Page 35 of All The Pretty Little Lies

“They found their own ride. They’ll meet us there.”

The car takes a sharp turn, and Vesper's body shifts against mine. Even unconscious, there's a tension in her frame, as if some part of her is still fighting, still aware of the danger. I adjust the blanket around her shoulders.

I watch Vesper's chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, my own heart racing in tandem. The streetlights cast fleeting shadows across her face as we speed through the night, each mile taking us further from that hellish auction house. Her blonde hair looks dull in the dim light of the car's interior. I resist the urge to smooth it back from her forehead, to offer some small comfort even in her drug-induced sleep.

Alex weaves through traffic, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I count the minutes, each one feeling like an eternity. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Twenty-five. Finally, we turn onto a quiet suburban street, the houses dark and silent at this late hour.

As we pull into the driveway of a nondescript two-story beach house, I spot Zaire's imposing figure waiting on the front porch.His face is a mask of concern and barely contained rage as he strides towards the car.

“How is she?" he asks as soon as I open the door, his voice a low growl.

"Unconscious," I reply, my throat tight. "They drugged her before we left. Some kind of sedative."

Zaire's eyes flash dangerously. "Those bastards," he mutters, then turns to Alex. "Oz called in a favor. There's a doctor waiting inside.”

“How’d he get a doctor here at this time of night in the middle of fucking nowhere?”

“She owes us a favor. Her daughter was the one who was attempting to extort that politician’s son.”

I nod, relief washing over me. "Good thinking. Alex, can you sweep her for trackers before we take her in? I wouldn't put it past those fuckers to have planted something on her."

Alex nods grimly, producing a small device from his pocket. He runs it carefully over Vesper's still form, paying extra attention to her neck and the backs of her ears. After a tense minute, he shakes his head. "She's clean. No trackers."

"Thank fuck," I breathe, then turn to Zaire. "Can you carry her in? I don't trust myself right now."

Zaire doesn't hesitate. With gentle hands that belie his imposing stature, he lifts Vesper from the car, cradling her against his broad chest. Her head lolls against his shoulder, and a strand of her blonde hair catches on the scar on his neck. The sight makes my chest ache.

We make our way into the house, the warmth inside a stark contrast to the chill night air. The doctor, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor is waiting for us in a bedroom that's been hastily converted into a makeshift exam room.

"Put her on the bed," she instructs Zaire, already moving to check Vesper's vitals. Zaire lays Vesper down with utmost care, removing the restraints binding her. His hands linger for a moment before he steps back. Oz stands in the corner of the room, his gaze unwavering. His face is dangerously unreadable.

I watch anxiously as the doctor examines Vesper, her movements precise and practiced. She gently lifts Vesper's eyelids, shining a small penlight into each eye. "Pupils are equal and reactive," she murmurs, more to herself than to us. "That's a good sign."

The doctor's hands move efficiently, checking Vesper's pulse, her breathing, and even her skin tone. I find myself holding my breath as if my own stillness could somehow contribute to Vesper's well-being. The room is thick with tension, broken only by the soft rustle of the doctor's movements and the steady beep of a portable heart monitor she's attached to Vesper's finger.

"I'm going to draw some blood," the doctor announces, reaching for her bag. "We'll need to run some tests to make sure there are no unexpected complications from whatever they gave her."

I wince as the needle pierces Vesper's skin, a drop of crimson welling up before the vial begins to fill. The sight of her blood makes this all feel more terrifyingly real. What have we gotten ourselves into?

"Her pulse is strong," the doctor says, her voice calm and reassuring. "But she's slightly dehydrated. I'd recommend starting an IV if you have the supplies."

Oz nods silently, his eyes never leaving Vesper's face. He moves to a cabinet in the corner, retrieving an IV bag and tubing with practiced ease. It's a stark reminder of how prepared we are for situations like this, how often we’ve had to patch each other up in secret.

As the doctor sets up the IV, I can't help but marvel at Vesper's strength. Even unconscious, there's a resilience about her that's palpable. Her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, her face peaceful despite the ordeal she's been through. I find myself studying the curve of her jaw, the sweep of her eyelashes against her cheeks, committing every detail to memory.

"Without more advanced diagnostic equipment, there's not much more I can do right now," the doctor says, stepping back from the bed. "She seems stable, but I'd strongly recommend bringing her into my office tomorrow for a full workup. We need to know exactly what they gave her and what long-term effects it might have."

I nod, my throat tight. "Of course. Whatever she needs."

The doctor turns to Oz, her expression serious. "I'll call you as soon as I have the blood test results. In the meantime, keep her hydrated and monitor her breathing. If anything changes, anything at all - call me immediately."

As the doctor leaves, Alex and Zaire follow her out, their hushed voices fading down the hallway. I linger for a moment, my eyes fixed on Vesper's still form. Oz remains rooted to his spot, his gaze never wavering from her face.

I feel a strange mix of relief and tension coursing through my veins. We got her out, but at what cost? The memory of signing those papers, of agreeing to that horrific breeding clause, makes my stomach churn. I run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly.

"I'll take the first watch," Oz says quietly, his voice breaking the silence. He moves to sit in the chair beside the bed, his movements careful and controlled.

I nod, knowing there's no point in arguing.

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