Page 18 of Brutal Empire

The moment I heard my own voice, I wanted to scratch at my skin until I peeled every bit of skin and clawed down to my bone marrow. I parked the car as soon as the building came into view. A light automatically turned on the closer I got.

I spat the bile that had risen and then desperately knocked on the door.

My fingertips tingled from the brief memory. Years later and I could still feel the helpless way I tried to scratch the metal bars, trying to make a dent.

The door opened, and light came pouring out, making me squint. I had almost forgotten what Bas had said before he passed out. It was a man who was waiting for us.

He wasn’t as tall as Bastian, or as wide, but one look at him and you knew he was just as threatening as the rest of us. Monsters called to monsters alike. His skin was dark, and he had green eyes and dark hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. He had gauges in his ears, snakebites in his mouth, and he wore glasses.

“Shit, he passed out,” he spoke.

His voice was hoarse, almost as if it cost him to speak. He took a step forward, and I took one to the side, and then he went and took Bastian out of the car with more ease than I thought would be possible.

Shit, I was supposed to call, wasn’t I?

I didn’t think, and I felt pathetic about it. How I still let the demons I carried within me dictate every second of my life. I let them whisper in my ear and feed my tarnished soul.

“Close the door after me,” the man instructed.

After they walked through the door, I let them get a few steps ahead of me and then did as he instructed.

I closed the door and then proceeded to lock it, even if doing so felt like the room was getting smaller.

By the time I turned around, the man had Bastian on a bed.

He took out a knife from his pocket, and I rushed out without thinking. My instinct was to remove it from him. The guy looked at me and calmly began to explain what he was doing.

“I need to cut his shirt off so I can see where he’s bleeding from.”

Feeling silly for thinking he was going to hurt him, I just wrapped my arms around myself. My eyes caught with the man’s. Now that I had gotten a better look at him, I felt like I had met him before—that or my mind was playing tricks on me.

It was exhausting living in the in-between of what used to be, what could be, and what I wanted it to be.

“I’m Roman,” the guy said as he proceeded to cut the fabric down the middle. Blood and dirt stuck to Bastian’s skin. “I’m a friend of Daphne’s.”

“She says she has no friends. Just associates,” I replied, reiterating what she had told me.

The guy smiled.

“She says a lot of things she does not mean.”

As he bent to inspect Bastian’s wound, I noticed the tattoo on his neck. It was the sameSthat Daphne had on her wrist.

“I’m Cam,” I offered after a few moments.

“I’m assuming Daph showed you how to remove a bullet?” he asked me.

Silently, I nodded.

“I didn’t have a chance to bring my tools, but we have the basics I got from the pharmacy. It will hurt him less if you dig the bullet out. He’s dehydrated and covered in dirt, and the last thing we need is for him to get an infection or become septic.”

He took a swig of a blue bottle with a gold label.

“Wash your hands.” He pointed to a sink.

After I had done that thoroughly, something else Daphne had ingrained in my training, I went back to him. What I didn’t expect was for Roman to pour the contents of the bottle into my outstretched hands.

As soon as the alcohol hit my skin, it felt like it burned. As if acid was melting my skin away.

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