Page 28 of Life Or Death

“Light,” I murmur. “Please.”

She reaches for the lamp beside my bed and switches it on. My breathing slows slightly, but my heart still hammers against my ribs.

The nurse checks my vitals as I try to calm down.

“Your heart rate is elevated,” she notes. “Did you have a bad dream?”

I nod, unable to speak.

“Would you like something to help you sleep?” she asks, already reaching for the medication dispenser.

I shake my head. I don’t want to sleep. Not with the memory of the flames still so vivid in my mind.

“Okay,” she says. “How about some water?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

She pours me a cup and holds the straw to my lips. I take small sips, the cool liquid soothing my raw throat. When I’m done, she lowers the cup back to the table.

“Do you want me to call your husband?”

The question hangs in the air between us, and for a moment, I actually consider it. The thought of having someone here to chase away my demons makes my chest ache with longing.

But I can’t call Lucifer.

“No,” I say, my voice barely audible. “Can you just . . . can you hold my hand until I fall asleep?”

The nurse’s expression softens, and she pulls the chair closer to my bedside. Without hesitation, she takes my hand in hers, her fingers warm and steady against my trembling ones.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she says.

I close my eyes, but the darkness behind my eyelids is too similar to the darkness in my nightmares, so I start counting aloud instead.

“One . . . two . . . three . . .”

The numbers become a mantra, a rhythm to focus on instead of the memory of flames.

“Four . . . five . . . six. . .”

The nightmare begins to fade, replaced by the steady sound of my own voice.

“Seven . . . eight . . . nine . . .”

My breathing slows, and the panic that had gripped my chest loosens its hold.

“Ten . . . eleven . . . twelve . . .”

The nurse’s thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand, a gentle, grounding touch that reminds me I’m safe.

CHAPTER NINE

LUCIFER

The clubhouse is alive for the first time in a long time. The stench of weed and cigarettes fills the air as my gaze sweeps around the common room, taking in all the chaos. Bottles of Jack and Budweiser litter almost every surface, and the music blasts from the speakers mounted on the wall. A UFC fight plays on the flatscreen, but no one is even paying attention to it. Tormentor is too busy charming a redhead, and Nightmare is taking a few of the prospects to school, killing them in what appears to be a high-stakes game of pool. Mammon is cozying up to a few of the saddle bunnies, and Homeboy is in the corner getting his dick sucked by a woman twice his age.

There’s no sign of Shadow, but that’s no surprise. The man is rarely here anymore, and when he is, he locks himself in his room with Della. I swear I don’t know how that fucking girl walks straight. He’s always got her on her back. I can’t say I blame him. If I had an ol’ lady, I’d fuck her morning, noon, and night too.

Then there’s Dread, sitting at the end of the bar, shooting the shit with the prospect currently on bartending duty. The fucker has a keen sense for detecting me, and once he does, he turns to face me, propping one boot on the rung of his stool as he assesses me.