ceiling as her friends drifted away toward the door. She missed their company already; their voices reduced the mantra to barely a whisper. But it grew louder, digging its claws in as the door snicked shut and quiet fell over the room. Darkness and silence, her two biggest enemies.
What the fuck. Oh fuck. Scream.
What the fuck. Oh fuck. Scream.
The bed beside her dipped and some part of her recognized Connie's scent as the Domme slipped under the covers. A warm hand found hers, gripped it fervently. Archie would have given anything in the world to tighten her fingers in response.
"Don't listen to Braun, sweetheart. We can't take anything he said to heart, okay? He's tired and hurting, and this has just slammed the lid on him. He'll bounce back once he catches up on his sleep." Connie's voice didn't rise above a murmur—Anarchy fought the fog to hear it. "But you...Anarchy, if you can hear me—and I believe you can—you need to listen to me. I need you to forgive yourself for whatever transpired out there tonight."
It wasn't a case of forgiveness. Overall, she'd done what she had to under difficult circumstances to save the man she loved. It was just that simple; she'd come to terms with that. But it was when she stripped everything away from that situation—the fight, the threats, the knife, Jasper—that she was left with the dilemma wrenching her into two halves.
Stripped, she was faced with the facts.
She had killed a man. Stopped his heart.
Put her foot on the gas with the intention of hitting him with a vehicle she'd known would do serious damage.
Bump-bump.
"We can talk about it, Archie, but you have to get out of this funk. I know it's hard. I know what's waiting here for you is fucking scary, but you're not alone with it. Everyone is standing behind you, ready to take the next step forward. Jasper's waiting." Connie's voice was low, trailing off. "We've got your back, sweetheart."
Words no longer whispered in the dark; there was only the sound of soft breathing.
The Domme was asleep, but Anarchy couldn't bring herself to let go of consciousness when she was embraced by the fog. She knew he was waiting in the murky depths, lying in wait to pounce and drag her screaming into hell. Though she hadn't seen his body in the road, she'd seen Michael's, and it was too easy for her imagination to merge the two together into a bloody, broken mess.
Horribly alone, a tear slipped from her eyes as she blinked.
*
Jessica and Ariel were angels.
Of course, they were. They were under Atticus's employ, and the big lummox had a knack for picking the best people for the job. The two women were efficient, immobilizing his tingling body quickly and getting him situated onto a backboard instead of the hard, cold road.
They literally strapped him down, and although he could move both arms and one of his legs now, Jasper discovered he had a serious aversion to being restrained outside of his control. A submissive, he would never be. As he listened to them talking in medical jargon, he was kind of relieved he understood what they were saying—as a trained EMT, the big words being thrown around were more comforting than unnerving.
"I don't need an IV," he protested as the little redhead—Ariel—slipped the canula into the vein in the crook of his elbow. "I'm not in pain, and my movement is limited. Don't stick me full of needles for no goddamn reason."
"IVs aren't just for pain meds, Jasper. Now shush, and stop being grumpy. Atticus told me you used to be one of us, so you know how this works." With capable hands, she taped the canula into place. "We're going to get you into the rig. Any more sensation?"
Rolling his eyes, he waggled his fingers at her. They were stiff, but responsive to his commands. "Give me a few hours and I'll be tapdancing down the street."
Her laugh was amused. She was good at her job—he couldn't detect a hint of worry in her voice. Some medics had a somber tone, their faces grim. That kind of body language was easily picked up on by a patient, especially one who thought they were going to die. "Yeah, nice try. Maybe by next week, if you're a good boy and do as the doctors tell you. There's a lot of tests to get through before you get a diagnosis."
"You just like killing my buzz, don't you?"
"I want you to be prepared for bad news, Jasper. The spine isn't something to be casual about."
He glared at her, to no avail. "Spinal shock, caused by a hard knock to the spine. They'll give me some anti-inflammatory meds, maybe a mild sedative, and monitor my progress. The rate of recovery based on the last hour should be approximately two days for full restoration of feeling and movement."
Hazel eyes narrowed at him from beneath slim red eyebrows, one of which arched. "Whatever you say, Doctor Jasper. I'll be sure to update the ER doc that you've diagnosed yourself while in the field." She attached a syringe to the canula.
"Hey! What the hell is that?" he demanded. In his mind, his hand shot out to stop her from pressing the plunger, but in reality, he could only strain futilely against the strapping pinning him to the board. "Atticus, your goddamn EMT is trying to drug me!"
