Page 56 of Doc's Decision

His words cut off in a strangled yelp as Turmoil seizes him by the throat and slams him against the doorframe. "Where is she?" He snarls, getting right up in his face. "Where the fuck is Seraphina?"

The little rat just whimpers and claws feebly at Turmoil’s hand crushing his windpipe.

I press the muzzle of my gun under his chin and he goes rigid, eyes bulging. "Last chance, asshole. Where. Is. She."

He makes a choked gurgling sound, lips moving soundlessly.

Turmoil eases up just enough for him to rasp out: "L-last room. End of the h-hall."

My brother releases him and he crumples to the floor, gasping.

We step over his retching form and stride inside, weapons up.

The stench of piss and antiseptic assaults my nostrils.

This hellhole reeks of pain and despair.

We move swiftly, kicking open doors, sweeping each room with ruthless efficiency.

A few more whitecoats scurry out like cockroaches.

Mouser pistol-whips one that makes a sudden move.

Dixon cold-cocks another.

We have no mercy for these sick fucks.

Finally, we reach the last door.

I shoulder it open, bracing for whatever nightmares await inside.

But nothing could've prepared me for the scene of depravity we find.

Seraphina.

Strapped to a blood-soaked chair in the center of the room.

Golden skin shredded, tattoos carved from her flesh, leaving gaping wounds.

One eye swollen shut, the other a glassy slit.

Compound fracture jutting through her leg at a sickening angle.

Bile scorches the back of my throat.

The blood drains from my face. "Jesus fucking Christ..."

Turmoil’s moving before I can even register it, boots pounding across grimy tiles.

He drops to his knees beside her, hands hovering, afraid to touch her ruined body. "Seraphina? Baby, can you hear me?"

Her head lolls, a moan slipping from split lips.

I want to weep.

I want to burn this place to ashes for the pain they’re both in right now.

But right now, we have to get her out of here.

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