Cruel Hearts (King’s Crossing #2)

Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Stella

M el pats my cheeks muttering, “I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen.”

The overhead light is too bright, and I squeeze my eyes closed. I don’t want to wake up. I want the darkness to pull me under again because holy Jesus Christ, do I hurt.

“Stella? Are you with me? Come on, sweetheart.”

I can barely lift my arms, but I try to bat her away. “Leave me alone.”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t. We need you up and moving.”

Sitting up is the very last thing I want to do, but then I think of Zane. I need to know if he meant what he said at the restaurant. The echo of his words bounces around my head, and they hurt more than the bullet.

“Paulo shot me,” I mumble, weakly trying to push Mel’s hands away from my face.

“No, he didn’t. I was right all along. I knew Ash would use the opportunity to shut your mouth for good. Zane’s freaking out. Paulo’s on the street looking for anything he can find. A shell casing, a coffee cup. Anything.”

“Can you turn the light off?” My lips are stiff and my mouth’s dry. It’s too much information. I can’t think past the ache in my ribs that radiates through my torso down to my very fingertips.

The overhead light blinks out, but a glow from the hallway still wavers in from underneath the door. Mel stands near me, her dark hair frizzing in the humidity, a curly riot around her head. The junkie nurse hovers, wringing her hands.

I’m lying on an exam table, the hard cushion like cement, the paper tissue crinkling as I shift.

“Let me help you sit up,” Mel says.

She shoves her hand between the cushion and my back, forcing me upright. My head throbs and my stomach churns.

The scarf is twisted and wrapped around my neck, and Mel unties it and tugs the gauzy material away from my throat. It helps me feel not so claustrophobic. I drag in a deep breath and fire burns through my ribs.

“Did you see anything?” Mel asks, unzipping my dress and moving the neckline down my arm.

The body armor that saved my life is crusted to my skin, the empty blood pouch crumpled between the tank top and my body.

The nurse wets a fistful of paper napkins and hands them to Mel. Gently, she wipes me off and peels the tape and plastic from my itchy skin.

“No. Only Paulo. I was too—” I choke on my tears. I’m such a crybaby, but Mel understands.

“Your fight is on Truth or Dare , just like we hoped. Zane’s a good actor, Stella, and that’s all he was doing. Paulo called and said Zane accused him of killing you. He’s out of his mind. Crazy. Insane. We need to get you back to the hotel so he can see you’re okay.”

“He wasn’t acting.”

The nurse hands Mel another wad of wet napkins, and the cool water as Mel cleans off the syrupy liquid feels good against my clammy skin.

“Yeah, he was, sweetheart. You both did real good, though Ash gave you a little help. Max and Richard are scanning the video clips that are popping up online. So far, there’s nothing that will give us a clue as to who the shooter is. He blended into the crowd on the sidewalk, or he was watching from a window somewhere. If he left behind any litter, a cigarette butt, a gum wrapper, Paulo will find it. He got away clean, and the news reports say there are no leads.”

She carefully slides the other side of the dress off my shoulder and down my arm. She tugs the tank top over my head and I feel lighter. The ache decreases a bit.

Mel studies the body armor under a fluorescent light attached to the wall above a tiny desk. The bullet pierced the material, but the bullet itself is gone. I don’t care where it is as long as it isn’t inside my body. I’m starting to hate guns. She drops the tank into a duffle bag at her feet.

I sit in my bra, the neckline of my dress bunched around my waist, and Mel finishes cleaning me off. “You’re going to have a doozy of a bruise, but you’ve already been there, done that,” she says, gently pushing my hands through the armholes and zipping the zipper.

I don’t have the energy to respond and mumble, “Hmm, mmm.”

She digs into the bag and loosely ties a differently colored scarf around my neck. Leaning over, she takes out a red wig and shakes out the strands, smoothing the tangles. She twists my hair into a bun and pins it to my head, fluffing the pieces near my face. “You might not need these, but it’s better to be safe than sorry,” she says, and slides a pair of tortoiseshell glasses onto my face. They feel too big, but I can see clearly out of the lenses. The last thing she does to complete my transformation is swap out my heels for a pair of black flats.

The nurse, who’s been quiet all this time, digs a pill out of the pocket of her scrubs and drops it into my palm. She fills a small paper cup with water and I smile my thanks. I don’t care what it is as long as it will make my pain go away.

All of it.

I don’t believe Mel. She didn’t see the look in Zane’s eyes.

His steady hand poised to hit me.

He told me not to believe him, but how can I not? Maybe we’ve hurt each other too much to move past it. We haven’t had enough time. Time to talk, time to just be. To discover the people we’ve been forced to turn into during these past five years and how we’re going to relate to each other.

The water’s cool sliding down my throat. I wish I had time to let the pill work, but we need to leave. Mel fidgets near the exam table, and her agitation rubs my nerves raw.

She parked a plain sedan painted a simple silver in the alley behind the hospital, but the task of walking out the door and to the vehicle seems an insurmountable feat. I can barely find the energy to sit on the exam table. All I want to do is crawl into a ball, go to sleep, and pretend like hell this isn’t happening.

