Chapter 6

I woke in a private suite, the scent of industrial-grade disinfectant burning my nose.

Damian lounged on the leather visitor's couch, thumbs flying across his tablet.

The second my IV-tethered hand twitched, he was at my bedside like a Secret Service detail spotting a threat.

"Welcome back. How do you feel?"

I tried to rise—bad idea. His palm pressed my shoulder with infuriating gentleness. "Easy, tiger. They've got you on magnesium sulfate."

The door exploded inward. "Lucille!"

Fredrick's six-foot-four frame blocked the fluorescents. His gaze zeroed in on Damian's lingering touch around my wrist, and his expression darkened like a…