Stolen By The Queen: A Narcos Romance

Chapter 33

Camila's arm felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, deadweight at her side. She glanced down at it, almost like it wasn't part of her body, but aside from that she surprisingly felt very little pain. That's when she noticed the second IV in her arm in the last twenty four hours, clearly full of painkillers. But she wasn't complaining. 

Then it all came back, at first slowly before all at once. The tires getting shot out from under the truck, Ryan pulling her behind the car, the cartel henchmen rounding the vehicle and firing a bullet right for Ryan. 

She hadn't even had to think--to consider it--before acting. She owed Ryan more than her life, she owed him her soul. An apology she could never repay. If dying meant saving his life, she'd do it again. 

Ryan.

Camila sat up straighter in the makeshift hospital gurney, not even pausing to rip the IV from her arm. She glanced around before slipping out of the bed, a thick bandage wrapped around her upper bicep, her clothes still on. She tried not to overthink the myriad of blood splatters on her shirt and jeans, gingerly opening the door that led out into a hallway. 

It was quiet, everything barebones and simple. She had no idea where they were, her memory blacking out after her face hit the pavement. She couldn't even remember the feel of the bullet going through her, only the relief that it had.

She peeked into each of the rooms before she found what she was looking for.

Ryan.

The door was unlocked as she slipped quietly inside, Ryan's large, muscular body almost too big for the bed. She gripped the metal railing beside his sleeping figure, staring down at his face, never having had the opportunity to observe him like this before. To watch him without being seen.

Even in deep sleep, there was nothing soft and peaceful about Ryan McCallister. His brow was pensive and tense, his jaw granite-hard, his eyes squinted slightly at the corners like he was shielding himself from the sun. Camila reached out, careful not to wake hi, stroking her fingers through the top of his soft brown hair, the russet muted under fluorescent lights.

She felt the warmth of his skin, wondering why he was in this hospital bed hooked up to a machine. Perhaps he'd been shot after she'd gone done, her attempt in vain.

But at least he was alive. That meant everything.

"How's your arm feeling?" 

Camila nearly jumped at the soft sound of a female's voice, the hand threading through Ryan's hair coming up to clamp her clavicle. 

The woman was wearing a long white coat, clearly a doctor. Camila glanced between her and her bandaged arm, assuming she was the one who removed the bullet from her body. 

"Oh, much better, thank you. Honestly, I don't really feel any pain at all." 

"That's the meds talking," the doctor chuckled lightly, walking over to a rolling cart by Ryan's bed and glancing down at his chart before clutching it to her chest. The doctor stared down at Ryan, her brows drawing together as if in concern.

"Is he okay?"

"Well, if you're asking whether he's stable, then yes. And no bullet wounds, no flesh wounds--"

"So why is he hooked up to these machines, then? Why is he in a hopsital bed?"

"Mercedes--"

"Camila, please." Camila shivered at the sound of her real name on the doctor's lips, wondering how she even got it. 

"Okay," the doctor smiled softly, "Camila it is. How well do you know Agent McCallister, Camila?"

Agent McCallister? That sounded so foreign, distant. Not like the Ryan who pulled her onto his lap just hours before a shootout with the cartel.