Page 47 of Scorpion

Once.

Twice.

Then the ringing stops. Everything’s burning around me until it isn’t.

The sand disappears from my vision. There are no more trees or vines, or the smell of flames. Instead, there are sirens. Why are there sirens? Who is—

I gulp down air into my burning lungs and slowly glance back to the sounds of sobbing. Dinner. The private room. We were just about to leave.

Oh god.

I stagger to the person lying in the middle of the driveway. Crimson pools from his nose in a steady stream onto the concrete. The valet assistant. He… he can’t be more than nineteen years old.

My arm gets yanked again. I whip my head around just as Sergei hisses, “We need to get out of here.”

All I can do is nod. Whatever exhaustion I thought I felt before is nothing compared to the rapid beats of my pulse now. I feel like I’ve been strung out and the slightest pull will make me snap.

Sergei ushers Mathijs toward the SUV since the Bugatti is totaled. Mathijs holds firm, offering me his hand that I can’t bring myself to take. I’m afraid that any touch is going to set me off, and asking me to snap out of it won’t be enough.

The world shrinks until there’s nothing but me, the black SUV before me, and my memories. I don’t notice the people around me or the noises. Flashes of that day hit me all over again, getting stronger the closer I get to the convoy, and everything breaks loose when my fingers wrap around the handle of the car.

The crackle of fire and tearing metal rips through my mind. The smell of smoke burns my nostrils. My ears ring. My head spins. Pain gouges a path up my legs.

It’s so bright.

I can see all their bodies.

They’re gone. They’re all fucking dead—

We’re going to get attacked. They’re going to hurt TJ. I have to stop them. I—

My knees buckle, but something holds me up before I make it to the ground. I swing around to shove them against the door. My forearm presses into their throat. Yelling ensues around me, some distant sound that doesn’t reach me until I start to feel something warm caressing my cheek, melting the red sheen over my vision until I can see the head of bright blond hair and deep green eyes.

So familiar. But so foreign.

I don’t know where I am. What’s happening? Why is he stopping me? Is he going to hurt me?

Even though I’m seconds away from hurting him, he smiles, cupping my cheek. “Come back to me,” he whispers softly.

Worry lines his eyes, but the curve of his lips holds firm like we weren’t just attacked, and I wasn’t seconds away from pummeling him into the car because I thought I was about to be bombed all over again.

“I’m sorry.” He intertwines our fingers. “We have to get in the car.”

His guilt washes over me but I don’t move. Breathing hard through my nose. Wishing I was someone else. Wishing the images would stop bombarding my head.

Mathijs squeezes my hand and pulls open the door, silently urging me to go inside. I’d rather walk home. Hell, I’d rather fucking die out here than go inside.

Jesus Christ, I need to get over it. It’s a normal, ordinary car. It isn’t an armored vehicle. We aren’t about to drive through a desert where we would get blown off the road. This is Colorado for fuck’s sake.

“Zalak,” he says with a calm that I don’t feel. “We have to go before Goldchild comes back to finish the job.”

From the corner of my eye, I see the men standing on guard, ready to pull me off him if I try anything stupid again. I back up and breathe hard. I wouldn't be surprised if my palms are bleeding from digging my nails into them. Unspent energy thrums in my veins, begging to be released. I need to fight someone. Run. Drink. Kill. Fucking anything to get rid of this gnawing ache that’s spread in all directions from my sternum.

Mathijs pushes off the SUV, fixes his coat, then waves away the other guards like I’m completely harmless.

I shouldn’t be here. I’m not just a liability, I’m a threat to the safety of the very person I’m meant to be guarding.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell him I can’t do this anymore. Because whatever progress I thought I’ve made these past few months was a lie. All the raids I’ve done, all the shoot-outs and break-ins and surveillance, all down the drain. I’m so far from any form of healing.

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