Did You Drink?

"Who? Fake murdered what?"

To his credit, Logan manages not to sound irritated.

"The clients. Never mind. It doesn't matter. You're an asshole either way. Doesn't change anything."

"Nicole, I'm not—" He blows out a breath. "It's going to hurt."

He's not wrong, and I grit my teeth. "You're going to cut off my leg."

"No, I'm not. Let me do the other one."

I shake my head. "No. Just let that one die a natural death. It's fine. You only need one leg."

"Nicole, just take a deep breath."

"Stop it, Logan. I don't want this leg. I'm returning it for a refund."

"You can't—Nicole, you're delirious from blood loss. Shut up and sit still."

Wow. How very alpha of him, throwing out orders to save my leg. "No."

Son of a fucking bitch. The tourniquet feels like it's going to pop my leg clean off. "I said I didn't want the leg anymore!"

"Shut up, Nicole. You're a terrible patient."

I gasp.