Page 12 of Deadly Rival

Sounds like a plan.

I get to my feet. “Yes, sir.”

Turning my back on Kendrick in his current mood feels risky, but I do it anyway, trudging to the door as his gaze burns into my back. I knew I’d messed things up, but I hadn’t realized quite how badly. Now, it’s bitterly apparent.

The Gilda soldiers usher me into the special elevator, and it spits me out onto the ground floor. As always, Main Admin is full of people, and most of them give me smiles or nods as they pass. They don’t know what I’ve done.

When Ophelia fails to turn up to work, her staff will raise the alarm. It won’t take long for word to get back to her father. He’ll be investigating her disappearance soon, expecting exactly the sort of kidnapping for ransom I play-acted. How long until he discovers the truth? With the resources he has, not long.

All Brothers have families on the outside. Any one of these people could lose someone in revenge.

What to do now? Go back to my room? No. Unbearable. I can already feel the silence pressing in, and I’m not even thereyet. The guys, then. Yet another grim conversation. Might as well get them out of the way all at once.

I pull out my phone but pause. Medical is unbearably close. Like a fish on a line, I’m pulled toward the last place I ought to go. Will Kendrick be even more pissed? Maybe. But my feet are moving, and there’s no stopping me now.

The glass doors swish open, and the scent of antiseptic hits me as I enter the small but ultra high-tech hospital. Just last week, I chatted with the Brotherhood’s medical director, and he told me they were working on regrowing eyeballs.

Fucking eyeballs. The pictures he showed me on his phone will haunt me forever. Who walks around with pictures like that? As if he lives for the thrill of ruining people’s dinner.

A younger doc in a crisp white coat greets me when I enter. Not a Brother, just an assistant, but he steps in my path with confidence. “Sorry, sir. I can’t wake your Ward up until I get the go-ahead from Kendrick.”

“Of course. I understand.” I grace him with my best smile, the one that opens up VIP tables with a single wink. “I’d never expect you to go against the boss. I just want to have a quick look at her.”

He hesitates, and I lower my voice. “It can’t do any harm. Just a minute, to set my mind at ease that she’s okay. I’m a little worried about her.”

“She’s fine. Her vitals are strong. She’s a healthy young woman.” He lowers his own voice to match mine. “And she’s very pretty, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Pretty. It’s too soft a word to describe a Calder. Of course Ophelia is attractive. Beautiful, even, but pretty? It doesn’t fit.

I’ve got the doctor right where I want him, though. I give him a knowing look. “She sure is. So, can I see her, just for a minute?”

“Eh, why not.” He gives me a big grin. “Right this way.”

Why am I here? I’m not really sure. I just needed to see. To study the woman I’ve hated for so long up close and personal. I’ve spent hours watching her from afar, through various camera feeds. I’ve surveilled her from across the street. But up close? No. Far too dangerous.

The doctor leads me to a small room and opens the door carefully, waving me in. He follows behind me, and we both stare at the woman on the table.

A drip is taped to her arm, and wires attached to sticky pads monitor her vitals. Her suit jacket is gone, and they’ve rolled the sleeve of her pale pink blouse up to accommodate the drip, but other than that, she’s dressed for a day at the office. All her staff wear uniforms, but she never does. Probably sees it as beneath her.

Honey-blond hair, artfully curled, pools around her shoulders. When she’s upright, it stretches halfway down her back. She’s never dyed it. She used to tease Maggie about her hair, the bright, clashing colors she experimented with.

Now, I decide how she looks. Maybe I’ll try out a brassy red bob cut down the track. Or bleached bimbo blond. It’s all up to me now. And won’t she just hate that?

IF Kendrick decides in my favor. It’s a big IF. A giant, apocalyptic IF.

Pretty. I run the word through my mind again as I study her face. Maybe it would describe her, if she wasn’t who she is. Her eyes are closed, but the memory of them, gray and full of tears, is branded into my brain. Those eyes are pretty, and her face, from her delicate cheekbones to her parted lips fits the description, is too.

I haven’t let myself think beyond my goal. Right up to this moment, I don’t think I even thought of Ophelia as a woman.She’s the object of my revenge. But looking at her helpless form, other thoughts surface, too.

I have to do what I have to do. But maybe, if I let myself, part of me might enjoy it.

The doctor clears his throat, and I jump. How long have I been staring? It didn't feel long, but I’ve been known to gaze at a wine rack for half an hour, zoned out by indecision. I could have been staring for ages, for all I know.

I give the doc what I hope is a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Sorry. Got distracted for a minute there. Thanks for bringing me in. I’ll head on now, until the boss gives the go-ahead.”

“As soon as he does, I’ll have her brought to your room. Better for her to wake up there.”

Is it? Is it better? Suddenly, the thought of real, live Ophelia in my apartment is daunting. She’ll be there, hating me, the whole time. How am I going to keep things together? I’ll probably forget to close the door or something ridiculous.

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