“Jesus Christ,” the one guarding the door growled, his tone hinting at his anger. “Can you get it out, Doc?”
“It’s in there pretty deep. It’s gonna hurt. And she’ll definitely have a scar. But yeah, I can remove it.”
She huffed. She couldn’t care less. Scars she had. Plenty of them. One more made no difference to her whatsoever. The feel of a blade slicing through her skin, however…
“Do it,” Jay ordered, zero uncertainty slowing his response.
Despite the curtain of hair blocking her peripheral vision, she closed her eyes. Squeezed them tight. She didn’t want to take a chance. If she looked at him. Saw the revulsion in his expression. She’d curl up and die on the spot.
Instead, she listened to the preparations going on around her. A loud unzip filled the quiet before something was set on the table beside her. Then the sound of a package being ripped open, combined with the smell of antiseptic, told her they were ready.
“We don’t have time to let any freezing take effect, so I’m going to do this fast,” Doc said. “A quick slice, a little pressure, and then I’ll tape a bandage over the incision. Once we’re airborne, I’ll inject a bit of lidocaine and put in a couple of stitches, alright?”
Throat closed, she bobbed her head. A rapid up and down, indicating acceptance of the plan.
“Jay, I need you to hold her tank top out of the way.”
He didn’t acknowledge the medic’s orders, but his gentle fingers left the small of her back to hook under the elastic of her shirt, and the spandex inched lower until his sharp intake of breath halted the progress.
“That’s quite the bruise,” Doc remarked, swiping an alcohol wipe over her newly exposed skin. She nodded but didn’t offer an explanation. “Okay, we’re gonna do this together. Take a deep breath and hold steady.”
She inhaled through her nose. A long, drawn-out affair that took about three seconds total. When her lungs reached capacity, she felt a sharp slice and an involuntary squeak eeped from between her clenched lips.
Sweat beaded along her hairline, and her knees went weak, her body overreacting to the equivalent of a paper cut. No surprise there. A punch she could take. A kick to the ribs? Bring it on. Cut through her skin—didn’t matter with what—and she was swooning like a Swiftie in the front row of a sold-out stadium concert.
“You’re doing great, Becca.” He pinched her wound between his fingers, and she felt the pill-shaped tracker dislodge from beneath her skin. Quick. Easy. And if she was being honest, relatively painless.
The bandaging process even less so as her competent surgeon made quick work of staunching the flow of blood with gauze before covering his handiwork with the prepared dressing he had at the ready. “Any other implants we need to know about?”
Extraction complete, she straightened her wobbly spine, and turning to face him, she lifted her chin to look him in the eyes. “Not that I’m aware of,” she said, telling him the truth. She’d been knocked unconscious by Roman’s fist more than once. No telling what had happened during those times.
“What the fuck?” Jay growled, his voice low and menacing as he hooked his finger under her jaw, turning her toward him.
Oh, shit. He wasn’t looking at her face.
Eyes gone hard as stone, he stared at the ring of bruises around her neck. “Who put their hands on you?”
Fuck! She froze, her lungs ceasing to function as her body once again cut off her oxygen supply.
Of course Jay would react. He’d always been overprotective around her. Didn’t matter if Maya had thrown an insult her way, or a stranger wouldn’t take no for an answer in the library. He stood up for her. Came to her rescue. Offered to fight her battles.
“Answer me, Bec. Who hurt you?”
“It’s not?—”
“Who?”
Nerves overtaking mental faculties, her tongue darted out, licking over the tender flesh of her split lip.
His black gaze pinning her to the floor, Jay’s expression darkened even further, and a wicked storm clouded over his features as his eyes roamed from her bruised cheek to the cut on her mouth.
“Who?”
One word. All demand. No avoiding the question or changing the subject.
“Jay,” she pleaded, her gaze flicking to Roman and back again, an unintentional, one-second, round journey.
And more than enough time for the man she still loved—with every microscopic piece of her broken heart—to put two and two together.
