Coreene Callahan: Fury of Desire

Rimmed by black liner, blue eyes met hers. “Hey, you’re awake.”

She blinked. Her injured eye squawked, tearing up as pain jabbed her temple. Squinting, she forced her vision into focus and… holy moly. A spiderweb tattoo with an ugly red spider at its center was inked on the side of his neck. Her gaze bounced back up, landing on the metal stud piercing his nostril. The black steel glinted beneath the overhead light, winking at its twin just above it, the one calling the guy’s eyebrow home.

A chorus of “what the hell” made the rounds inside her head.

“I know, I know,” he said, sounding bored. Long bangs with burgundy highlights hung over his forehead, playing keep-away from the buzz cut gracing the sides of his head. “I don’t look like an orderly, but trust me… no worries, I’ll getcha there. Faster than fast too.”

Trust him? A Goth guy with crazy spider ink? J. J. opened her mouth to… well, quite frankly, she wasn’t sure. Object to the no worries comment maybe? Asking his name was another option. Too bad neither went well. Her brain was in neutral, parked somewhere between confused and quick-witted. Not fun by any stretch, but neither was it priority one. At least, not right now. Why? Goth Guy was picking up speed. Snapping his wad of chewing gum, he wheeled her, bed and all, around a sharp corner. Which… oh Jesus, help her… prompted a question. What the heck did he mean by “faster than fast too”?

Alarm bells clanged inside her head, making her temples buzz. Her vision wavered, fading in then out. “W-where…?”

He raised a brow. “Where we going?”

Seemed like an important question to ask. An absolutely vital one considering he looked like a vampire. Or an axe murderer. Then again, maybe she should indulge in a combo, a two for one kind of deal, ’cause… holy crap. Vampire axe murderer fit like a foot in a shoe when it came to him.

He opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver the all-important answer.

“No m-more tests,” she said, beating him to the punch. She couldn’t go another round with a doctor. No more poking, prodding, or needles. Nothing that included a scope of any kind either. “No more—”

“Nah, you’re good. The CAT scan was the last one.” Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, he leaned over the headboard and grinned, looking funny upside down. “Doctor says you’re lucky. Gotta pretty hard noggin on you, that’s for sure. You only got a mild concussion.”

Only. Such an idiotic word. “Super.”

Her sarcastic reply made him laugh. A second later, he snapped the wad of bubble gum, blowing a pink bubble. “We’re headed two floors up. They got your room ready.”

The bed’s wheels thumped over an uneven patch of floor. Unfazed by the speed bump, Goth Guy pushed her toward a set of double doors. Collision inevitable, J. J. braced for impact. The foot of her bed thunked, steel and metal rattled, making the mattress vibrate beneath her and…

That was all it took. Sensation clawed over frayed nerve endings. J. J. bit down on a moan. Oh God, that hurt. She was beyond raw and into debilitating. And as pain sang her a toxic lullaby, pressure spiraled around her rib cage, stealing her air, compressing her lungs, making her want to throw up. Such a bad idea. Puking wouldn’t do her any favors, never mind make her any friends.

Baring down, J. J. clenched her teeth and double-fisted the sheets. The IV zigged then zagged, pinching her skin, tearing at the tape. Blood welled on the back of her hand, and the tube connecting her to the medical cocktail pinged against the bed rail.

Stomach acid churned, sloshing up her windpipe.

With a silent curse, J. J. swallowed the burn and, uncurling her fists, pressed her palms flat against the sheet to ground herself. Little by little, the world stopped spinning, allowing her to take a much-needed breath. The black spots peppering her vision faded and—

Goth Guy snapped his gum again.

Battling her gag reflex, J. J. thanked God when he slowed, bringing her to a rolling stop in front of a bank of elevators. With a soft ping, a set of double doors slid open. Wheels hissed as he swung her bed around and put them in reverse, backing into the elevator. He hit the button for the fifth floor with the side of his fist. With a quiet bump, the doors closed. The floor dipped, then rebounded, slingshotting them into an upward glide. Her stomach gurgled, not liking the shift. J. J. whispered a heartfelt prayer, offering God her services in the prison chapel if she survived the transfer from one room to the next without getting sick.

A likely outcome? Wishful thinking? J. J. couldn’t tell. The jury was still out on Goth Guy. And not looking at him in a positive light, ’cause…

Man, he was noisy: snapping his gum, humming a tune, making her head ache as he used her headboard like a set of bongo drums. Hands flying, he started another round, beating out a rhythm guaranteed to make anyone—injured or not—scream.

The elevator doors slid sideways, opening in invitation. Goth Guy took the hint and sped into the hallway, the end of her bed leading the way and… oh shit. Race-car fast. The guy was speed-of-light ridiculous. Quicker than a runaway grocery cart.

“S-stop,” she rasped, a death grip on the sheets.

Oblivious, he roared toward a T-shaped intersection in the corridor. J. J. gagged as he swung wide, taking the corner too fast. She bobbled in bed, wobbling beneath blankets and sheets. As pain ricocheted, colliding with the base of her skull, a counter came into view, file folders and paperwork stacked high. J. J. focused on the lopsided pile. She needed to keep it together, any distraction would do, just as long as—

“Hey!” Sharp with displeasure, the strange voice bit a second before a woman’s head popped up from behind the high countertop. Dark eyes narrowed, she glared at Goth Guy. He put the brakes on, skidding to a sliding stop in front of the nurses’ station. “We’re in a hospital, not on a race track. Slow down!”

“Apologies,” he said, grinning, not looking sorry at all. Another snap of gum. The sound ricocheted, banging around inside J. J.’s head as she glanced up at the guy. The pink blob disappeared back inside his mouth. “But I was told to get her here… lickety-split quick.”

“Lord save and keep me, I swear…” With a huff, the nurse pushed out of her chair and stepped around the high countertop. Heavyset with a round face and dark skin, she drilled Goth Guy with another look. Running shoes squeaking, she approached the side of J. J.’s bed. “You do realize there’s a difference between efficient and ridiculous, don’t you?”

“Just trying to help,” he murmured, the gleam in his eyes a little, well… J. J. didn’t know exactly. Unsettling? Untrustworthy? Aggressive with a touch of amusement? Maybe. Then again, maybe not. She could be imagining things. Might be a tad off her game, fuzzy in the mental realm considering the IV pumping painkillers into her body. “So… where you want her?”

Suspicion took a turn across the nurse’s face. Her eyes narrowed on him. “I don’t recognize you. What’s your name?”

“New guy.” Big hands flying, he tapped against the headboard as though playing a big drum finale. Rhythmic sound carried, rising in the quiet to drift down the deserted corridor. “All right, I’m outta here. Take good care of her, nurse.”

“Hang on just a minute, mister. I need your—”

“Nah, you don’t.”

The nurse frowned at him.

He winked at her. A moment later, his gaze flicked down to meet J. J.’s. His mouth curved, he tipped his chin at her, then let go of the end of her bed. “Catch yah later, sunshine.”

As he turned away, J. J. blinked, the nickname catching her by surprise.