Page 93 of Sick Bargain

“She loves you, Keegan,” someone says. “Come here.”

I get up and walk over to the voice.

“She misses you. Kneel.”

I kneel.

“She wants to talk to you. Stand up.”

I stand.

“She doesn’t think you’re sick. Kneel.”

Sick. Sick. Sick.

A burn on my chest and a man who sees me. A mouthy, suicidal idiot who bargained his life away and became mine. In sickness, we found our health. Clarity comes in flashes, this reality blending with the one playing out in my head. Gia loves me. Remiel holds eye contact with me. My parents are alive and supportive. Remiel wants me, but he doesn’t need me. He chooses me. Picks me.

Like Gia never did.

I blink away the false past and cough out a sob that has no place in my life. My body becomes mine again, and the walls in my mind fortify, solidifying into something impenetrable once more. Jesus, that was close.

My dry throat tickles and my eyes burn like I haven’t blinked in days. The soft green walls and the trickling water fountain come back. Brown leather couches and a cool mug of tea remind me where I am.

“What was it?” Axel asks from his leather chair. “The mention of your mother? What snapped you out of it?”

I place a hand on the couch, shaky and embarrassed about it. This is the closest he’s come to controlling me, and I loathe the way it feels. Like I failed. Like I’m undeserving of my name. But mostly, I’m conflicted. Because I have a trigger word. It used to set me off on a homicidal path, but right now, it saved my life.

I walk to the window, pressing my forehead to the glass. But it isn’t glass. It’s a mural, painted on the wall of this underground room, the likeness of sunlight so well faked I can almost feel it. Sweat slips down my neck, my hands shake, and I squeeze my eyes closed to ground myself with images of Remiel.

“I’m not your enemy, Krypt.”

“No?” My voice cuts my throat, raspy and abrasive. “How long have I been here against my will?”

Because the tracker didn’t work. He tricked me. Told me a story about Reaper Corp, made me believe we were fighting the same enemy, and then brought me here after he removed the tracker. Where here is, I don’t know, and now Director can’t locate me. I’ve been in a state of severe concentration for… days. Weeks? Trying to withstand his hypnosis and brainwashing methods.

“Eleven days,” he tells me casually. “Please, tell me what snapped you out of it.”

Rage wants to build inside me, but I don’t have the energy to let it become anything productive. I squeeze my eyes, breathe through my nose, and then face him. His one eye is alert and focused, trying to decipher what triggered me out of his control, but the other is closed and relaxed. Sometimes his eyelid flutters, but when it doesn’t, it means he’s calm. In control of himself.

“Where are we?”

“My lab.” His smile is so pretty. Too pretty. Perfection on an imperfect man. Deceiving.

“Which is where?”

“I took your tracker out for a reason, Krypt. I need time to work before your band of brethren come for you. I need to prove to them we can work together.” He taps a digital pencil on his tablet. “Trigger?”

“So go to your fucking father! He’s Vile! Leave me the fuck out of it.”

Axel clicks his tongue and taps the pencil. “But your mind is what I need. That was the closest I’ve come to controlling you, and I need to know why it failed so I can implement it into my methods.”

“You can’t implement it,” I tell him. “Because you’ll never know everyone’s trigger word.” I fist my hands.

Axel’s gaze drops to my covered chest. Right where the word is tattooed over my heart. He smiles coyly, then makes a note of something on his tablet. My trigger word. Setting everything down, he stands, straightening his pristine suit. Why he wears it in an underground bunker is beyond me, but he seems to prize appearances.

“Have a look at this.” He clicks a button and a white screen comes to life. It’s a medical image I can’t read. A scan of some sort. “And trust that my motivations for doing this are purely for science, but also… my act of good faith.”

I’m too tired for this shit. Axel Graves fucking loves to show and tell, and I’m sick of listening to it. I sit down on the leather couch, my body sagging in exhaustion.

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