“Can you find Stella a wheelchair?” Mel asks the nurse. She’ll do anything to get rid of us, the faster the better, and she returns in seconds, looking nervously over her shoulder, pushing the chair into the dark room. Mel wraps her arm around my waist and helps me step onto the floor, and I sink gratefully into the seat, my legs too shaky to stand. She settles the duffle bag in my lap, and I rest my arms on the canvas tote. The nurse scurries in the opposite direction without saying good luck or goodbye. She’s definitely done with us.

Mel pushes me out a door not meant for patients. I’m too sore to move by myself, and she awkwardly lifts me into the backseat of the car. She wheels the chair inside the hospital and into the hallway where it belongs. Keeping her head down, she climbs behind the wheel and shifts into Drive.

A food delivery semi truck is backed into one of the bays, and Mel steers around it.

The pill started working, and I’m woozy, like I’m floating. I still hurt, but my body is above it somehow. At this point, I’ll be happy with anything I can get. The wig feels funny on my head, and the glasses keep slipping down my nose. I push them up using too much force, and without the lenses, I would have poked myself in the eye.

Mel loops around the streets and avenues, similarly to how I’ve been traveling King’s Crossing since escaping Black Enterprises, and the city lights dance on the car’s ceiling. I follow the glowing streaks as they slip and slide, and my stomach lurches and saliva pools in my mouth. I close my eyes and swallow, hoping the queasy feeling will go away, but it doesn’t. I really don’t want to throw up, and I crack the window hoping to feel cool, fresh air, but the day’s heat hasn’t abated despite the late hour. I slide the window back up, and Mel turns the air conditioner higher. She parks in front a café that’s closed for the night, the tables and chairs chained to the wrought iron fencing separating the café’s property from the public sidewalk. It’s near a bus stop, and the bus is a few blocks away, lumbering toward us, headlights illuminating the street.

In the rearview mirror, she studies me slumped in the backseat, my cheek pressed against the glass. I don’t want to get out of the car. I’m too tired to go back to the Crowne without help, and I’m scared to be alone.

We stay parked along the curb, and Mel doesn’t move to get out. The bus passes us, grumbles to a stop at the corner, and chugs on when no one gets on or off.

Tears of gratitude gather in my eyes. She understands.

“We’ll sit for a little bit, okay?” A cell phone beeps and she connects to a number. “Yeah. She’s not well enough to be on her own—I think the pain pill made her sick. I’ll drive around the city for a couple of hours and then head that way.”

Zane’s voice floats to me, tinny and loud. I can’t understand what he’s saying, but I tense. The anger is unmistakable. Aimed at me.

“Ask him if he loves me,” I mumble. The pill has taken full effect. I don’t know what that druggie nurse gave me, but I wouldn’t turn down more. I hope she gave Mel a few.

Mel doesn’t have to repeat what I said. Zane heard my question and his voice explodes over the line. Goosebumps pebble across my skin. Maybe we’ll always be caught in a love/hate relationship. Love to hate me. Hate to love him.

My thoughts swirl, and I lose track of how many minutes go by before I realize she’s not talking to him anymore. Maybe I fell asleep.

“We’ll get going now. Paulo hasn’t found anything downtown, and Max and Richard still haven’t picked up any clues watching the videos online. If we can’t find evidence of who did this, neither will the cops. They’re too busy dealing with that gang war to chase dead ends.”

If the police drop the case, that’s good for me. If no one cares, I can stay dead a lot easier.

Mel drives the long way around King’s Crossing, zigzagging back and forth across the river, and the city’s lights blur together in one long streak of light.

The sun is rising by the time she pulls into the Crowne’s back lot, and she parks in the staff parking area near a courtesy van. Carefully, she lifts me out of the backseat and sets me onto my feet. The air is hot and heavy in the early morning and it smells humid, earthy, and maybe a little dirty.

She wraps her arm around my ribs, and gingerly, she walks me toward the hotel. The staff entrance is unlocked, and we stagger through the rear of the building.

I lean heavily against the elevator wall, and the doors open to an empty hallway.

We shuffle to Max’s suite, and everyone turns our way when we step inside the sitting room.

Zane’s slouched at the conference table and he stands, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

I meet his eyes, and none of the hate is there from last night. He looks like hell, tear tracks on his cheeks glimmering in the weak light shining in through the window. He’s still wearing his suit, the loose ends of his tie hanging around his neck.

Mel lets me stand on my own, and I step toward him.

That’s all he needs to rush across the room and crush me against his chest.

His arms feel strong and safe.

“We’re going to my suite,” he says, picking me up and cradling me like an infant. “We’ll figure out what’s next after we rest. I need time with her.”

“Zane—” Mel says, her voice quiet.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“It’s what you pay me for. Zane, she thinks you meant it.”

He draws in a breath, and his chest expands under my cheek. “We’ll work it out.”

Hurrying, but trying not to jostle me, he carries me to his room, and this time, when he closes the door, he lets it lock behind us.

Despite the pain and exhaustion, I’m able to push this thought through my brain: we did it. Ash will think I’m dead. The planning we did paid off. We’re all in place.

Now the real work will start.

I just need a few years of sleep first.