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her a n undesirable freak, but she couldn’t just leave him in the hospital. If he’d given her name, it meant he was really bad off. The conscience in her wouldn’t let her turn her back on him, no matter what he’d done to her .
    Crawling back up into the bed, she kissed a sleeping Evan, letting him know where she was going and that she’d be back as soon as possible .
    “Don’t let the bed get cold, please . I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.” She grabbed her track jacket from the closet as well as her car keys then jogged up the underground club’s staircase to the lingerie shop upstairs. Keying in the alarm code, she let herself out onto the street, more than a little taken aback by the sting of an icy wind. She hugged her jacket close quickly climbing into her little black BMW, thankful for the heated seats, and even more thankful that there were no cops on the street between the club and the hospital. She wanted to get in, get out; get back to Evan’s bed and capable hands as quickly as possible. Speed limits were more like recommendations for people who didn’t know how to handle the horses under their hoods anyway.
    *****
    Deacon jerked his arm against the restraints cuffing him to the hospital bed railing. His usually perfectly coiffed, deep blonde hair was a mussed and tangled mess that looked like it hadn’t been washed or combed in days. A thin, glassy sheen coated his dark brown eyes; every vein in his body seemed to stand out from his pale skin. He barely looked like himself, but his attitude was ever present. Cocky self-importance and intolerance for being manhandled by male nurses created the impetus for the myriad of profanities that spilled from his room out into the hallway. Despite his pounding head, he roared at everyone who came near him, spitting vile insults at the officers standing just outside the door. His stomach had already been pumped, so his lips were tinted a deep purple by the charcoal. The IVs in his arms helping to treat his alcohol poisoning were stretched tight as he thrashed and tried to break free of the restraints. The alcohol still working its way out of his system made him more ornery than usual; the crash that was coming was going to be a killer.
    “Under arrest? What do you mean, under arrest?! It’s not illegal for a grown ass man to drown his sorrows in a bottle of bourbon, you dick heads! I wasn’t hurting anybody! Under arrest?! Arrest this!” His hips thrust up, and he humped the air as he slung his last statement at the officers. Their rolling eyes did nothing to stem his ire. He continued to be a royal pain in the ass to everyone around him.
    He couldn’t remember much, thanks to his drunken stupor, and he preferred it that way. He’d proposed to the money, er, girl , he thought he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and she’d not only turned him down, she’d done it at his birthday party in front of all of their friends . Then to add a giant kick in the balls to that little insult, she ran off with his best friend of twenty years. A simple “no thank you” would have suffice d. He’d given the officer Rissa’s name to call, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she left him there to rot. Honestly, h e wouldn’t blame her if she did . He’d been a dick to her ; he knew it, and now look where he was. Utterly alone, homeless, and quickly gaining a reputation as a shiftless, drunken hobo with a police record to match. Since Mystie had run off with his best friend, he was living out of his car, showering in the sink at work. For such an independently wealthy woman, she’d had no shame about emptying his bank account , draining him dry. Finally quieting down as the last vestiges of his drunken rage began to subside, he resigned himself to the fact that Rissa wasn’t going to come fo r him. I n her shoes, he wouldn’t either . When he heard her voice from just outside the door tangled amongst the gruffer voices of the officers