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“I’ll take a look, and if you need more attention, Dromida will take care of you right here. You don’t have to go to the hospital.”
She glances up. “You should take a look in the mirror.”
“Bitches,” I grumble when I see my eye’s already swollen. “With my skin tone, this is going to look awful by tomorrow.”
“More concerned with the scratches on your neck.”
“Yeah, one of them was trying to choke me.”
“All over a Hart brother’s dick.” She rolls her eyes. “Classic.”
I force a laugh. “How so?”
I hand her a wet paper towel.
“You’ve seen my brothers; women have always loved them. Neither dated in high school; they were focused on sports. That didn’t mean they didn’t play around. Girls still thought they belonged to them. Roman’s only girlfriend was the it girl, our police chief’s daughter.” She dabs at her nose as I clean the deepest scratch on my neck. “They went to Ohio State together. She loved being arm candy to the hot stud who’d no doubt give her the lifestyle social media trains us to believe we should have. When he wasn’t drafted into the NFL, she dumped him. A week later, she started dating the one player who was drafted—Rome’s supposed best friend on the team.” She smirks. “He dumped her before he even went to training camp.”
“Karma,” I say as I lightly slide my fingers down her nose, feeling for a break.
“Karma can’t do that. That was a God smack.” She smiles. “Then she begged him to take her back. Ouch.”
“I don’t think it’s broken. There could be fractures, but the only way to tell is an X-ray.”
“What would they do for a fracture?” she asks.
“Depends on the degree. I’d like Dromida to look at it. Especially if it keeps bleeding.”
“It’s stopped.”
“Not completely. I think it should be packed for a bit.”
“This is so stupid.”
Someone taps on the door. A man—Cyrus? Justice?—says, “Ladies, let’s get those boo-boos cleaned up proper and put Band-Aids on them, yeah? Your families are going to be sending out the troops if we don’t get you back to them.”
“You ready?” I ask, grabbing the door handle.
“Yeah.”
When we walk out, Dromida has a first-aid kit.
“I don’t think her nose is broken, but it might need to be packed,” I offer.
Jillian rocks back on her Chucks. “Like I said, I’m not worried about it. But your neck, it needs attention.”
“Lift your chin,” Dromida says.
In doing so, my hair is no longer in my face.
They all cringe when they see my eye, and then a collective, “Ooo,” echoes through the hall.
“Yeah, no shit, and they walked? She has bruises on her neck and scratches. That’s jailtime,” Francesca snaps.
Cyrus pulls her under his arm. “You think this place doesn’t have their names and addresses? You think we can’t have the cops on them in under an hour?”
Dromida looks over Jillian and does end up packing one of her nostrils. Then she moves on to cleaning my claw marks as Francesca continues on.
“I think your guards need some serious training. The fact that we were put into a locked room and denied our rights is a fucking problem, Uncle Cyrus.”
