Unraveled (31 page)

She managed to keep her art store visit to thirty minutes.

Tom helped her carry the bags out. When he tried to store them in the trunk, she asked
him to put them in the backseat so she could look through the books she’d bought.

“Back to your apartment?” Tom asked.

“No. Take me to Black Arts.”

“Not a problem. I apologize about the seat. I’ll make sure you’re not charged for
today’s service.”

“Thank you.”

The drive proceeded without incident. Until on the freeway a semi lost control and
T-boned the car.

The last thing Shiori remembered was a jarring impact like nothing she’d ever experienced,
the sickening crunch of metal, and flashes of red as glass rained down on her.

WHERE
the hell was Shiori?

Knox knew she ran on her own time frame, but she was more than two hours late. Ronin
and Amery were supposed to be back in the next couple of days, and they needed to
make sure they had every detail of what’d happened in the past few months nailed down.

Deacon popped into the office and frowned. “I thought Shi-Shi was coming in today.”

“I expected her a while ago. She’s not answering her cell. I’d say that’s not like
her, but it’s exactly like her.” She’d mentioned working on a new painting. And after
seeing the level of concentrated joy whenever she held a paintbrush in her hand, he
suspected she’d lost track of time.

His cell phone rang. Shiori’s name flashed on the screen. “About fucking time.” He
answered with, “I hope you’re bringing me something good to eat since you missed our
lunch date.”

“Ah, is this Knox?”

He pulled his phone away from his ear and scowled at it. “Who the fuck is this, and
why are you on Shiori’s phone?”

“This is Tom. Her driver.”

Why would her driver be calling?

“There’s been an accident.”

His heart stopped. “When?”

“A couple of hours ago. We were on the freeway and a semi hit us.”

Bile churning in his stomach crawled up his throat and threatened to choke him. He
couldn’t speak.

Deacon stood across from him. “What’s happened?”

Tom said, “She’s in the hospital. Denver Memorial General.”

“Is she okay?” Knox asked.

“I don’t know. They won’t release any information to me,” Tom said. “I managed to
get her cell phone after they brought her purse in so they could ID her.”

Jesus fucking Christ. ID her? Like she was . . .

No. No fucking way.

“I figured she’d want you to know,” Tom continued. “Or is there someone else who should
be called?”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for calling me. I’m on my way now.”

Knox ended the call. Feeling nauseous, he set his forehead on the desk, trying to
control his need to roar with rage, punch something, or throw up.

“What the fuck is going on, Knox?”

He slowly raised his head. “Shiori’s been in a car accident.”

Every bit of blood drained from Deacon’s face.

“That was her driver who called. I need to get to the hospital.” He stood. Where were
his keys? He panicked. What if he’d left his keys in his truck? He didn’t remember
where the hell he’d parked.

Then Deacon was in his face. “Which hospital?”

“Denver Memorial General.”

“Get your coat. I’m driving.”

Knox stared at Deacon. The mean man looked pasty-faced and wide-eyed. Was Deacon’s
face just reflecting back what he saw in his?

“Come on. We’ll fill Blue and Maddox in before we go.”

He paid little attention when Deacon spoke to the guys in the training room. His brain
started the mantra—
I love you. Please be all right. I love you. Please be all right
—and he couldn’t get it to stop.

Deacon drove his Mercedes like a madman, but Knox didn’t complain since he needed
to get to the damn hospital now.

But Deacon didn’t pull up to the emergency doors and let Knox out. “What the fuck—”

“You are not goin’ in there alone. First off, because you can be a prick when you’re
agitated. Second, I can’t sit in the waiting room without goin’ fuckin’ crazy if they
take you to her right away. That’s too much to ask of me, man.”

Knox hadn’t ever seen Deacon this freaked-out. “That’s fine. I’m just losing my shit,
D.”

“I know. Just keep it together for her.”

Inside the hospital Knox had to wait in line to speak to a receptionist. When he finally
made it up to the window, he had to repeat himself because he’d spewed everything
so fast. “Shiori Hirano was in a car accident a couple of hours ago. I was told they
brought her here.”

“Who are you?”

“Knox Lofgren. Her fiancé.”

She frowned. “It lists Ronin Black as her next of kin.”

“That’s her brother, and he’s been out of the country for months. Shiori probably
hasn’t updated her information since we just got engaged two weeks ago.”

