Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“Don’t count on it.” I get to my feet.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Shut up, you’re annoying me.”
His head flies up, his eyes, or what I can see of them, enraged. “Rose,” he growls. “I’m warning you.”
“What are you gonna do?” I ask, sauntering around the bed to his side and getting my face up in his? “Chase me?”
Brad titters next to him, as does Beau at the end of the bed.
“Fuck!” James curses, pulling all attention his way again. He’s taking tentative steps toward us, and each time he places a foot down, he curses.
“Fuck”
Step.
“Fucker.”
Step.
“Fuck me.”
Step.
“Fucking hell.”
Step.
“Fuck it!”
Step.
Until he’s at the end of the bed and gingerly crawling on, flopping to his front at Danny’s and Brad’s feet on a grunt and one more fuck for good measure.
I look at Beau, just as she looks at me, and quickly look away. But, in all seriousness . . . “Should I get Doc?” I ask.
“No, just rub me,” Danny sighs, settling.
“Beau,” James groans. “Please.”
“You two are pathetic,” Brad mutters.
“Aren’t you aching?” James asks, looking up at him at the top of the bed.
“Well, I don’t fucking know, do I?” Brad snaps, lifting his head from the pillow and directing a lethal glare down the bed to James. “I could be, but I can’t tell through the pain of being fucking shot.”
“Pussy,” James mutters. “You’ll be fine in a few days.”
My eyes fall to the scars dominating every inch of his back. I grimace at the ugly sight and immediately feel terrible for it.
I look at Danny. The cuts on his arms. The scar that stretches from his lip to his eye. The bullet wound I can’t see on his collarbone and the healing slashes on his chest. Then I turn my eyes to Beau. Her scarred arm that’s uncovered, but only because she’s jumped out of bed and mindlessly dashed here. And to her stomach.
And finally to my own arms. The evidence of my darker days. In this room there are nightmares galore. We’re all fucked up. Disfigured. And somehow, that’s a comfort.
I take the oil and climb onto Danny’s back, resting down gently and dripping the lavender oil onto his skin before handing it to Beau as she straddles James’s thighs.
“What’s going on?” Brad asks, looking between us. “Did someone arrange an orgy and not tell me?”
I chuckle as I start to rub. “Oh God,” Danny mumbles, his shoulder blades pulling in as I work into the muscles. “Oh yes. Oh yeah. Oh fuck. Ohhhh . . .”
“Oh, yes,” James groans. “Fuck, yeah. Yes, Beau. Harder, Beau.” He grunts, and Beau chuckles. “Yes, just like that, baby.”
“Well, this is fucking weird,” Brad muses, resting back, getting comfortable. “You two swapping?”
“Brad,” Danny and James growl in unison.
He pouts. “No rubs for me?”
Danny’s hand suddenly and quite quickly lifts and prods him close to his dressing.
“Fuck!”
“Shut the fuck up or get the fuck out.”
“I can’t fucking move,” he mutters. “It took everything in me to make it here.”
“Then shut the fu—ohhhh God.” Danny’s head lifts, his neck stretching, and I smile as he lets out an almighty groan, rolling his shoulders. “You’re a goddess.”
“Yeah,” James whispers. “A total goddess.”
“And what do we have here, then?” Zinnea appears in the doorway, her false lashes so dramatic they practically reach the hairline of her wig.
“Want to help?” I ask, hearing Beau sniggering next to me. “Brad needs a foot rub.”
“Oh, I’m here for it,” she sings, wafting her tiger print kimono as she walks as if on a runway to Brad’s side of the bed. Poor Brad. He looks in a frozen state of shock.
“I . . . I . . . I . . .” He looks at me, then Beau, while James and Danny chuckle and hiss at the same time, their amusement and pain combining. “Oh fuck it,” Brad says, offering Zinnea his feet. “Help yourself.”
Zinnea’s long, rainbow-striped talons move in, and the moment she touches one of Brad’s feet, he giggles. She withdraws. “Sorry.” Brad looks down at her. “I’m ticklish. You need to be firm.”
“Just lie back and think of England,” she purrs, getting to work, checking Beau and me and blowing us both a kiss. She just makes the place . . . lighter. Brighter. Not so serious, and we all need that from time to time, especially in this world.
My hands begin to ache, my fingers sore, but I don’t stop rubbing his muscles back to life, because, frighteningly, if Danny and James are out of action like Brad, we’re all in fucking trouble.
After the chaos and drama of yesterday, it was nice to have a day at home with Danny, just . . . being. Vegging. Kicking around the house, eating, massaging. He’s showered, taken Advil, and is in a lot better shape than he was when he woke up. After dinner, I spend some time with Daniel while he yells at the TV screen, feed the dogs, check in on Pearl and Anya, who both have some color back in their cheeks, and then go find Danny. He’s in his office, alone, quiet, nursing a glass of Scotch.