Chapter 6 #3
“Maggie? Please spell your last name and give your date of birth.”
“M-A-X-W-E-L-L and November 8, 1987.”
“Perfect.” She typed into her tablet, scanned my bracelet, and positioned the machine to start taking X-rays.
The process was relatively painless—a “good sign,” according to Graham—though I wasn’t convinced.
“It will be just a minute as we wait for the radiologist to go over the results. Can I get you anything, Maggie?” Bishop asked.
I shook my head.
“Graham?”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, man.”
“Alright, I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Bishop followed the X-ray tech and the machine out of the room, closing the door behind him.
I picked at the paper covering the exam table, scooting to the end of it; the crinkle was loud in the quiet. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead, the same sickly hum from every hospital I’d ever been in.
“Okay, so what is he normally like? He’s being overly friendly.”
Graham sighed and threw his head back, the light glaring off his perfect jawline. “Come on! Not everything about the guy is a red flag.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I fucking know him, Max. I’ve known him for six years—he’s a good guy.”
“How well is well? Acquaintance? Or buddy like Derek?”
“I can’t do this.” He stood abruptly, the chair legs screeching against the tile. His shadow stretched across my lap. He let out a sharp exhale, then was at the door. “Don’t freak,” he added, turning back. “I just need a breather from the woo-woo shit. I’m outside the door.”
The door clicked shut, and I was left alone with my thoughts and the silence he left behind.
Maybe I did pry a little too hard, but I couldn’t help it. Someone was after me again, and it freaked me the fuck out. Maybe Graham was right—maybe Bishop was just an empath.
Still, every sideways glance or too-friendly smile had me questioning everyone around me. I didn’t want to get involved with the case, but wanting and doing were never my strong suits.
I told myself to calm down. Breathe. Let Graham do his job.
Yeah, right.
I’d ever been good at sitting on the sidelines. No matter how hard I tried, it just wasn’t in my nature—especially when the target was me.
The hum of the lights pressed against my ears.
I pulled out my phone and texted Katie.
How’s it going?
Katie: Great. We just finished up. Derek and I took the limo and are headed to an after-party.
Nice. How did Hunter seem?
Pissed. He said something about needing to hit the trails. You better give him some great head when he gets home.
Great. When Hunter rode his bike on the trails, it didn’t calm him down—it wound him tighter—fueling his obsession for me. Maybe it was the adrenaline. All I knew was that when he fucked me after a ride, I ended up with bruises and bite marks that lasted weeks.
Katie: How’s your ankle?
Waiting on the results.
Shit. Graham’s coming over tonight—with Hunter. What if I can’t handle both of them?
You’re gonna be fine. Besides, Hunter’s never been with you and a man you love… I’d be surprised if he even let Graham have a chance.
That’s what I’m worried about.
I should text him.
Let me know how it goes.
I backed out to the main menu and tapped Hunter’s contact photo.
Hey baby, I can’t wait to be with you tonight.
The door opened, and Graham stepped in with Bishop behind him.
“Well, Maggie, I’ve got good news and bad news,” Bishop said, pulling up the X-ray results on his tablet.
I slipped my phone back into my clutch, trying to shove the thought of a pissed-off Hunter and an overprotective Graham in the same room from my mind.
“You didn’t break anything, so that’s the good news,” he continued. “But you’ve got a mild strain. It’s going to be sore for a few days—keep it elevated and ice for fifteen to twenty minutes at a time to keep swelling down.”
I glanced at my ankle. The dull throb always started up the second I thought about it.
“Okay, thank you,” I said, relief and embarrassment tangling in my voice.
“If you don’t have any questions, I can get you set up for discharge.”
“I don’t—” My words stalled as I met his eyes. They were still glowing. “I don’t have any questions.”
At least none that wouldn’t piss Graham off—or sound like I was accusing my nurse of supernatural crimes.
“Alright then.” Bishop stood, the stool wheels squeaking softly beneath him. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
Maybe I was overreacting.
Graham might have been right—maybe Bishop was just an empath or something. I could always ask the aunts; they’d know. And if my powers were still developing, maybe I hadn’t sensed other empaths—or whatever he was—around town yet. Maybe my body just wasn’t ready to notice them.
But… what if I wasn’t overreacting?
What if Bishop really did have something attached to him? What if that something was dangerous? What if it was behind those murders?
What if he was the Midwest Killer and the new guy was copying him?
My skin prickled at the thought.
Oh god.
Speculating wouldn’t help—it only made my pulse race faster. The air in the room suddenly felt thin, pressing at my chest like a warning.
I needed to get out of here.