Master of Lust-Chapter 266 - - : An unknown not so well wisher

Chapter - 266

The hospital room was quiet, lit by the soft glow of overhead lights. White curtains surrounded the bed, creating isolation, and the faint beeping of machines filled the space.

Rick's father was unconscious on the narrow hospital bed, his face pale and slightly gaunt. His left foot, wrapped in bandages, peeked out from the edge of the blanket. The air felt heavy, weighed down by the smell of antiseptic and the eerie stillness of the place.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, wide with panic, and he let out a scream that shattered the silence.

"Aaagh!" His voice was hoarse and desperate, the sound echoing off the walls.

Within seconds, a nurse rushed into the room, her face filled with irritation and concern. "What on earth are you screaming for?" she scolded, moving quickly to his bedside.

Rick's father, gasping for breath, struggled to sit up. "What happened to me? Am I... am I going to recover? How bad are my injuries?" His words came out in a rapid, frantic stream. "How long am I going to be stuck here? Will I be able to walk again? How long until I can leave?"

The nurse sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. "Relax, Mr. Smith, relax," she said, her voice steady but firm. "You're going to be fine. You just have some minor injuries.

Only two of your left toes were damaged, and they're not even broken—just crushed. You'll be out of here after a few check-ups tomorrow morning, and you'll recover completely in no time. No major troubles or difficulties to worry about."

He blinked, his eyes still wide with fear, but her words seemed to soothe him. His breathing slowed, though his hands gripped the edge of the blanket tightly. "So.. I'll walk again?" he asked, his voice trembling.

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"Yes," the nurse confirmed. "You'll be back on your feet soon enough. Just rest and follow the doctor's orders."

There was a pause, and then his face twisted. "My son... Rick. Is he here? Is he hurt? Did anything happen to him?"

The nurse blinked, caught off guard for a moment, then frowned slightly as she pieced together his question. "If you mean the man involved in the same accident as you," she said slowly, "he's completely unharmed. He left already, once the doctors cleared him."

"He left?" he asked, almost disbelieving. "Did he... did he visit me? Ask about me?"

The nurse shook her head, her tone dismissive. "No, Mr. Smith. He got out of the hospital as soon as he was cleared. Didn't stick around."

"Just rest," she said over her shoulder, her voice much softer now. "You'll be alright."

Rick's father's face tensed with anger as bitter thoughts churned inside his mind. The image of Rick alone with Jemimah, left unchecked, free to indulge himself—seemed to gnaw at him.

He could almost see them now, lost in each other, bodies entwined, making love without a care in the world. The very thought of Rick enjoying Jemimah, relishing in the pleasure he believed should belong to him, filled him with a deep, festering rage.

"That boy..." he muttered under his breath, his fingers digging into the hospital blanket. His mind began spiralling further, imagining Rick and Jemimah alone, their laughter, their intimacy—things that should be forbidden, things that felt like a personal betrayal to him.

But then, an idea sparked in his mind. A smirk briefly crossed his lips. He needed to call Jemimah. He could ruin Rick's night—have her come to the hospital, keeping her away from Rick. That would give him some satisfaction.

He looked around the room, eyes darting until they landed on the nurse, who was busy adjusting a clipboard. "Where's my phone?" he asked abruptly, his voice tight with impatience.

The nurse barely glanced at him as she replied, "I don't know. When you came in, you didn't have a phone with you. If there was one, it's probably with the police now."

A chill ran down his spine at the mention of the police. The police have my phone? His heart raced at the implications. If they checked his calls and messages, especially any communication with Jed...

They could easily start connecting the dots and grow suspicious of his involvement in the accident. He clenched his jaw, fear briefly mingling with his anger. But that's a problem for later, he thought.

Right now, what mattered was Rick having Jemimah all to himself. He needed to call her. Get her here. Now.

His gaze locked onto the nurse again. "Can I borrow your phone?" His voice was urgent, almost desperate. "I need to call a relative. It's important."

