Page 58 of Brutal Savior

Being here by myself, I feel like a true captive, the locked door staring me right in the face. I never used to mind my own company, but since the accident, I’ve tried to fill every moment of my time. If I’m busy, I can’t think. I can’t relive the night of the crash.

When my phone rings, it’s a relief. Jacob’s face pops up on the screen, and he looks exhausted. All I can see behind him is a picture of a man and a boy, the boy holding up a fish with a big grin on his face. I look closer and smile. “You were a cute kid. What happened to the ears, though? Did you have them pinned back?”

He frowns, then spins his head back to look at the picture. “Shit. Forgot that was there. And nope, never got them pinned back. Just grew into them, I guess.”

He stifles a yawn. I ask the question I should probably have asked first. “How’s your sister?”

His face darkens. “She’s alive, but she’s lucky. Managed to catch herself as she fell. Only her leg copped it. I’m having her flown over here to get fitted with a prosthetic.”

“What, here? Likeherehere. The Compound?”

“No. There’s a medical facility in the closest town, totally private, funded by the Brotherhood. It lets us give our families the benefit of our medicine without bringing them inside. Some of what we have isn’t approved for general use yet.”

Superior experimental medicine. Exactly the sort of thing that might save Marlowe. The idea is a shot of lightning straight in my veins. Would it be possible, or are Wards just not that important? How much do the Brotherhood care about their sex slaves?

The question feels heavy as it leaves my lips. “What about families of Wards?”

I shouldn’t have blurted it out yet. He’s in shock from his sister and looks about to collapse. Why didn’t I wait for a better time?

He pulls the phone closer, eyes fully focused on me. “Yes. Families of Wards, too. What do you need?”

Hope. It’s a flutter deep in my heart. I’ve tried my best to stamp it out, obliterating it with booze and drugs, because the disappointment every time I visited Marlowe was slowly killing me. But now it springs back to life, and it all comes out in a flood.

“My sister. Foster sister if it matters, but we were together most of my life. She’s in a coma. We were in a car crash six months ago and I—”

I almost spill it out, the filthy secret that’s been poisoning me. But I hit a brick wall, as always, and say, “I walked away. She didn’t.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, love.” Jacob’s voice is softer than usual. “I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow. We’ll have her transferred in the next couple of days. If there’s anything to be done, we’ll do it.”

It's that easy. In one sentence, Marlowe's future goes from a hopeless case in an underfunded hospital to being worked on by top doctors with access to ultra-modern medicine. My ears hear the words, but it takes a while for them to sink in, and I sit there, silent and staring.

“Quinn? You okay?”

I blink fast to try to stave off tears, but they come anyway. I sniff and swipe at my eyes. My voice cracks as I say, “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Least we can do, really, given the circumstances.”

I laugh, though my throat is still tight. Trust Jacob to be that blunt. “Since you put it that way, I’ll take a Rolex too.”

“Sure. I don’t know watches, but we can ask Seb. He’ll find one to suit you.”

“What? No, I don’t actually want one. They’re tacky. I just meant…” His smirk tips me off. “Oh. Very funny. You Brits really are hilarious.” I try to match his deadpan delivery, but it just doesn’t work without the accent.

“Glad you think so. I’ll be back tomorrow morning—didn’t want to leave Grandad by himself. He’s had a few whiskeys and is really upset.”

“I’m sure he is. Do you have any idea who’s doing this?” I bite my lip before asking, “And is the Compound safe? Eve and everyone else?”

It hits me as I say the words. I’ve actually started to care about these people. Eve for sure, but even the other Wards. Andthough I want to stab myself in the eyeball for it, I wouldn’t wish harm on Gabriel or Sebastian either. I should. Why don’t I?

Could I shoot either of them if it meant getting my freedom? Could I shoot Jacob? One day, I might have to make that choice.

Is this what Stockholm syndrome feels like?

“The Compound is the safest place on the planet. Unless this bloke has nuclear missiles in his back pocket, you’re safe there, love. Don’t worry.”

I don’t know if that’s reassuring or terrifying. Jacob yawns again, and it passes to me. He rubs a hand across his chin. He’s showing stubble there for the first time. Even on the phone screen, I like it. It makes him look even more dangerous. Hopefully he won’t shave it before he comes back.

What the fuck am I thinking? I really must be tired.

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