No Strings Attached

Chapter Thirty One

“Now probably isn’t the time,” Franchetti was muttering at Jayden – the air between them still laden with hostility, despite their apparent new unity after Nate’s accident, “But this carpet was fucking expensive.”

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She’d barely slept a wink – even more so after the dramas that had come up in the night, and facing Tori in the morning was tricky, to say the least – but Jayden had reminded her that it was keeping all of them safe – at least for now. He had to do this.

Shannon was to tell her nothing of the incident – but not to outright lie. It was so typical of Jayden to find a way of avoiding the confrontation without having an even bigger one later. You’d think he’d have learnt his lesson by now, but she probably wasn’t in a position to judge.

She applied her make-up carefully, doing as much as she could to cover up the dark circles and the bags under her eyes with concealer, but she knew Nate would see through her anyway. She smoothed her hair out into the razor sharp straight cut that she preferred these days, noting a few errant split ends that she needed to keep on top of, and put on a cream and gold shirt in a sheer nylon material, with an edgy pair of black leather pants that she knew Nate loved on her. After kidnapping Tori’s gold Jimmy Choo’s, she was ready to rumble.

“Where’s Jayden?” she asked Tori as she strolled into the kitchen, knowing the answer already – He’s probably hobbling a crazy, psychotic Frenchman in some Gangster’s Paradise somewhere ...

“Hey babe,” her face lit up into a bright, glowing smile – she looked better rested than she had in weeks! “He’s had to run the car in for a service – apparently he sprung a flat when he popped out for milk this morning. I don’t know what time he left though, I slept like the dead!”

About 5.30, Shannon thought, but kept her mouth shut regardless. She hated lying to Tori, but she knew, beyond all of the reasons that Jayden had given her, she’d mostly be pissed that he’d put them all on the line like that. She would never be able to see that there wasn’t any other way.

It was better like this. And Nate was safe – at least for now.

Sebastienne couldn’t die, because all of the work that they’d already put in with Tourniquet would be ruined by whoever took his place as the leading man – and somebody would, she knew. Hell, they all knew. There was too much ready money in the industry to let it die with one man.

What they had to do was break down the entire network – starting with their weakest link.

Jay had sent a text out to Sebastienne’s right hand – masquerading as the Frenchman, with some cock and bull story about emergency matters. So far, nobody was any the wiser, but they were on borrowed time -Sebastienne would need to be dead by the end of next week, because if his body was missing for any longer than that, people would be sniffing around. So they had nine days to break down the Frenchman’s connections, and damage his reputation irrevocably, before he disappeared from the ether.

She shook her head out of their dangerous games – all she cared about this morning was Nate, and his recovery. They would know, for certain, once the barbiturates in his system were completely washed out, the extent of the damage done by the accident, and she could only hope to every God she could imagine that he would be okay.

“He’ll be fine,” Tori reassured her, “Doctors said if all’s well, he could be home in a few days! Jay said he’d meet us at the hospital.”

“You’ve spoken to them this morning,” Shannon paused midway through her first sip of coffee, “What did they say? How was the MRI?”

“There’s no imminent swelling, so they’ll be cutting out the barbiturates today – meaning he should wake up this afternoon or tomorrow at the latest.”

Should. He should wake up. He shouldn’t be unconscious in the bloody first place – that foolish idiot wanting to shoulder everything! She couldn’t wait to see him, but a part of her wanted to wring his neck ... if she thought she could have gotten her hands around it in the first place!

“He’ll be fine,” Tori was repeating, running her hands up Shannon’s arms comfortingly, “You’re wearing my lucky shoes ... nothing can go wrong.”

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Four hours later, and Shannon was chewing at her thumbnails – she’d known that this would be a slow process, that it wasn’t like a hypnotist waving his hand in front of Nate’s face, “...aaaand awake!” and clicking his fingers.

But this was exhausting – emotionally and physically, she was on edge. All of the panics and worries seemed to be sliding over her in an avalanche of negative emotions. Jesus, he just had to wake up.

Clasping his hand in both of her own, she saw the bruises on the back of it – from where they’d been taking samples of his blood – and he still looked gaunt and tired, even though he’d been having the longest sleep she ever hoped he would have.

She couldn’t help but brush the palm of her hand over his thick short hair – now grown substantially longer than he liked to wear it these days. Although he said he’d only cut it because of her new hairstyle. He’d figured if she was wanting to purge her soul, then he could do the same. It had been a childish move – shaped by hurt and anger, and his own helplessness in a situation over which he’d had absolutely no control. God knew he hated that. But he’d grown accustomed to the short and manageable buzz cut – even if he missed her fingers running through his hair like it had when they were kids.

Gently, she lay her lips over his – revelling in the scent of him, the taste – before she realised that his mouth was moving beneath hers – only softly, ever so softly – but still – more so than he had moved in almost five days. She was about to pull away hesitantly – to look into his eyes and see if this wasn’t some cruel trick that her desperate heart was clinging to, until she felt his fingers tenuously holding her lips to his at the back of her head.

Tears tracked her face as she sobbed into his mouth – God, this mustn’t look attractive, but hell, she didn’t care.

He was awake.