The nurse hesitated, her brow furrowing as she gave him a sceptical look. "I don't usually lend my phone out to patients," she said, her tone cautious, but seeing his persistence, she sighed and handed it over. "Alright, but please, just one call."

He snatched the phone with a quick "Thanks," but as soon as he unlocked it, panic set in again. He realized with growing frustration that he didn't remember Jemimah's number. Or Rick's.

His grip tightened on the phone as his mood darkened, sour once more. The plan to spoil Rick's night was crumbling before it had even begun. His anger swelled, the frustration gnawing at his insides, making him grit his teeth.

The nurse, sensing his growing agitation, stepped forward. "You really shouldn't stress about any of this right now, Mr. Smith," she said, her tone softer. "Your injury is very minor. There's no need to alarm your relatives. You'll be discharged by tomorrow morning, so why not rest until then? Sleep will help you heal faster."

Her words fell on deaf ears Rick's father seethed inwardly, his thoughts still circling back to Rick and Jemimah. But there was nothing more he could do, and the realization sank in, leaving him feeling powerless.

Reluctantly, he handed the phone back to the nurse without a word, his frustration boiling beneath the surface.

The nurse tucked the phone away, giving him one last encouraging smile. "Just rest," she advised before heading out of the room, leaving Rick's father alone with his angry, obsessive thoughts.

He laid in the sterile hospital bed, his mind spinning, unable to escape the tormenting thoughts of Rick and Jemimah together. The images played over and over, fuelling his anger and jealousy.

Every noise in the hospital—the faint beeping of machines, the footsteps in the hall, the murmurs of distant conversations—grated on his nerves. The sharp, antiseptic smell of the room and the unfamiliar feel of the stiff bed sheets made sleep seem impossible.

He turned over restlessly, trying to clear his mind, but it was no use. He kept imagining Rick, smug and satisfied, alone with Jemimah.

How could they be so careless? So thoughtless? His heart pounded in his chest; each beat a reminder of his inability to control the situation.

But eventually, after what felt like hours of wrestling with his thoughts, his eyelids grew heavy. His breathing slowed, and for a brief moment, sleep began to take hold.

Just as he was drifting off, a gentle tap on his arm startled him awake. He blinked groggily, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. A nurse stood beside him, holding a phone out to him, motioning for him to take it.

Confused, he rubbed his eyes and reached for the phone.

"Are you Mr. Smith? Rick's father?" The voice, deep and authoritative, inquired.

"Yes", Rick's father answered. But soon he came out of the groggy, half-asleep state, he realised he doesn't know with whom he is talking.

"Who is this?" he asked, staring at the nurse for any kind of explanation, but she stood there staring at him.

The voice responded, cutting through his confusion like a knife. "I won't beat around the bush, Mr. Smith. We know you ordered both hits—on the highway with the truck, and now in the mountain roads. You paid Jed to kill your son."

Those words hit him like a hammer. His blood ran cold, the shock gripping his chest tight as panic surged through him. How could they know? He thought desperately. Was it the police? Did they go through my phone? Did they track everything back to me? Sweat prickled on his forehead as he frantically tried to find the words.

"No, no, you've got it wrong!" he blurted out, his voice high with fear.

"There's been a misunderstanding. I'll come to the station, explain everything! You don't understand!" He was already scrambling mentally, picturing himself sitting in a cold interrogation room, caught red-handed.

A chilling laugh echoed from the other side of the phone, making his stomach twisted even further into knots. "Calm down, Mr. Smith. We're not the cops."

Rick's father's eyes widened. Not the cops? His fear shifted to confusion. Then who—?

"Who are you?" he managed to stammer, his mind racing, struggling to make sense of the situation.

"This has to be some kind of joke. I don't know what you're talking about! Stop playing this silly prank!"

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[Author's Note: So check out my New Story: The Revenge of the Fallen]