Layla
The stench of surgical-strength antiseptic burned my nose. My lashes fluttered against fluorescent lights that turned the room around me to blinding white. I was at work; had I fallen asleep in my office with all the lights on?
Wouldn’t be the first time, I supposed.
I shifted to try and find a more comfortable position—and pain shot through my shoulder, hard enough I gasped out loud.
“What—”
My eyes snapped open to take in the room. Not my office. Not at all. It was a hospital room, and I was lying in the bed.
I was a patient at my own hospital.
It all came flooding back in a wave. Marco. The kidnapping. Aldo rushing in. The gunshot—Eli.
“Eli!” I tried to sit up, but a warm hand on my good shoulder held me down.
“Layla. Take it easy.” Aldo. I knew the voice before I turne
