Rough Hard Fierce: A Bad Boy Romance Boxed Set (Chicago Underground #1-3)

He nodded. “At first she had other ideas, but then…let’s just say we became friends. Colin assumed that’s what you would want, rather than her being placed—”

“That’s what I want.” I should no longer be surprised at the problems that could be solved with money. But well, the world had looked very different when I didn’t have any. I was glad of it now, though I still didn’t trust Philip. “Why didn’t Colin come himself?”

Philip looked down, kicking his Italian leather shoes into the gray rubber tiles. He looked suddenly like a little boy who’d gotten in trouble, overgrown and overdressed. “He didn’t want to leave in case Bailey woke up. She knows him, so she wouldn’t be scared. And also…well, I am supposed to apologize.”

The silence stretched.

“So,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“For?” I asked.

“For getting you almost raped and almost killed,” he mumbled. Then he added quickly, “I didn’t know he would hurt you. He was just supposed to pick you up. And the explosion, you weren’t supposed to even know about it if you weren’t spying on us—”

“I just don’t understand why,” I said, baffled. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

“I suppose I owe you an explanation.” He paused, a long, reluctant minute. “Our childhood wasn’t…easy. The three of us, we weren’t always together back then. And later I considered it my responsibility to make sure it stayed that way, no matter what. I’m sure that sounds like an excuse, because it is. It was wrong and paranoid, but it’s just that once a woman knows his name, what he’s worth…”

He seemed to be waiting for me, reassurance maybe. “It’s a nice restaurant,” I finally said. “Seems like it’s doing very well, but that’s not why I was with him.”

He looked faintly puzzled. “It does okay, sure, but where do you think he got the money to build it in the first place?”

Ah, more guilt. “From you?”

Definitely confused now. “No. From us, from what we—” Suddenly he laughed. “He didn’t even tell you, did he? He was in business with me. He’s probably got more banked than I do.”

I frowned. “He said he did work for you.”

Philip snorted. “We went into business together. I didn’t even come up with most of the ideas; he did. I was the strategist, but he was the dreamer. He was the one who wanted to get out. Settle down, he said, try to be normal. Then he hooks up with some girl from a nightclub, and she happens to have a baby but no father for it. A ready-made family, no offense.”

“None taken.”

“So you can see why I was worried. And then I hear that someone’s talking to the cops, giving them information, and I assumed it was you.” He sighed. “I’m truly sorry.”

If he was lying, I couldn’t tell. The normally harsh lines of his face had smoothed, making him look so much younger. I felt very motherly, then, having to put aside my righteous anger in the face of a sincere apology. It sucked.

“Are you going to throw money at someone so I can get out of here?” I asked crossly.

He looked relieved I’d changed the subject and snapped back into his usual, brusque self. “We’re working on it. The cops want to hold on to somebody just so they can look like they’re doing their jobs. Laramie’s on it, and we should have you out of here in a few days—tops.”

“Days?”

“Tops,” he repeated. I rocked my head back onto the bed in frustration and immediately regretted it as my head throbbed in retaliation.

He turned to leave.

“Wait,” I said, and he looked back. I’d been hesitant to bring her up, but he was my only source of information. “Have you seen Shelly?”

His eyes flashed briefly before they chilled. “No,” he said, like ice. He paused at the door, sighed. “Room 504,” he muttered before slipping out.

I could have laughed. Why have her room number if he wasn’t going to see her?

I was sure everyone thought I’d be comfortable enough here. Colin and Philip and even the cops probably thought it was a favor that I was here and not in jail, but I’d have preferred that. This room upturned too many memories. The smell, the thin, rough fabrics, and, when I forgot myself and looked up, the same bumpy ceiling tiles.

I fell into a fitful sleep and woke up huddled against the cold plastic railing, drenched in sweat. The clock said it was morning. Muffled footsteps and voices came from outside the door, doctors and nurses bustling about their day. I got up and used the bathroom, then wrapped the sheet around me like a robe.

I poked my head out. The guard stood up when he saw me. The skin on his face was as smooth as Bailey’s bottom. He had to be around my age, but he seemed so young. Had I ever been that wide-eyed?

“Hi,” he said. “Are you okay? Do you need something?”

“Actually,” I said in a low tone, and he leaned forward. “I need you to go and get me the morning-after pill.”

“What?” he practically squeaked. He glanced to the nurse’s station, which was empty.