Page 30 of Play With Me
Was I careless to entrust Carmela’s safety to Martin and Nikolai? Their job was to have eyes on her at the club. Outside of it is a new thing the three of us decided was necessary, much to Carmela’s dismay. Clearly, they didn’t do their job if she got hurt. Which means I didn’t do mine by trusting they could keep her safe.
“Whoever it was got to her before we could reach her. Silly thing decided to walk an alleyway on her own. Her attacker roughed up her face and got a few kicks in before they took off. We tried to keep her awake, but she lost consciousness.” Martin sounds like he’s trying to keep it together. It’s the leasttogetherI’ve ever heard him.
Fear eats away at my insides like acid has been poured down my throat. Since I met her, a battle has been raging inside me over my feelings for her. I try to treat her like she’s just a job, but when I’m around her, she ignites a fire in me that I want to let burn. Arguing with her makes me feelalive. Even if I’m having difficulty accepting our situation, I can’t deny that I want her.
Now that someone has tried to take her away from me, that realization floods my veins, and a primal rush of possessiveness pours through my body.
How dare anyone touch her.
After I hang up with Martin, I fill Mick in, recognizing the same sense of urgency to get to her in his eyes. His wife may still be on my list of suspects, but at this moment, I genuinely believe Mick wouldn’t let anything happen to Carmela.
Even if that means selling out his wife.
Raspberry paints Carmela’s left cheek and around her swollen eye, while the other side has pink speckled dots from where gravel dug into her skin. Though she looks like she got the shit beat out of her, she’s doing an awfully good job of glaring at theentire room as everyone talks about her like she’s not right here.
Our eyes connect, and though I’m pissed as hell that she got hurt, I try to hold back a laugh at how funny she looks—like a kitten all puffed up, hissing at everyone who tries to come near it.
“Her ribs are bruised and sore, but otherwise, there’s nothing wrong with them. Even though she swears she heard something crack, we didn’t see any hairline fractures, and nothing looked broken. She has a mild concussion, but overall she’s alright. We’d like to keep her overnight for observation. She’ll be good to go home tomorrow,” the elderly nurse rambles on in a monotone voice that grates on my nerves.
“I want to go homenow,” Carmela grumbles from the bed. She crosses her arms over her chest, wincing before trying to school her features. Trying to act like she’s not in pain when it’s obvious she is.
“Sweetheart, we’ve been over this. You said you lived alone. We can’t risk something happening overnight, now can we?” the nurse tells her.
Before my brain catches up with my mouth, I say, “I’ll stay with her tonight. You can discharge her.”
All eyes turn to me. Martin and Nikolai—the fuckers—share a smile. Mick comments on it not being a bad idea.
Carmela, however, looks like she wants to pull the IV from her arm and crawl across her bed to stabme with the sharpest object she can get her hands on. “Absolutely not.”
“Yes. And don’t argue, Mellie. Who better to stay with you than the detective?” Mick moves to her bedside, mumbling quieter words that I can’t hear, all while she continues to glare at me.
The way the nurse watches Mick and Carmela makes me think she probably spends her free time watching true crime documentaries in front of a TV. She watches them like they are a complex puzzle she needs to figure out. It’s no secret Mick shouldn’t be here. He’s going to draw attention to himself and her, and if he isn’t more careful, they’ll find themselves splashed across the gossip columns.
Wanting to pull her attention away from them, I touch her elbow and motion for her to follow me out of the room. “You’ll need to get me information on what to do if anything happens tonight. And get her ready to be discharged.” Leaning closer, I look around to ensure no one is watching us. “And we’d appreciate your discretion, if you get what I mean.” I flash my badge, watching as her gray eyes widen.
“Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll be back soon with those papers.” As she hurries off, Mick appears in the hall, muttering about an NDA as he chases her down.
Martin and Nikolai slip out behind him, looking like a pair of puppies who got out of their pen and tore up the couch. “We can follow you back to her place to debrief, if you wish?” Nikolai offers.
“Why don’t you head back now. Make sure her apartment is ready, and sweep the perimeter for anything unusual. Whoever attacked her had to have been following her. When you’re done there, see if the businesses on the other street have cameras. I want to see if anyone caught the cab's license plate she got out of. Carmela normally has a driver, so find out where he was and why she wasn’t using him,” I bark out orders like they’re my subordinates, but they take it in stride and nod before leaving to complete the tasks I’ve given them.
As I walk back into the room, Carmela narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t want you staying at my place.”
“Tough luck, baby girl.” I grin. “Looks like it’s you and me tonight.”
Carmela’s apartment is everything I imagined it would be. Clean, luxurious, and screams, ‘I have money.’ The walls are dark, maybe navy or possibly black—it’s hard to tell with the low lighting. Simple, but elegant, lighting fixtures hang from every room, but since light can trigger a headache, we don’t turn the light dial up more than two clicks.
The floors are white oak in a herringbone pattern. Cream crown molding matches the cabinets in thekitchen. It’s a large apartment, open concept, with a foyer, living room, and two bedrooms with a Jack and Jill bathroom.
Real plants—large and leafy—are tucked in every corner in ornate vases. Pretentious artwork hangs in silver frames, and the living room houses expensive-looking white leather furniture and an interesting-looking dark wood and glass coffee table on a large ivory sheepskin rug.
While the common areas of the apartment smell like light citrus, her room smells like her—rich chocolate notes that mix with the sweet, fresh scent of her bedding. After she changes into a pair of pajamas—a silk shirt and pant set that I can’t help but imagine peeling off her under better circumstances—she allows me to help her into bed, grumbling the whole time about how she can do it herself. But her bed is higher than most, on a platform that makes me think it might have been picked out by someone taller than her.
I pull the tufted, rich purple duvet back, revealing silky cream sheets she looks mouthwatering against as she sits back against the mound of pillows on the bed. Even with the bruising on her face, Carmela still looks like a million dollars. And when she catches me staring at her, she flushes a pretty deep rose and pulls the blanket around her with a frown. “What are you staring at?”
“A mouthy little girl who needs to be punishedfor convincing her watchdogs to leave her side today.” I don’t skip a beat as I walk around to the other side of the bed and hop on.
“Excuse me! What do you think you’re doing, Anders?” She looks at me the same way she did that first night we met when I slipped into her cab. All shock and astonishment, but underneath it I don’t miss the way her eyes darken a fraction or how she sinks into her pillows with no real intention of making me leave.