Chapter Twenty-Six
Yun
My stomach cramped, and I groaned at how unfair life really was. Didn’t I have enough problems without this?
Heavy footsteps outside signaled the approach of at least two of the men, the rapid rhythm suggesting running. I expected a knock, but instead, the door handle cracked and the door opened.
Which revealed Ingram, looking nothing like he had a moment before.
At the doorway, he’d been sure and snarky.
Now? He looked downright panicked. He stared at the handle—still in his hand but no longer connected to the door—then pinned his hand to the small of his back like that would erase that I’d seen it.
This sure was a far cry from his normal attitude.
As though he’d just realized it as well, he exchanged his look of worry for one of general annoyance—one far more similar to what he normally wore. “You okay?” He stared hard at me, as if trying to figure something out.
“Yeah, fine.” I held my hands out to prove it.
“You sure?” He narrowed his eyes.
“What’s going on?” Kenyon’s voice from over Ingram’s shoulder had Ingram turning.
“I said she’s walking slow. Maybe you’re even more useless than I thought because you don’t seem to notice a damn thing, even when it’s right in front of you.”
“She doesn’t feel good.” Shear’s voice floated through the doorway even though I couldn’t see him, telling me he was probably just down the hallway past the other two.
“Just come in,” I said and stepped back, not wanting them to end up shoving each other there in the hallway.
They spilled into the room like clowns from a tiny car. The room was far from small, but closed in when filled with these men.
All three stared at me, suspicion etched in those looks.
I patted my face, then down my front as though I might have missed where I had an ax sticking out of me that I had missed. What the hell was their problem?
“You’re injured, right?” Ingram asked. “You take a fall or something? You’re supposed to tell us if you’re hurt.”
“I’m not hurt.”
“You smell like blood,” Ingram snapped, as though his last nerve had just broken apart.
His words caused me to go still, the accusation about the last thing I expected to hear from him—especially given the seriousness of his expression.
“She’s bleeding?” Kenyon asked, eyes blowing wide, turning his gaze back on me. “You’re bleeding? What happened? Is that why you needed to go to the store? You know I can take care of injuries.” The words rushed from him rapid fire.
They spoke over each other so fast that even if I’d wanted to answer, they didn’t give me a chance.
“She’s been here the whole time—she couldn’t have had anything serious happen.”
“We were at the store and there wasn’t anything wrong. She wasn’t out of my sight for more than a minute or two.”
“How could you not notice something like this? I mean, she’s bleeding.”
A whistle echoed through the room. I covered my ears to protect them from the sharp sound, but it served to silence the other three.
Carter walked in, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “You make it impossible for a man to masturbate in peace, you know that?”
Judging from how put together he was, I highly doubted he was speaking seriously when he said that.
Despite that suspicion, my brain sure enjoyed the idea of what he’d mentioned. I pictured him sitting somewhere, his head thrown back, his hand wrapped around his cock.
Not a bad sight. It intrigued me, made me wonder what it would feel like to watch him.
A snort echoed, and my gaze moved over to Shear, whose eerie eyes bore into me with a knowing look. Right, the asshole probably could tell what I was thinking even if he wasn’t dipping directly into my brain in that moment.
“She’s bleeding,” Ingram said like a child telling on their sibling, jamming a finger my direction.
“She needed to go to the store, and she was walking slow,” Kenyon added.
Carter stared at them, lines appearing between his brows. After a moment, he put his hands on his hips and let his head drop back, sighing loudly. “Seriously? That’s what caused this whole thing?”
“Bleeding is a big deal,” Ingram argued.
Carter shook his head, then pointed toward the hallway. “Out.”
The others argued—quietly—but moved that way. Carter paused at the door.
“Sorry about that,” he said, the muttering of the others a quiet murmur behind him. “You rest. I’ll take care of them.”
He didn’t ask anything else, closing the door behind him, their actions as confusing as anything else.
Just as I prepared to write that whole interaction off as them being as chaotic as usual—I heard Ingram’s voice from just down the hallway.
“A fucking period?”