7. Chapter 7
TIERNEY
There’s a sound. Ticking, clicking… tapping maybe. Whatever it was, it was annoying. The incessant, repetitive sound was like a fly buzzing in my ear. I would get up and silence the inconsiderate prick making the noise, but my arms felt heavy—like they weighed a thousand pounds—impossible to lift.
My heart raced as I realized my eyes wouldn’t open. I screamed out in frustration, but a pitiful whimper was the only sound that reached my ears.
Pain lashed through me like strikes from a barbed whip, stealing what remained of my breath and dragging me under again.
My mind was drifting, lost beneath an endless ocean, my memories eddying away faster than I could hold on to them.
“Where am I?” my mind whispered into the void, the darkness swallowing me whole before I could demand an answer.
The tapping was back. Yes, this time I was certain it was tapping.
My eyelids felt heavy, but this time, I pushed through, forcing them open. I froze, my breath catching in my throat at the sight of Ahren Rossdale sitting barely three feet from me.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, leaving his forearms bare, his muscles flexing as he flipped a pen back and forth, each end tapping the table as it made contact.
The room smelled faintly of gun oil and something woodsy and I imagined him cleaning his gun as he passed the time waiting for me to wake.
His eyes, the color of honey laced with whiskey, were fixed on a point in the distance, lost in his own world.
For a moment, I considered the rare opportunity to observe my rival unnoticed, quickly realizing my folly—my momentary lapse in judgment as his eyes slowly swung to mine, the pen dropping to the table as he repositioned himself to face me.
My heart hammered in my chest, icy panic rushing through my veins as I remembered I couldn’t move. Hell, even my eye movements felt sluggish. Just making them stare at him seemed to take every drop of effort in my body—not that I could look away either.
“Why can’t I move?” I croaked, my voice cracking on each word, despite my strong desire to come across from a position of strength .
“Lay still.” He commanded, his voice gentler than I expected. “Connor said you’re a fighter. Can’t say I don’t fucking agree, seeing the state I found you in.”
I swallowed hard, wishing I wasn’t in such a weak position. Not with him. Anyone but him. My parched throat screamed for water, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking.
He leaned back, propping his feet up on the bed, folding his arms across his chest as he studied me before he continued speaking.
“Last time you woke up, you nearly killed yourself and my doctor in the process.” He drawled, his posh, vaguely European accent grating on my nerves. “Connor and I decided it was best to keep you immobilized until you and I could have this little chat.”
“Understand?” he prodded.
“Y-yes.” I stuttered out, frustrated I couldn’t even properly nod.
That seemed to satisfy him. He gave me a curt nod and continued. “Connor gave you a mixture of a strong muscle relaxer and a mild paralytic. It should wear off in a couple of hours, as long as you agree to play nice.”
Me? Play nice? Ok. So, I guess his concern was a tiny bit valid. I didn’t have the greatest track record for playing well with others. Still, it felt a little rich—him telling the paralyzed woman to play nice.
I nodded. More like my head flopped forward, and it took every drop of strength in my bones to lift it again.
“When the meds wear off, we need to have a serious conversation about what happened in Balder’s Grove.”
My eyes flitted wildly around the room, coming to rest on the table next to the bed where daggers that looked suspiciously like mine were laid out in a neat row. What exactly did he know about what happened in the grove ?
My fingers ached to touch the hilt, to feel them wrapped around the cold steel. Anything to make me feel like I was in control of something. Instead, I forced my eyes back to his, hoping the muscle relaxers wouldn’t interfere with the calm, un-fuck-with-able air I usually wore.
“Fine.” I breathed, silently wondering how I could get out of that conversation.
Someone set me up and called in a hit on me; that much was obvious.
While I was certain it wasn’t Ahren, that certainty was only because he would have done it himself.
There’s no way he would have trusted a job to someone else.
Still, trust wasn’t something that came easily to me and the idea of sharing information with a rival seemed ill advised at best. Not until I could understand why Rossdale had called this truce, or more importantly, how long it might last.
“You were injured. Connor said you nearly died three times that first night. Do you remember?” His voice was probing, but gentle, almost—kind.
I nodded slowly, hating every second of admitting weakness in front of him.
He sighed heavily, putting his legs down, and leaned forward. “We’re not going to hurt you, Tierney.”
“We?” I questioned, feeling my brow crinkle in response. That was a good sign, right?
“Yes, Connor and myself. We are the only ones who know you’re here.” His back popped as he stood from the chair, as if he’d been sitting in that one position for days. “We’ll keep you safe.”
He turned and stepped toward the door.
“Why?” I asked, my strangled voice a plea for understanding.
He halted his footsteps as if my question froze him in place.
I closed my eyes, allowing them to rest, no longer fighting the drugs that weighed them down .
“I don’t know.” He answered, sounding to my ears, like his reply was a surprise even to himself.
My eyes snapped open just as the door snicked shut, leaving me with more questions than I had when my eyes first opened.