Page 52 of Perilous Healing

Both?

“Close call there. Your buddies move faster than I planned.” River fills a syringe with medicine as soon as Yarrow has unclipped me and Bianca and our vests are removed. He holds it out. “Now, you can inject yourself with this and take a little nap, or I’ll throw Selena out of this helicopter. Your choice.”

“Why not just do it yourself?” I snap, glaring at him.

River leans in. “Because I want you to willingly take it. I want you to be so afraid to lose Bianca that you’ll give up every bit of power you have.” His use of her chosen name is a game. He is trying to elicit additional emotion out of me. Little does he know I don’t care what her name is.

Selena. Bianca. It doesn’t matter because it’s the woman I can’t live without—not the name.

I glare back at him. It’s unlikely he wants Bianca dead, but do I really want to call his bluff? “You wouldn’t have brought her here just to kill her.”

“I would if she’s not really the one I wanted.” River looks at Yarrow, who slides the helicopter door open and rips Bianca away from me.

Without hesitating another moment, I yank the syringe from River and jab it into my arm. The medication burns as it shoots into my vein. But Yarrow closes the door and sets Bianca back beside me.

“Good boy. Maybe you do have some brains after all.”

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Mainly because I’m not entirely sure I can speak when I can barely keep my eyes open. I lean back and tug Bianca into my lap, holding her close as I close my eyes.

My last rational thought is of Eloise, and how desperately I’d wanted to watch her grow up.

Chapter16

Bianca

Silas is still unconscious.

I’m not sure how long ago I came to, waking on a cot exactly like the one he’s currently sleeping on. At least the distance isn’t too far given the cells are about the size of a large bathroom stall. I’d been able to stretch far enough that I could reach through and feel his faint pulse.

In the time I’ve been awake, I’ve checked every single bar of my cell. I’ve searched for a way out, for a loose spot, for anything that might mean freedom for us. Unfortunately, this place is locked down. Not that I would expect anything else from River. The man is nothing if not consistent.

There’s nothing in either cell that can be used as any kind of weapon. We’re utterly defenseless. Though, in a pinch, I suppose the bucket they gave us that’s supposed to double as a toilet might come in handy. Can’t imagine one would be doing much fighting after taking a literal bucket of human waste to the face.

I pocket that thought for later, focusing on all the reasons I have to panic.

Aside from being held captive who knows where, there’s the fact that I’m no longer wearing the green gown I’d been in. Someone changed me into shorts and a T-shirt that must have been pilfered from my dresser when River had been in my house. Which, of course, is not nearly as upsetting as knowing someone changed me.

Silas, too. He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt, his suit nowhere to be seen.

A throaty groan sounds behind me, so I whirl and rush across, gripping the bars between us. Silas sits up, a bit wobbly at first, then he rubs his head and looks around the cell. He pales.

“You’re not alone,” I tell him, stepping into his line of sight. “I’m here.”

His breathing turns ragged and he sucks in breath after breath, his hands tightening on the edge of the cot.

“Easy, Silas.” I reach through the bars, stretching as far as I can, so I can touch him, but it’s only enough to brush my fingers across the white knuckles of his hand. “You’re not alone,” I repeat, then start to draw my hand back. If he’s in the middle of a PTSD attack, touching him could make it worse.

But before I can fully get my hand through the bars, he reaches out and grips mine, then gets to his knees in front of the barrier. Fingers wrapping around my hand, he holds on to me but still doesn’t say a thing. His head remains hung low, and I tighten my grip, hoping it will help ground him.

Silas spent a month in a cell being tortured by River. I cannot even imagine what he’s feeling right now. The panic he must be experiencing, being right back in one, and once again at River’s mercy.

On impulse, I reach out with my other hand and, ignoring the pain of my still injured arm, manage to caress the side of his face. Silas leans into my touch, and his breathing begins to slow.

Then, what feels like hours later but is likely only minutes, Silas withdraws his hand and sits back. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I take a seat on my cot directly across from him. “I don’t know where we are, but I’m pretty sure we’re not in Boston anymore.”

“They drugged us,” Silas replies. “And flew us out on a helicopter.”

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