Page 85 of Brutal Savior

Their chatter fills the air, and I take all the ribbing and keep a smile on my face. But my mind is drifting. I’m thinking about the hospital and the trap I mean to set to catch my sister.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jacob

It takes two daysto get everything organized. We make a grand show of tripling security around Ruth’s room, guards at her door and window night and day. But she’s nowhere near the hospital.

The day after Grandad arrived in the Compound, we smuggled her out in the bottom of a food trolley. She’ll continue rehab with her new prosthetic in a safe house, out of state, with her doctor and two nursing staff.

I wanted to move Marlowe, too, but the doctors refused. At this critical stage in her neurorepair, it’s just too risky, and she’s making great progress, even making eye contact and smiling at her mum. Quinn cried her eyes out when I told her that, but they were happy tears.

Trying to think like Kelly is a frightening experience. When I was growing up, my teachers threw words like “prodigy” and “genius” around a lot, but Grandad kept me shielded from the worst of the hysteria. Ruth learned at a normal rate, and once Igrew old enough to give it real thought, I assumed I was the only freak in the family.

But from what Grandad’s told me, Kelly sounds just like me.

It breaks my bloody heart to think about what she could have been if mum wasn’t such a fuckup. Maybe, if she hadn’t been neglected and abused as a little kid, Kelly could have learned to control her impulses. Grandad channeled my violent side into sport from the earliest age—boxing; rugby; long, boot-camp style workouts that left me barely able to move.

Then he funneled me into the army, where the strict, exhausting discipline kept me on track. When I discovered BDSM as an adult, that took care of the rest of it, and I was able to feel, for the first time, as if I could function in the world without the risk of hurting anyone.

Grandad’s descriptions of Kelly’s actions, along with my own vague memories, are terrifying. Was she born worse than me, or was she made that way? I don’t know, but there’s a part of me that hopes she can still be saved. Maybe with Brotherhood assistance, we can find a way to give her a purpose, even though she’ll have to be locked up.

On the morning of the third day, Quinn and I are in bed and enjoying a bit of private time before Grandad wakes up. Well, I’m enjoying myself. She’s reading the biography of a 1960s Formula One driver to me out loud whilst I tease her pussy with my tongue.

She’s not allowed to orgasm until the end of chapter three. The chapters are long, the print is small, and there’s a lot of technical specifications about racing car engines that I’m making her go over in excruciating detail.

“Sorry, love. I missed that part. You sort of trailed off there. What were the stats on that again?”

“Jacob please, I can’t stand this anymore. He’ll be awake soon. I can’t wait till tonight. Please!”

“I don’t think that’s what the book says. You’re really not taking this in. Better start that page again, right from the top.”

She gives a long, agonized moan but starts again. “The Ferrari 156—”

My phone rings, and I scramble for it, grabbing it by the second ring. “Yep.”

“You’ll want to get out here, sir. One of the cleaning crew just reported a missing trolley. She might be planning on using the same trick again.”

“Got it. I’ll be right there.” I set the phone down. “Sorry, love. There’s a chance she’s going to hit the hospital now.”

“Shit. Go.” Quinn drops the book and chews her lip before adding, “Be careful.”

I give her a quick, rough kiss, then dress at light speed. “Don’t tell Grandad. I don’t want him stressing out.”

“Okay. I’m going to see Candice for a couple of hours this morning because he said he wanted to do the crossword in peace. Then Sebastian is taking all of us to lunch. We’ll keep him busy.”

“Thanks.” I stare at her for a second longer, naked and cute as hell with the covers tucked around her crossed legs.

I love you.

Fuck. Where did that thought come from? I’ve been scattered this week, emotions way too close to the surface. I don’t trust my own thoughts. Before I can do something stupid, like let the words come out of my mouth, I head for the door. “See you soon.”

I’m out of the Compound and speeding down the road in record time. We decided against the chopper—it’s unlikely but possible that she’s tracking it somehow. Now that I know who I’m up against, I’m not taking any chances.

On the drive, I consider the information. I’m not buying the missing cleaning trolley. It’s too simple, and she’s unlikely torepeat something she already tried. She knows we’ll be watching for it. No, I think it’s a distraction, but it might mean the real attack is imminent. Just coming from a different angle entirely.

Or it’s bait to draw me in.

Not a pleasant thought, but it’s the most likely conclusion. She knows I’m watching, and she wants me at the hospital. Maybe she’s planning on taking Ruth and me out at the same time. A two-for-one bloody special.

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