The doctor unraveled the last layer of gauze from Jake’s head. After months of smelling nothing but antiseptic and hospital food, the air finally felt cool against his skin.
“All done,” the doctor said. Jake’s lips quirked into a faint, tight smile. “Please, Jake—no more fights. That concussion was severe. Your body can’t take much more of this.”
Jake gave a stiff nod, but his eyes were fixed on the floor. His jaw tightened as he thought of Anthony’s men. Every time his bruises faded, they found him again. This time, they had nearly finished the job. He reached down and hiked up his hospital shorts, tracing the jagged, puckered skin of the bullet scar on his thigh.
He knew Anna couldn’t have pulled the trigger—she didn't have the stomach for it—but the anger still burned.
The hospital
