Cookie was on my left. She had my hand in hers, which was silly. We rarely held hands in public. Before I could comment, I realized someone had superglued my eyelids shut. Damn it. I tried to protest, but my mouth seemed to have suffered the same fate. After someone stuffed cotton into it.

I frowned, and an unattractive moan escaped me.

“Sweetheart, it’s Cookie. You’re in the hospital.”

“Mm-mm,” I said. And I meant every word. This was ridiculous. I’d never actually been admitted into a hospital before, like in a room with a view—or without a view, since I couldn’t be sure, but I felt the distinct presence of a bed beneath me.

“Is she awake?” I heard a bustle of people entering the room and my sister’s voice. “Charley?” she asked, and I had so many comebacks, it was unreal. Damn the inventor of superglue.

“What do you think?” Gemma asked, and I wanted to tell her exactly what I thought about this whole freaking situation, but a nurse interrupted before I got the chance.

“Her sutures look good. The surgery went well. She should have the full use of her arm back with therapy.”

My arm? What the f**k happened to my arm?

Someone walked out and Gemma followed, asking questions.

“Hey, pumpkin head,” the Uncle Bob voice said. I totally could not put a face to it. “Can you hear me?”

“Mm-mm.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I lifted my free hand and tried to feel my face. It was gone! Then Cookie led my hand a little farther left.

“Here you go,” she said.

Oh, thank God. I had some kind of headband on, which was slightly mortifying as those went out in the eighties, and half my face was covered with a huge bandage. That couldn’t look good.

What the hell happened to me? Then I remembered. “Oh, my god!” I mumbled, and tried to sit up.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” that voice said, and I was beginning to think it might have been Uncle Bob.

“Walker,” I said, though it sounded more like muffler.

“Did you get that?” Ubie must have asked Cookie. “Me neither.” He leaned closer and talked really loudly, enunciating each syllable. “Do you want some water?”

After a strong wince, I took my hand and felt for his face.

“I’m right here,” he nigh yelled.

When my hand came into contact with his face, I covered his mouth and said, “Shhh.”

Cookie giggled.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking my hand into his.

“I can’t see.”

“Here, I have a warm cloth.” Cookie wiped my eyes and face, at least the part that wasn’t bandaged, and I was finally able to pry my lids apart.

I blinked and tried to focus. Uncle Bob was on my right, and I reached up and felt his face again, his dark mustache tickling my palm. Cookie was on my left and had my other hand, but I couldn’t squeeze.

“Reyes,” I said, and she glanced at Uncle Bob.

“He’s fine, honey. Don’t worry about him.”

So I didn’t. I drifted off again, in and out for hours. People were there one minute only to be replaced by other people the next. When I finally awoke without feeling like a house had fallen on me—well, no, I still felt like a house had fallen on me, but I was able to stay awake for more than ten seconds—the room was dark with only a soft light glowing from the instrument panel beside me. And empty, save one. Reyes.

I felt him, his heat and energy. I pried open my eyes and spotted him instantly, balancing on the back of a chair in the corner, his robe sliding along the floor like a black fog, creeping up the walls and around the instruments. His hood was back as he watched me, his powerful gaze unwavering.

“Are you okay?” I asked, the cotton still in my mouth.

He jumped down, his robe swallowing in on itself. When it settled around him, he turned to look out the window at the lights of the city. Or the Dumpsters out back. Who knew?

“This is my fault.”

My brows slid together. “This wasn’t your fault.”

He glanced over a wide shoulder. “You really need to figure out what you’re capable of,” he said, scanning me from head to toe.

I was suddenly self-conscious. I had a huge gash in my face and an arm in dire need of therapy. Walker had actually cut the tendons in my arm and partially cut them in my leg. Speaking of Walker … “Where is he?” I asked.

“Walker?”

I nodded.

“He’s in this very hospital.”

Alarm leapt within me. I’d never been afraid of anyone in my life—well, besides Reyes—but I recoiled at the mere mention of Walker’s name. And because of it, I felt as though he had taken something very valuable away from me. An innocence. Or possibly an arrogance. Either way.

“He won’t be going anywhere or hurting anyone ever again.”

I was certain he was right, but for some reason, that didn’t help much. He stepped to me and ran his fingertips over the arm that I could feel healing already, my fingers moving ever so slightly.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Reyes—”

“I had no idea he would go to such lengths when he came after you.”

My thoughts screeched to a halt, and I took a mental step back. That was an odd thing to say. “What do you mean?”

“I knew he would try something,” he said, closing his eyes in regret, “but this. I just had no idea. And since I was bound—”