Devil's Plaything (Playthings, #1) by Lydia Rowan Read Free Book Online

found hard to shake even as he tried to drift further away from the rowdiness and violence of his past. But still, though he was probably unnecessarily paranoid, he felt it wasn’t good to be seen, especially in official places with official questions, but it had been a necessity this time. At practice today he’d been tired, unfocused, and one of the young upstarts had made him pay. A clean shot to the back of the head had stunned him momentarily, and the building had fallen silent, the air practically buzzing as they waited for his response. Which, ordinarily, would have been swift and brutal, but this time, the rage just hadn’t been there. Two quick left hooks to teach the kid a lesson, after which he’d gotten on with the sparring.
    The warm trickle at the back of his neck had made him raise his hand, and his fingers had come away covered in blood. He’d stared down and saw the blood on his fingers, his own blood for once, and the anger, at himself, at the kid, at everything, had far outstripped the pain. The bleeding had continued, and Demon insisted he needed to go to the hospital. D’yavol had been reluctant, but Demon’s teasing about him dying alone in his sleep had convinced him. He’d never given much thought to death, at least not his own, but he’d imagined it then, had wondered if Julie would worry if he just never showed up again—something he’d tried to delude himself into believing he had the capacity to do—and been swayed. Besides, between the fake ID and the large indigent population the local charity hospital serviced, he shouldn’t face too many questions.
    “Bob Lawrence.”
    D’yavol looked up when he heard his fake name. The pretty doctor that Julie had been talking to held a clipboard and looked around the waiting area. He stood and walked toward her.
    “I’m Dr. Rodgers, and I’ll be taking care of you today,” she said as she led him into a small triage room. The tiny cot in the room wouldn’t support him, so she said, “Here, just have a seat and we’ll take a look.”
    He settled into the chair, and she pulled on latex gloves and started to remove the gauze he’d stuck over the wound to capture the blood.
    “Looks like there still some light bleeding,” she said as she lightly probed the area, “but the cut doesn’t look too deep.”
    She pulled over a stool and sat in front of him, flashing a light into his eyes.
    “Pupils look good. Please follow the light.” He complied as she moved it left and right, up and down. “Any loss of consciousness? Dizziness? Nausea? Double vision?” she asked, and he responded that there wasn’t. “Okay, good. I don’t think there’s any head trauma, but you’ll need stitches.” She stared into his eyes. “Any chance you’ll tell me how this happened, Mr. Lawrence ?”
    D’yavol wanted to smile at her raised brow, but instead said, “Accident at work.”
    She huffed and stood. “Ah, the generic work accident. And let me guess, you’re ‘self-employed,’ right? Or wait, you have no recollection of your employer’s name or the location of the accident or any of those other pesky details?” She leveled a withering glare at him, one he suspected usually got her what she wanted, but he stayed silent, and after a moment, she nodded. “Fair enough, I suppose. I need to debride the area and put in sutures. Let me get you something for the pain, and I should have you out shortly.”
    “No medicine. Please just do what you need.”
    She looked surprised momentarily, then nodded and begin setting up a tray with the necessary equipment. After a moment, she walked back over to him and again started to probe the wound.
    “I’ll need to shave a bit of hair. Is that okay?”
    He nodded, and the doctor proceeded. He let his mind drift, the surprise, then concern, then anguish on Julie’s face playing on a loop. For some reason, it had never occurred to him that Julie might care for him beyond sex. Which was stupid, probably