Where is she? Why did she leave? Is she safe?
I guess I know she left because of who I really am, but in the middle of the night, as I lay awake with my shoulder throbbing, or got prodded awake by the fucking overzealous nurses, all I could think about is someone taking her from here while I was out. We’re in El Paso, the cartel’s front yard. What if she needs me?
I will never know.
I have a feeling deep down in my gut that Merri isn’t coming back—and by now, I’ve had enough of these to trust it.
I’m looking at the blue sky when West steps into my line of sight, and I realize—a few seconds behind—that he just got out the side door of a limousine.
He nods at me, and tips his baseball cap. “How ya doing, kid?”
“Better than you, old shit.”
This is our version of getting along.
West walks around to the rear of the limo, and I realize as Suri pushes me back that way that he’s opening the trunk. What the fuck? “There’s a bed in here,” Suri says cheerily. “Lizzy got it for you.”
Oh my fucking God. “It’s a sex bed.” I’ve seen a limo like this before, back in high school. They have little beds in the very back, and the only people who use them are teenagers on prom night.
West, still holding the door, gives me a scowl. “Don’t let Lizzy hear you say that. It took her hours to find this, and she even went to a limousine store and bought you sheets.”
I shut my eyes and take a few deep breaths. “I’ll tell her thanks,” I grit.
Suri makes a sighing sound, like she’s sad that I don’t like the limo. “You want some help in?”
I shake my head, but of course, that’s bullshit. She and West know it is, so each one slides a hand under my arms, and I ease my ass out of the wheelchair like a fucking cripple. Up until today, the pain has been manageable, but I ripped off that pain patch they gave me in the bathroom just before we left, and it must have been strong, because I can already feel its absence in my screaming shoulder.
I’m dumped onto my left arm, and about that time Lizzy shows up, climbing into the limo and taking my head in her lap as they ease me onto a bunch of fluffy pillows. She gets me in a position she probably thinks will be comfortable, then comes around in front of me, where I can see her. Crouching on the bed with me, she lifts an eyebrow. “You hate this thing, don’t you?”
I grit my teeth and shake my head, widening my eyes so maybe I look sincere.
“Don’t lie to me. I knew you would hate it, but I did it anyway because I want you to be comfortable. When we get on the plane, you’ll lie on the bed, and when we get to Love Inc., I’m going to make sure you get Marchant’s suite.”
Her take-charge tone makes my mouth twitch just a little. “Thank you…Mom.” I shut my eyes, because I’m starting to see spots, and whisper the rest of what I have to say: “I’m not taking Marchant’s room.”
“Then you’ll have Hunter’s old room.”
“Whatever you say…Mom.”
I’m so damn tired, I just wish they would all leave—and they do, for a second, going around to the front and taking seats. But Lizzy and Suri sit on the row right in front of the bed, and the whole time we’re driving to the airport, they keep turning around, to inspect me..
I’m shivering a little because the driver’s not a careful guy—that or the road is shit. My shoulder is in agony.
I bite my lip—discreetly, I think, but I obviously fail, because Suri and Lizzy start to fuss like a couple of hens. I can’t even turn over and face the wall and get some fucking privacy. With both arms fucked up, I can hardly move.
I shut my eyes as the whole damn car discusses my pain management. Whether I’ve pulled off my patch. Where I will sleep at the brothel. They come up with solutions for every problem they dream up, except the one that hurts the most.
Merri. Where is she?
I’ll have to get used to not knowing.
31
Merri
I PULL THE plug at the bottom of the claw-footed tub, but I don’t get out yet. I’ve got my hair piled on my head, and I’m up to my neck in the world’s most fragrant lavender bubble bath. I lean against the tub’s soft headrest and shut my eyes, figuring if I can mime a peaceful person, maybe I can be one, too.
Since I got here four days ago, I’ve had nothing to complain about. In fact, I’ve thanked God more than once for taking care of me. When I was getting off the elevator on the first floor of the hospital, trying not to have a messy breakdown before I made it outside, I saw the familiar-looking guy from upstairs, and I realized it was Marchant Radcliffe. Duh. I think when I looked straight at him, he looked at me, too—and in a matter of milliseconds, he had me ensconced in a little alcove full of leather chairs and magazines.