Beneath Blackwater River by Leslie Wolfe (love story books to read txt) 📕

holding in her stead was dangerous and hateful, a snake waiting for the right moment to sink its teeth into his jugular and kill him on the spot.

She’d been like that from the start, this stray he’d picked up from the side of the road. Like others before her, she’d fought him hard, her eyes shooting daggers of rage at him when he touched her, screaming, kicking, ruining everything for him, even when blindfolded and tied up to the bedposts. He’d held on and hoped she’d learn his routine and try to respect it, she’d learn to love him a little, enough for him to close his eyes and believe Mira was back, even if for a fleeting moment.

Not with her.

Countless days after he’d brought her to the old house, she remained untamed, willing to fight him to the death.

She was not good for him.

But there would be others, soon, and he wouldn’t have to endure the loneliness of his nights with only Mira’s memory by his side, a ghost, an ethereal fantasy he couldn’t hold in his yearning arms.

There would be someone else, someone better, a girl who’d be grateful to share his bed and his life, someone who’d look at him with love-filled eyes. Someone who’d want to spend the rest of her life with him, and maybe then Mira’s memory would fade, and he’d be able to stop hurting. Then he’d snuff the life out of Mira’s betraying heart, with his own two hands, knowing he’d be rid of her for good. Knowing she was never coming back to him, no matter how long he waited.

Sitting behind the wheel of his car and looking at the old house, he knew the time to make a choice had come.

Kirsten had to go. He was done trying.

44Discharged

A dissonance of beeps and chimes woke Kay up. The first contact with reality reminded her sharply that she’d been shot. The throbbing pain in her shoulder had her shifting into a different position, just as uncomfortable. Moving woke her up completely, and she realized where she’d spent the night, as foggy memories started coming back, each of them carrying its own brand of pain.

She’d shared an ambulance with Nicole, while Elliot had stayed behind to organize the search for Scott. Once at Franklin Medical Center, she’d demanded to be placed in her brother’s room, even if that meant spending the night on a visitor couch sequestered from the waiting room. Eventually, they’d rolled in a second bed, under protest, but the center’s relationship with the local law enforcement was valuable enough to be used as a trump card.

They’d patched her up and pumped her full of pain meds, but she still checked in on Nicole. She and the baby were fine. With that single piece of good news, she’d withdrawn to her brother’s room, now hers also, and spent an hour speaking to him in a low whisper, telling him how much she loved him, how much she needed him to live, to fight, to come back to her. How brave he’d been, defending Nicole and risking his life for a complete stranger. How proud their mother would’ve been to see how well she’d raised him.

He was unconscious, intubated, the rhythmic beep on his monitor a grim reminder his life was hanging by a thread. But at least his heart was beating; with that notion telling her there was hope, and finally subdued by exhaustion and pain meds, she’d lain on the second bed and fell asleep before she could cover herself with the blanket.

Elliot had done that later, gently, careful not to wake her, but she’d woken just enough to know he was there, safe, watching over her. She’d mumbled a question about Scott, but he shushed her back to silence and sleep. If he’d been caught, Elliot would’ve told her so.

She sat on the edge of the bed, holding on with her good hand, fighting a dizzy spell. Then she clumped over to her brother’s bedside, checking the notes on his chart and the vitals on the monitors.

The room door slid open and a tall man wearing hospital garb stepped in. His name tag had a Dr. in front of a very long name of Asian origin.

Behind him, she caught a glimpse of Elliot, sleeping on a visitor couch too short for his height, his feet hanging in the air, his hat over his face.

“Good morning, Dr. Sharp,” the doctor said, with a quick, professional smile. “I’m your brother’s attending, and yours too, for that matter.”

“How is he?” she asked, feeling her throat parched dry and her breath scorching. Her empty stomach growled and the weakness she felt in her body spoke of her endless day without sustenance.

“His vitals are stable, and he’s recovering nicely. He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s been given three units of blood, and the surgeons were able to patch him up quickly. No major damage to any of the key organs. Thankfully, the lower bullet missed his liver by an inch.”

Feeling weak, she smiled and sat on the edge of her bed, unsure of her legs. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“We’ll keep him asleep and intubated for at least twelve more hours.” He jotted something on his chart, then placed it on the holder. “That will give you the time to get back on your feet. Your GSW was a flesh wound, but you still need rest, and a good meal.”

Kay’s phone chimed, the sound stuttering, two text messages being delivered at almost the same time. She turned it off and nodded. “I agree, and my entire body agrees with you. But the man who put my brother in that bed is still at large. I’ve got to go.” The attending stared at her with understanding and a hint of disapproval. “Please call me for any news about my brother, good or bad.”

He nodded and stepped aside, making room for her to walk past him. She searched for her shoes and located