Persecution (Swallows and Psychos Book 3) by K. L. Taylor-Lane

Author:K. L. Taylor-Lane [Taylor-Lane, K. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: K. L. Taylor-Lane
Published: 2022-10-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Maddox

Rustling reaches my ears before I’m fully conscious, the irritating noise spiking my anxiety so hard that my heart monitor starts to bleep. I wince, pain rocking through my skull, my stomach muscles clenching tight, forcing a bolt of pain right through to my toes. Groaning, I blink, readying to open my eyes, the bright lights of the sterile hospital room coming into focus.

Too bright.

Rolling my head to the side, expecting to find Huxley, the irritating sound continues, making me clench my jaw so hard I could grind my molars into dust. Finally adjusting to the light, my headache a thumping pain in the back of my skull, I stare into the gleeful emerald eyes of none other than Eli Swallow.

“Mornin’, princess,” he smirks, stuffing a handful of crisps into his open mouth.

He crunches them too loudly, mouth half open as he tries to shove in more. Lifting my lip in disgust, a snort escaping him at the pull on my face. Brushing crumbs off of his black t-shirt, he sits up, dropping his booted feet from the side of my bed to the floor. He slaps the laptop on his thighs closed, rests his elbows on his knees, fingers laced beneath his chin, he stares at me.

I frown, “what?”

“Did you really get into it with your wife on your first official day of marriage?” he raises a cool ashy brow at me, knowing we backdated the certificate to last December, mirth in his tone as I crack my neck side to side. “Dude, you’re such a loser,” he scoffs, kicking back into his chair.

I growl at him, staring up at him from beneath my dropped brow.

He chuckles, hand wriggling around in one of his many pant pockets until he finds a fruit chew, twisting both ends of the pink paper between his huge hands, he chucks it into his open mouth.

“You’re disgusting.”

“I know.”

I sigh, flopping back too hard in my bed, stomach muscles pulling around my new bullet hole. Groaning, I place my hand over the bandage, the thin hospital gown and bed sheets sitting between my palm and the wound, but it hurts like a motherfucker all the same. My free hand fumbles around with the pain button, needing a shot of something so I can stop grinding my goddamn teeth. Finding it, my thumb hammering against the button, relaxing as I know the hit of painkillers is almost instant. I lie back, close my eyes, try to ignore the fact that Eli is sitting with me instead of my fucking wife.

“They shot you up with the good stuff,” Eli announces.

Opening my eyes, I swing my gaze to his, his sharp jaw, straight nose, mischievous eyes glinting. I deflate, pinch the bridge of my nose as he grins, lifting his arm to show me where he’s got my morphine drip in.

“You’re a fucking prick.”

“I know,” he beams. “I was tired, but after six espressos and the sweet, sweet hits of this little beauty, my brain’s so fucking confused, it couldn’t sleep if I died.

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