Blood Type
Page 67
Yes. This felt like a hospital.
The beeping was her heartbeat.
The drip…
She glanced over and realized that an IV was hooked into her arm. At least she had been asleep for that. She gagged at the sight of it and turned away. Her fear of needles hadn’t abated even with her recent bites.
She forced herself to look back at the IV, and she tried to claw it out of her arm. She doubled over at the sight of the thing. It was too much.
Where the hell was she? Who had taken her? Why was she here? When would she see Beckham again? She had an endless array of questions.
The sound of the door handle turning pulled her from her depressing thoughts. The person who stepped into the room made her start. She never would have guessed.
“Mr. Harrington?” she asked.
She wanted to feel relaxed in his presence, but she remembered the evil glint in his eye. The thirst for power. The need to be in charge. He was a man not to be reckoned with, and she had no idea why she had drawn his attention.
“Hello, my dear.”
“What am I doing here? Please, let me go,” she stammered.
“Ah, ah, ah. I believe you have something of mine.”
She stared dumbfounded. “I don’t have anything.”
“Now, we both know that’s not true. Don’t we?”
He walked carefully across the room with his slight build and took a seat next to her hospital bed.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she told him truthfully.
He smiled deviously. “We ran a few tests after Everett reported suspicious activity regarding you when you passed out in his apartment. A remarkable young man, I might add. He told us later that he found it odd that Mr. Anderson never drank your blood when you were a clear blood type match, and even more odd that he couldn’t seem to stop. Everything we know about Beckham is that he is a man of control if nothing else.”
Reyna was shaking at this point. She didn’t know where he was going with this. She had thought it all strange, but she hadn’t thought it important.
“And so it seems we have our answer. Your blood type was filed incorrectly at the hospital.”
“What?” she asked, perplexed.
“You’re not O negative. You are much much rarer than that, my dear sweet Reyna. You are in fact Rh null, and you match me.”
To Anjee—For always loving Becks as much as I do.
The beeping was her heartbeat.
The drip…
She glanced over and realized that an IV was hooked into her arm. At least she had been asleep for that. She gagged at the sight of it and turned away. Her fear of needles hadn’t abated even with her recent bites.
She forced herself to look back at the IV, and she tried to claw it out of her arm. She doubled over at the sight of the thing. It was too much.
Where the hell was she? Who had taken her? Why was she here? When would she see Beckham again? She had an endless array of questions.
The sound of the door handle turning pulled her from her depressing thoughts. The person who stepped into the room made her start. She never would have guessed.
“Mr. Harrington?” she asked.
She wanted to feel relaxed in his presence, but she remembered the evil glint in his eye. The thirst for power. The need to be in charge. He was a man not to be reckoned with, and she had no idea why she had drawn his attention.
“Hello, my dear.”
“What am I doing here? Please, let me go,” she stammered.
“Ah, ah, ah. I believe you have something of mine.”
She stared dumbfounded. “I don’t have anything.”
“Now, we both know that’s not true. Don’t we?”
He walked carefully across the room with his slight build and took a seat next to her hospital bed.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she told him truthfully.
He smiled deviously. “We ran a few tests after Everett reported suspicious activity regarding you when you passed out in his apartment. A remarkable young man, I might add. He told us later that he found it odd that Mr. Anderson never drank your blood when you were a clear blood type match, and even more odd that he couldn’t seem to stop. Everything we know about Beckham is that he is a man of control if nothing else.”
Reyna was shaking at this point. She didn’t know where he was going with this. She had thought it all strange, but she hadn’t thought it important.
“And so it seems we have our answer. Your blood type was filed incorrectly at the hospital.”
“What?” she asked, perplexed.
“You’re not O negative. You are much much rarer than that, my dear sweet Reyna. You are in fact Rh null, and you match me.”
To Anjee—For always loving Becks as much as I do.
