Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(60)

“She still has a fever.” Dr. Wells looks between San and me, his expression grave. “Pneumonia is a serious infection. It’s in her lungs, and her body is in no shape to fight it very well. We’re trying to get the fever down now.”

“But she’ll be okay, right?” Concern shadows San’s face. “I mean, people have pneumonia all the time. She’s young and healthy.”

“She is both, you’re right.” Dr. Wells nods, but a frown bends over his eyes. “But it’s been complicated by exhaustion and dehydration. Had she not been on tour, it may have been detected sooner. She probably wouldn’t have pressed through or missed the signs. An already compromised immune system, an incredibly rigorous schedule, not enough rest. It just all came together in the worst way, but she’ll be fine soon. We’ve started a round of antibiotics. We’ve actually sedated her because the best thing she can do for her body right now is rest.”

“Can I see her?” I rush to assure him because I see hesitation on Dr. Wells’ face. “Not to disturb her or wake her up. I just . . . can I see her?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” John Malcolm says from his position in front of the room I assume is Kai’s, flanked by a security guard on both sides.

I hadn’t noticed him, but now that I see him, before I have time to check it, rage bursts in my head, popping all my caution, propelling me forward, hands already ahead of me and clawing for John Malcolm’s throat. I slam him into the wall, his head hitting with a satisfying thud.

“Motherf*cker.” I dig my forehead into his until it probably hurts me as much as it hurts him, my words landing on his fat, jowly face in angry pants. “You did this to her. You wore her down to nothing overworking her.”

San and one of the security guards pull at me until Malcolm’s free, slumped against the wall, holding his throat and gasping for air.

“Get him out of here!” he spits, anger shaking his red face.

No one moves. I’m not in disguise anymore, and everyone here knows exactly who I am.

To her.

Nobody’s kicking me out.

“If anyone’s leaving, it’ll be you.” I pin him to the wall with a glare. “I hold you responsible for this, Malcolm.”

“She’s a professional and an ambitious artist.” Malcolm coughs, my fingerprints still vibrant against his neck. “She knew what she was getting herself into.”

“She has pneumonia.” I fire back. “She’s exhausted. You pushed her past her limits.”

“My job is to stretch her limits. It’s what will make her great.” He smears a nasty grin across his face. “Not that it’s any of your business. Why are you even here?”

“You know why I’m here, you slimy piece of shit. She’s done with you.” I twist my arms out of the hands holding me back and point to him. “You hear me? Done.”

“I have a contract with her that tells a different story. At least for the next two years.”

Before they can stop me, I step back into his space, close enough to drill my anger into him. San reaches for me again, but I shake him off.

“You honestly think your little contract can stop me?” I turn my voice down to deadly quiet.

“I know it can.” The facsimile of his smile falls away. “But it won’t come to that because Kai and I have an understanding, which is more than you have with her anymore.”

“If you could both put your dicks away for a second,” San says, irritation stamped on his face, “maybe Dr. Wells can tell us what’s next.”

I don’t wait for the doctor to volunteer any more information than he’s already given us. I know what’s next.

“I need to see her,” I tell him. I’m really trying not to be the dictatorial jackass that I know I can be, but every cell in my body aches to be on the other side of the door Malcolm’s two goons still stand in front of.

“Technically, you’re down as her emergency contact,” Dr. Wells says to San, not looking me in the eye. “Would you like to see her first?”

If San says yes, I’ll choke him. I suspect he knows that. His eyes flick back to mine, and for a moment I think, just to put me in my place, he’ll try to go first. I set my pride aside long enough to silently plead with him. He rolls his eyes, quirking his mouth to the side before shaking his head.

“Nah, Rhyson can go.”

“She’s my artist,” Malcolm says. “I think I should—”

“Fuck you.” I give Malcolm one last glare as I shove past him and the goons to enter Kai’s room.

It’s dark and quiet and empty, except for a nurse jotting down notes on the chart at the foot of Kai’s bed.

And except for Kai.

She’s asleep in the large bed, the simple hospital gown at odds with the heavy stage make up she still wears. The false eyelashes rest on her cheeks, which are gaunter than even a month ago. The blush and eye shadow seem too ornate for this stark room, for this smaller audience of just the nurse and me.

“Mr. Gray, she’s resting.” The nurse hangs her chart on a hook at the foot of the bed. “We need her to stay that way.”

“Understood.” I plant myself in the seat beside her bed, swallowing fear at how still she is. “She’s okay?”