Brutal Prince Bonus Scene (Brutal Birthright, #1.5)(81)

I dial Dante’s phone, but it’s Nero who picks up.

“Aida?” he says.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Thank fucking hell. I thought I was gonna have to drive over there in a second.”

“Why, where are you?”

“At the hospital. Dante’s been shot. He’s alright though!” he hastens to add. “Zajac got him in the side—he didn’t hit anything crucial.”

“That filthy shit!” I seethe. “He’ll pay for that.”

“He already did,” Nero says blandly. “He’s dead. Dante’s got better aim than the Butcher.”

“Dead? Are you sure?”

Cal looks over at me, following my side of the conversation, but equally disbelieving.

“Totally sure,” Nero says firmly. “Unless he’s got a spare head laying around somewhere, he’s done for.”

“Well, shit,” I say, leaning back against my seat. This really was an eventful night.

I look over at Callum, whose face looks pale beneath the soot. He’s got a nasty cut over his right eyebrow, and he winces a little every time he takes a deep breath.

Come to think of it, I’m not exactly in tiptop shape myself. My hand is throbbing in time with my heartbeat, and my ring and pinky fingers have swollen up again. I’m probably going to need another cast.

“What hospital are you at?” I ask Nero. “We might need to join you.”





It takes a couple of hours for Callum and me to get cleaned up and patched up at St. Joseph’s. Dante will be there a few days at least—they had to put three pints of blood back into him. Jack and Nero are keeping him company. I’m shocked to see their bruised and battered faces.

“What the hell happened to you?” I ask them.

“While Dante was having a shootout at the mistress’s apartment, Jack and I were NOT finding the Butcher and getting our asses kicked by his lieutenant instead.”

“Not just the lieutenant,” Jack says. He’s got a black eye so bad he can’t even see on the left side. “There were at least four of them.”

“Jack here is a serious brawler,” Nero says, in an impressed tone. “He gave em the old ground and pound, didn’t ya, Jackie boy?”

“I guess he’s not so bad when he’s on our side,” I say.

Jack gives me a half-grin—only half because the other side of his face is too swollen to move.

“Was that a compliment?” he says.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I tell him.

“You two aren’t looking so hot, either,” Nero informs me.

“Well that’s where you’re wrong,” I snicker. “If we were any hotter we would have been charcoal briquettes.”

Fergus Griffin comes to pick us up, even though we have the Jeep parked outside.

“Two hospital visits in one week,” he says, giving Cal and me a stern look through his horn-rimmed glasses. “I hope this isn’t becoming a hobby for you two.”

“No,” Cal says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders in the backseat of the Beamer. “I don’t think we’re going to do anything too crazy next week. Except maybe look for an apartment.”

“Oh?” Fergus pauses, before putting the car in reverse. He glances back at us in the rearview mirror. “You want to get your own place together?”

Callum looks down at me.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think it’s time.”

My heart feels heavy and warm in my chest. I love the idea of finding a place with Cal—not my house, or his, but one we chose together.

“That’s good,” Fergus says, nodding. “I’m glad to hear it, son.”

Funnily enough, when we pull up in front of the Griffin mansion, for the first time it actually feels like home. I get that wash of comfort. I know it’s a safe place to lay my head. And damn am I exhausted all of a sudden.

I stumble a little, getting out of the car. I’ve gotten stiff and sore all over from sitting. Even though I know he’s just as exhausted, and probably more injured than I am, Cal scoops me up in his arms and carries me into the house, like a groom carrying the bride over the threshold.

“Shouldn’t you save that for our new apartment?” I tease him.

“I’m going to carry you everywhere like this,” Cal says. “For one, I like it. And for another, it will keep anybody else from snatching you.”

“You got snatched too, one of those times,” I remind him.

He carries me all the way up the stairs.

“You’re going to break your ribs again!” I tell him.

“Oh, they’re still broken right now,” he assures me. “They didn’t do much about it at the hospital. Didn’t even tape me up. Just gave me a couple Tylenol.”

“Did that help?”

“Not a fucking bit,” he says, puffing and groaning as we finally reach the top of the stairs.

Then he does set me down. I go up on tiptoe to kiss him softly on the lips.

“Thank you,” I say.

“I’m not done taking care of you yet,” he says. “You still need to get cleaned up.”

“Oh nooooo,” I moan, remembering that I’m utterly filthy. “Just let me go to bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”