It appeared the middle-aged woman was going to brush him off. Then she noticed his
bracelet. To most people it looked like a nice chain-link bracelet. But to anyone
in the BDSM life, it was a symbol of ownership. Her gaze sharpened. “Did she give
you that?”

Knox said, “Yes, ma’am. Two weeks ago.”

She patted his hand. “Have a seat, son, and I’ll tell the staff you’re here. They’ll
come out and talk to you as soon as they can.”

“Thank you.”

After they took seats closest to the doors leading to the medical rooms, Deacon said,
“What was that about?”

“Shiori gave me the bracelet.”

“Why is that a big deal?”

What did it matter if Deacon knew the truth? “Shiori is a Domme.”

“No shit?” A pause, then, “Don’t know why I’m surprised. She has that whole power
thing going on even when she’s not on the mat.”

Knox ran his thumb over the bracelet’s band. “That she does. And that’s what drew
me to her.”

“Wait. I know you guys are seeing each other, but that’s part of it too?”

“Yeah. She . . .”
Just fucking spit it out
. “She’s my Domme. She gave me the bracelet as a reminder of the importance of our
relationship.”

Deacon didn’t respond right away. He rubbed his hand over his shaved head. “Like a
collar?”

“Sort of.”

“Not sure what to say to that besides it’s none of my damn business. Except I’m shocked
that you’re submissive.”

“It shocked me too. I didn’t know that’s what I was until I was with her.”

“As long as we’re sitting here, killing time, tell me how that works.”

So much for his “it’s none of my damn business” comment. “She belongs to me as much
as I belong to her. It’s the most powerfully intimate thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“Does she make you wear a bow tie and a Speedo when you’re alone? Oh, wow. Does she
make you hand-feed her grapes and fan her with palm fronds too?”

His head whipped up, and he saw the humor dancing in Deacon’s eyes. “Fuck you.”

Deacon bumped him with his shoulder. “I couldn’t resist.”

They didn’t say anything for a while. But neither of them were watching people either.

“Excuse me . . . Knox?”

He looked up and saw Tom the driver standing there. His face had bumps, bruises, and
cuts. His arm was in a sling. His clothes looked like he’d rolled in the dirt. He
was walking hunched over. “Jesus, Tom. Are you okay?”

Deacon pulled a chair over for him.

“Thanks. I’m . . . still a little in shock, to tell you the truth. Any word on Ms.
Hirano?”

“Not yet.”

Tom sighed and slumped back in the chair with a wince. “Before you ask, I didn’t see
her at all after the accident. I got knocked out because the air bag didn’t deploy.”

Knox saw Deacon clenching and unclenching his fists. He swore he could hear the man
grinding his teeth. He returned his attention to Tom. “Do you remember how the accident
happened?”

“We were in a construction zone, so I wasn’t driving more than forty-five. The truck
was coming down the ramp and he swerved to avoid something. He overcorrected and the
truck skidded off the ramp into traffic. We were the unlucky car in its direct path.”

He couldn’t suppress a shudder.

“The truck T-boned us, but the other cars around us managed to avoid hitting us. Or
so I’ve heard.” He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered, “Thank god for that damn stain.”

“Excuse me?”

Tom looked at Knox with anguished eyes. “When I picked Ms. Hirano up this morning,
she noticed a stain on the right rear passenger seat—where she prefers to sit. Rather
than having another car sent, she sat on the opposite side. If she’d been sitting
there . . . that
entire side of the car was caved in and demolished. She would’ve been crushed.”

All the breath left his lungs. His heart dropped into his stomach, and every hair
in his body stood on end.

Deacon abruptly got up.

“So that stain I was so pissed about probably saved her life,” Tom said.

This was a brutal reminder that everything could be gone in the blink of an eye. Shiori
had to be okay.
Had
to. He had this miracle, this chance to tell her how he felt about her.

“I’ve been discharged even though I’ve got a screaming headache. My boyfriend is on
his way from Colorado Springs to take me home,” Tom said.

Knox glanced up and frowned at the other man. Tom was gay? Not that it mattered. But
that disclosure did indicate that Shiori had been right about how quickly Knox overreacted
to any man’s attention to her. “Headache? Did they diagnose you with a concussion?”

“No. The EMTs were concerned about my dislocated shoulder and whether the impact with
the steering wheel broke any ribs. They gave me some painkillers, but I haven’t taken
any yet.”

“Then you should go home. Be on the lookout for late-appearing concussion symptoms.
They’re nothing to mess around with.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He slowly stood.

