Watching him gesture like a madman with that gun in his hand was fucking terrifying, but …

Well, it’s the “but” that has me thrown. Because I’m sure he helped me at the end there. I reach up to touch the shirt he’s tied tightly around my head, remembering the concentration on his face. Those huge brown eyes that looked better suited to a dog than a person.

I open the messages to Lars and quickly add:

Bring painkillers.

Now that the rush is slowing down, the pain is coming in hot. It’s less like a burning sensation and more like a whole head explosion with the way the migraine is building. He said he only hit my ear, but did he? Am I actually dying and don’t fucking know it?

I could grab my phone and check, but I’m sort of terrified by what I’ll find.

The office door flies open, and Lars rushes in. His eyes cast over me before scanning the room, hand on his gun.

“What the fuck happened?”

“Not sure, actually.”

“Were you attacked? Are they still here?”

I give him a bemused smile. “Went for a little walk. Got a little shot. Do you have the painkillers?”

He releases his gun to pull them from his pocket, eyes still wild with concern. “Reilly, I⁠—”

“Let me take these. Then we can talk. Drugs first.” I throw two pills into my mouth and swallow them dry. The discomfort ranks low on my list for tonight, and I know Lars is dying for information, but I need a second. Need some of the pain to go away so I can fucking think right.

“First,” I mutter, reaching to untie my makeshift bandage, “I need you to take a look. He said he got my ear, but with how much it hurts, I wouldn’t be surprised to find there’s a giant hole in my head.” I grit my teeth as I remove the shirt. Peeling it away from my ear feels like a thousand tiny tears, and I’m hoping since it’s so stuck to the site that the bleeding has stopped, but I have no clue what’s happening up there.

“Shit …” Lars mutters. “What happened?”

“Just tell me if I’m going to die or not.”

“Ah … no. No dying.”

“Right. Then how bad is it? On a scale of You’re being a Dramatic Asshole to Probably Need a Hospital?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“You had an ear at one point, right?”

My eyes screw closed because that’s definitely not what I wanted to hear. “It’s gone?”

“Maybe, like, fifty percent? Hard to tell.”

“Shit.”

“You definitely need a hospital.”