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He nodded. "That's okay. The doctor said that you might not remember the incident."
"Incident?" I grunted through the dryness of my mouth.
He reached for the table beside my bed and brought me a cup with a straw in it, placing it gently at my lips. I took a quick sip, the cool liquid almost too much, and it backed up as I tried to swallow. Finally, the cold splash hit my gut, making it cramp, and I winced. He put the cup back on the table and sat next to me on my bed.
"Yeah, an incident. We were getting out of the limo in front of the penthouse, and then someone…"
His voice trailed.
I waited because I didn't know why he looked so sad.
"Someone shot you."
I could only blink at him slowly as my brain tried to compute the words. "Shot me?"
"Yeah. Outside of the building. You were shot in your left shoulder. You lost a lot of blood before we were able to clear the scene and get you in the ambulance."
I started to blink rapidly then, trying to compute what he was saying. The sudden wash of fear and terror was like icy water being poured directly into my veins with the ice chips still intact.
He kept smoothing his thumb over my knuckles. "You're okay, Ness. Considering how many bullets were fired, the only one that was really bad was the one in your shoulder. But other than that, nothing major was hit. We got really lucky."
"Someone shot me?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, baby. Someone shot you."
"But why?"
"That, love, is what we're going to try and figure out. But right now, you don't have to do anything except get better. I will make sure you get better."
I watched him. His gaze was so intense on mine. It was only then that I noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. The lines around his mouth. He was still handsome. Gorgeous. Imposing. But he looked like a shell of himself.
"How long have I been here?"
He licked his lips nervously. "A week."
I tried to sit up then, and he put his gentle hand on my shoulder. "No, don't move. You came out of the surgery, but then you weren't waking up. The doc said you might just need time to heal. Which, I think you did."
"But why would anyone shoot me?"
"Like I said, I'll figure it out. And when I do, I'm going to make them regret ever touching you. Every last one of them."
When my gaze lifted to his and I saw the grief and terror there, I knew he was serious. He wouldn't rest until he had personally made them pay.
2
Atticus
Tomorrow.
Gwen was coming home tomorrow. Finally.
Two weeks in the hospital, and she was finally coming home. I had tried to get the surgeon to hold her longer, but he said there was no reason to keep her once she’d woken up and her incisions appeared to be healing. The surgery had gone well. She would need to wear a sling for a while then do some physical therapy, but she would be fine.
As if fine was good enough for Gwen. If she wasn't fully thriving, I was going to fucking kill someone.
I left her at the hospital with Clarissa and Morgan for a quick visit while I met with the boys. When I marched into La Table Ronde, I saw my brother first at our usual table. When his gaze lifted to meet mine, I saw a mirror of my own face. He also looked haggard and tired. The circles under his green eyes were dark and heavy. He wasn’t sleeping either.
Good. None of us were going to sleep until we found out what the fuck had gone wrong. We'd been so sure, so certain, that we'd done everything right, only to face fucking gunfire right outside our door.