Knox snorted. “I’ve spent my adult life in martial arts, and head injuries are our
number-one concern. Get yourself checked out again next week, just to be safe.”

“My number is on here”—he passed Shiori’s phone over—“so if you’d leave a message
letting me know how she’s doing, I’d appreciate it.”

“Will do.”

Tom shuffled away.

Deacon hadn’t returned. Knox saw him standing by the windows. More tension vibrated
off him than he usually saw before Deacon stepped into the ring. He moved to stand
beside him, wishing the man would ramble about some random shit to take Knox’s mind
off this gut-wrenching waiting.

After several long moments Deacon said, “I fucking hate hospitals.” Then he released
a sharp bark of laughter. “Stupid statement. I highly doubt anyone loves them.”

The doctors and nurses here saved lives. Knox was damn glad someone was saving Shiori.

More silence followed. Then Deacon said, “I really fucking hate car accidents. One
second everything is fine and the next . . .”

Knox couldn’t let that one go, especially since he’d had that same flash of fear about
the fragility of life. “Someone close to you die in a car accident?”

“My brother.”

“I’m sorry.” He paused for a moment. “Older brother? Younger?”

“My twin brother.”

“Fuck, Deacon. That’s awful. How long ago?”

“We were fifteen.”

Now Deacon’s deflection when anyone asked him about his family made sense.

“So being in the hospital is a special kind of torture for me. And I don’t mind telling
you, man, I’m about to run the fuck outta here now before I run the fuck outta here
screaming
.”

“Then go,” Knox urged. “I’m grateful you drove me here. You can’t go back to the medical
rooms with me, and after hearing that, I won’t make you sit out here in misery and
wait.”

“Thanks. I just . . .” He laced his fingers together and set them on his head. “Fuck.”
Then he dropped his arms by his sides again.

“Go. I’ll text you or call you when I’ve got news.”

Deacon nodded.

Before Knox returned to his seat, he said, “I’ve known you for what? Four years? What
made you tell me this today?”

Deacon finally looked at him. “You trusted me with your secret; I’m trusting you with
mine.” Then he walked out.

Twenty thousand fucking years passed after Deacon left, in which Knox stared at the
floor.

Every time the door opened he’d turn and look, hoping they’d call for him. At last
when the door opened he turned and heard what he’d been waiting for.

“Hirano family?”

Knox nearly leaped to his feet. “Yes, I’m here.”

The nurse said, “Come with me.”

He followed her through the maze of curtained-off areas and down a hallway. The nurse
stopped in front of a door. “Sorry for the delay. When the EMTs first brought her
in, she was speaking Japanese and we didn’t have anyone to translate. Then she became
agitated, so we sedated her. We couldn’t examine her until she calmed down.”

“She’s all right?”

“She sustained a concussion, as well as contusions and cuts on her face. No broken
bones. Nothing sprained or dislocated. There is some concern about her tongue. She
bit it during impact, and it’s swollen.”

“Can I see her?”

“Of course. Be warned; we’re suggesting she doesn’t talk.”

Knox opened the door to the most beautiful sight. Shiori, conscious, although with
a slightly vacant look in her eyes, her mouth set in a stubborn line. He barely noticed
the marks on her face because his gaze caught on her white pants splattered with blood.

Jesus. What hadn’t the nurse told him about her injuries? Because from where he stood,
she had to have major damage somewhere.

“Sir?”

He looked up to see Shiori trying to talk and the nurse shushing her. Shiori grabbed
a pad of paper and a pen and wrote something. She turned it around and underlined
it twice.

But she’d written it in Japanese.

The accident had scrambled her brain.

Knox took a step closer to her. “I don’t read Japanese. English, please.”

She spun the pad around, frowned, and wrote something else and turned it.

IT’S RED PAINT. THE CANS I BOUGHT AT THE ART STORE EXPLODED UPON IMPACT.

“Thank god.” Then Knox was by her side, cupping her precious, precious face in his
hands, pressing soft kisses everywhere he could reach. On her forehead, her hairline,
the corners of her eyes, her cheeks, the tip of her nose and chin, along every inch
of her jaw. And then finally, with infinite tenderness, he kissed her mouth. When
she parted her lips to speak, he shook his head. “For the first time since I’ve known
you, I can say keep your mouth shut and pass it off as a doctor’s order.”

Those beautiful golden eyes filled with tears.

“Nushi,” he whispered, “don’t. I died a thousand deaths today, not knowing if you
were all right.”