Confess (The Diamond Empire Book 5) by Kathy Coopmans

Author:Kathy Coopmans [Coopmans, Kathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kathy Coopmans
Published: 2023-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

“Motherfucker,” I rumble out as I wake for what must be the second or third time since Jolie and Aaron left. Jolie had explained while she ran her tests that the surges of drowsiness I’m experiencing would come and go. Now, they’re starting to piss me the fuck off.

Agitate and disturb the hell out of me.

Fraying my nerves.

Suppose I should be thankful that my brain is intact, but my body is this crumbled mess. Not helping in the least either that my head is on the verge of exploding. I’d be in less pain if Shiloh would grace me with her presence.

Swear I’d awakened if she had.

I’d always sensed her from a mile away.

Ginger and grapefruit.

Potent and powerful.

God, I want to see her so fucking bad.

Hold her.

Kiss her.

Love her.

Fisting my hands, blood rushes into my ears as I force myself to sit up, and the IV Jolie refused to take out pulls taut at my skin. I yank the damn thing out, toss it to the floor, and ignore the rivulet of blood dripping down my hand.

My vision blurs, and agonizing breaths rasp through my throat.

Ribs hurting like a bitch.

Unrelenting to keep me down.

“Just what in the fuck do you think you’re doing, son?” The pain I’m experiencing doesn’t hold a candle to the kind brimming from my father as he enters the room with a scowl on his face. A half empty pint of his signature Jim Beam dangles from his hand.

Seeing that nasty ass shit is enough to make me nauseous.

“Well first, I’m checking on Shiloh. Second, a drink. Third, I’m taking a shower, and fourth—”

“Fourth what? Get dressed, jump in your vehicle to pay Derrick a visit?” He cuts me off by storming into the room and shoving me back down on the pillow. “I don’t fuckin’ think so. He’s not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

The mounting pain shooting over my skin isn’t enough from stopping me from trying to get up again, but the tears developing in my father’s eyes is.

Shit.

“Stay right where you are. Let me get something to clean off this blood,” he snaps, walks out of the room. He returns a few minutes later to press a warm cloth at the small hole at my arm, and wipes the blood away.

That stern fatherly tone that used to scare the shit out of me and my siblings when we were kids echoes in my throbbing head as I wait for him to tell me off again. Even though there’s a seed of anger growing in my gut that Derrick has been rotting, and no one has worked him over, I know full well someone is performing that task right this very minute since I’m in the clear.

They better just save his last breath for me.

“You want a drink? I’ll get you one. You want a shower? I’ll help you up the stairs, stand outside the door while you take one. What I won’t do is lose another one of my kids because he thinks has to get back to work within hours of waking up out of a coma.

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