The effects of the Taser had worn off quickly, but my body still ached from getting my ass handed to me. The side of my mouth was sore where I’d bitten the inside of my cheek. On the other hand, at least I hadn’t bitten my tongue. And the doc had decided the cut on my forehead could be super-glued instead of stitched, which was a plus. The blood loss has been alarming, but it was just one of those head wounds that looked way worse than it was and bled like I’d ruptured a goddamned artery. Still, I was laid up in a hospital bed with half a dozen leads attached to my chest while a monitor beeped incessantly beside me. Standard protocol after being Tased was a trip to the ER for an ECG to make sure it hadn’t fucked up my heart, and that meant lying here, bored off my ass and trying not to replay what had happened out there tonight. I’d go back there when I tried to sleep later—might as well not think about it now. On the bright side, a nurse, God bless the woman, had brought me an icepack, which I kept pressed against my forehead.
