British Exchange Agent

Chapter 22

KAYLA'S P.O.V.

My eyes fluttered open, the clanging in my head making me groan internally.

Where was I?

My eardrums picked up voices talking beside me, as well as an annoying thump which joggled my head.

"You do amuse me, amigo. It is good - I need more things to laugh at."

I tried to ignore the searing pain travelling up my arm as I shifted on whatever I was laying on, forcing my eyes to stay open.

"It's true - I laugh at him every day."

I heard footsteps stride over to me, a worried voice calling out my name.

"That's my name - don't wear it out." I mumbled, my eyes flicking to my right. They landed on Cyrus's face, his wild eyes, his set jaw. I raised an exhausted eyebrow.

"Worried about me?"

"You have no idea - he wouldn't let anybody touch you at all. Darn near bit the doctor's filthy little hand off when she tried to adjust your bandage." An unfamiliar voice spoke, amused. The stranger was obviously Mexican; possessing a thick, foreign accent.

What was it with all these Mexican men?

"Alejandro." Cyrus hissed, shooting a glare over his shoulder. His jacket had gone, revealing his taught, bulging muscles which fought against the fabric of his t-shirt.

"What? I'm just saying what the poor girl's getting herself into. You're like a predatory wolf, amigo." Alejandro defended. Cyrus's dark eyes fixed on the figure behind him.

"Leave. Now." He demanded.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring my protesting hand and head as I slowly pulled myself up. Cyrus's eyes snapped back to me as I propped my back against the wall, sliding my legs around. The dizziness in my head gradually faded as I blinked, my blurry eyes focusing.

I was in some sort of medical room, with stark, white lights illuminating every crevice. A tanned, handsome man on one of the chairs watched me and Cyrus in amusement, with his striking, hazel eyes. He wore a black suit, and my eyes travelled down the crisp fabric. They landed on a gun, setting me on alert instantly.

"Where am I?" I asked quietly, praying my anxiety didn't show through my expression. I glanced down at my burning hand, frowning when I noticed the blood-coated bandage around it.

"The boxing...place. Remember?" Cyrus informed me, watching my face carefully. My eyes widened as my memory's came crashing back in a wave of dizziness. I clutched my head, letting out a slow breath.

"Shoot." I breathed, images of Hatrov's limp body in my mind. Dereck's son eyed me cautiously as I tried not to hyperventilate, avoiding his gaze.

"Kayla." he started, his voice low and serious. "What happened to your hand?"

"Hm?" I murmured distractedly. My eyes flit to Alejandro, who was staring at me intently.

"Your hand?" Cyrus touched it briefly, and I winced, drawing it back. He dropped it like it was scolding and took a step back. His eyes were stormy. Dark.

"I cut it on some glass." I explained hesitantly, the pounding in my head fading.

I took some big, deep breaths of oxygen before looking up again. To my surprise, I noticed that Spike was in the room as well, laying on the floor by Alejandro's feet. He watched intently with large doe eyes as I shuffled towards the edge of the bed. Cyrus frowned.

"Sit." He commanded, eyeing me with concern. I shot him a glare.

"I'm not a dog."

Ignoring his protesting gaze, I slipped off the bed, but instantly regretted it when my legs swayed from beneath me.