Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

The agonizing pain had ebbed, and as he lay on the asphalt by his home, his last thoughts were of his children. How much he loved them. How much he could continue to love them for the rest of time…here in this world, or in the next one.

And as the earth turned dark, he hoped he wouldn’t see them again for a long, long time…





CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN


Her head was in her hands.

“I killed a man,” she whispered barrenly. “And the man I love is dying.”

Doubled over in shock and consumed with the sharp, cold sensation of impending grief, Annalise sat on the hard wooden bench in the hospital’s chapel.

Elle, who she’d just met today, stroked her hair, trying to comfort her. Annalise thought she must be the one who’d brought her here from the emergency room an hour ago. Or was it minutes ago? She hardly knew anything anymore, except that all her fears were on the cusp of turning true. The prospect of Michael dying hurt so much—an ache in her bones that would never depart.

“You did what you had to do,” Elle said, her voice strong as she ran her fingers through Annalise’s hair.

“I did,” she choked out, needing the reassurance. She had no regrets over picking up the gun and firing. She only hoped it had been enough to save Michael. But he’d been barely hanging on during the ride to the hospital. She’d hardy even been able to hear the words the paramedics barked when they gave him an IV and fought to keep him alive as he bled, and bled, and bled. The ambulance had seemed to fly at the speed of light, confirmation of how tenuous his hold on life was.

Oh God.

She couldn’t imagine losing him. Couldn’t conceive of burying him. Her chest heaved, and she coughed, choking on the pain.

Now, he was in the operating room and no one knew if the doctors could even save him. There was a bullet in his body. Near his heart.

The door creaked, and Annalise lifted her gaze as a platinum blonde rushed toward them—Sophie, the one who’d arranged for her to come to Vegas for a photo shoot.

“Hi. I’ll be ready for your shoot tomorrow,” Annalise said, her voice flat. She wasn’t sure why she’d said that. Maybe because anything else would hollow her out.

Sophie gave her a look like she was crazy as she kneeled by her side and placed a hand on her thigh. “I’m not here to ask about work. Are you okay, sweetie?”

Annalise shook her head. “No. I don’t know. I killed a man and Michael is dying,” she repeated, because those twin moments of her life felt like everything. Her before, her after, her now.

“You saved a life,” Sophie said, reaching for her hand. “Come on, now. You need to be strong for Michael. You need to be as strong as you can be.”

Strong? What was that? Did she even know what strength was anymore? Did she know anything? Her world had been twisted inside out, shaken cruelly by the hand of Fate, and now Michael was—

She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the word dying.

“Annalise,” Sophie said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re allowed to be sad. You’re allowed to be terrified. But you’re not allowed to think negative thoughts right now. Michael is in surgery, and they are fighting to save his life. We need to be there in the OR waiting room for whenever the doctors come out. Not here.” Sophie glanced around the chapel. It was warm and comforting, but it was a hiding place in some ways. “Come now. You can do this.”

Sophie held one hand, and Elle took the other. Annalise was keenly aware that the three women in this chapel were in love with three brothers, and the other two were there to help her be tough for the brother that needed her. The man she loved.

She took a breath, inhaling hope and letting go of all else.

There was no room for thoughts of that killer. There was no room for hate, for vengeance, or for cold, heartless enemies.

There was only room for love. She would do everything to send her love to Michael, and her strength to the doctors working on him. She left the chapel, Elle and Sophie leading her to join the rest of the family in the OR waiting room.

They waited and they waited and they waited.

For an hour.

Then another.

Then for nearly one more.

Until at last, a woman in green scrubs pushed open the door, and surveyed the scene. She had lines around her blue eyes, and strong cheekbones. “I’m Doctor Brooks. Are you the family of Michael Sloan?”





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT


Everyone stood.

Annalise, Elle, Sophie. Ryan, Colin, Shannon, and Brent, his arm protectively around his pregnant wife. The grandparents. Even the detective had stayed, and Michael’s friend Mindy had joined the vigil.

Collectively holding their breath, crossing their fingers, and praying to whoever listened, they waited for the surgeon to speak again.

“It was touch-and-go there for a while. We didn’t know where the bullet hit him until we opened up his chest. And he lost a lot of blood,” the doctor said, her tone measured and even. Annalise was poised on the balls of her feet, every muscle strung tight, waiting, wanting, aching for answers. “Turns out he was shot in the spleen. We got lucky.”

Lucky.

Oh God, never had a word been more beautiful.