The Emperor (2# The Darkest Desires Series)

I

CUPS OF EIGHT

(Reversed)

Adrift and suck at a fork in the road.

"Ms. Headly I really must recommend against this. You've only been with us for a few weeks. You need time to rest. You need to-".

"If you tell me what I 'need' one more time I'll make you regret it." Echo growled at the nurse, looking up through her tangled curtain of hair. Bent over the bed, Echo breathed heavily, one hand clutching at her side. Brain and gunshot wound protested with every movement, but her stubbornness could out-sprint them both. It always did. "Instead, you can listen to me closely. You and your merry band of cutthroats shredded my clothes. You even slashed my underwear like savages. Therefore, your only job is to get me something to wear that isn't this ugly paper bag. Your only job, is to collect what little you didn't destroy and bring them to me." Echo hissed as pain zipped up her spine. She didn't let it show on her face despite knees buckling and her eyelids heavy, but she did grasp the bed sheets tighter.

"Ms. Headly, you are in no condition to leave here-"

"What did I tell you about telling me what I can and can't do?" Echo's voice was deadly. She was getting out of here if it killed her.

"Very well." The nurse said curtly, walking out the room, her nose pointed high in the air. Echo just glared at the bouncy blonde bob as she retreated and only when the door closed behind her did Echo allow her forehead to fall to the mattress; her side in agony. She'd only been shot three weeks ago. Her wound had healed and only the blood loss had concerned thedoctorsbut she'd pulled through. The bastards wanted her to stay for another three weeks until her muscles and bowels had fully healed but Echo was having none of that. Fuck them. She had better things to do than sit in bed being poked and prodded. The only thing stopping her all this time, the great Saint McQueen.

Though his first visits had been brief, McQueen had continued to visit Echo on a regular basis. She suspected it was more to do with meeting his budding love – the preppy Nurse Willows - than any concern for her. However, it was good to know his Sainthood still guilt-tripped him into coming. Her lamb was still out to pasture. When he visited her for the first time in a week, he spoke two words to her - hello and goodbye – chickening out of saying more. A week after that he stiffened his upper lip, telling her that finding Sydney Summers was now a low priority and she was no longer being hunted. Too many men pulling to many hours searching for a woman who was considered by some to be a hero, killing a serial killer. All in all, they couldn't afford it. Echo however, had waived him off having no doubt that those decisions came from someone in Archer's pocket. If they had told McQueen to heel, it was probably because her family had saved the kill for her. A get-well present and the first reason Echo had to leave sooner than later.

So, to past the time between now and her revenge, she'd conducted a list of every reason she needed to leave, first and foremost: hunting down and slowly killing a certain bar tender. But with a sudden gust, the door swung open and Echo straightened, hiding any pain on her face. "Fresh scrubs." The nurse said with a fake smile. "It's all we have."

Eyeing the thin, pink cotton patterned with happy hearts and perfectly symmetrical creases, Echo ground her teeth together. Ugly and a fashion disaster, Echo wouldn't normally be caught dead in such monstrosity, but dead girls walking couldn't be choosers. "They'll do." She answered through trembling lips. Twisting to the door had hurt more than she dare let on; pulling at stitches that didn't want to be pulled.

"We did have your shoes," The nurse said apologetically, "But they seem to have been misplaced. Unfortunately, all we have are these crocs from Lost & Found." The bitch didn't sound sorry and like fuck had Echo's boots gone walk-about. They were a grand's worth of designer labels and imported leather. More thanlikely, they were tucked in someone's cupboard ready to be covered in vomit and booze on a night out. "I'll have the doctor draw up you an A. M. A form and he will be along shortly." The nurse breezed on and with a swoosh of arrogant sass, she left again.