Page 105 of Fractured Future
“You’re signing up for a commitment you don’t even understand!” He rubs his temples. “Do you have any idea how dangerous working for Sabre really is?”
“I think she understands perfectly,” Warner speaks up. “We’ve explained the risks.”
“So you’ve told my sister how you lost your leg?” Tom combats.
“I know about the car accident,” I quickly intervene.
Throwing his hands in the air, Tom looks between all three of us like he can’t quite believe his ears.
“An accident that wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t protecting four clients being chased by armed assailants. He was left pinned in the crushed vehicle for hours!”
“Don’t you dare.” Warner’s voice has chilled considerably. “That’s enough.”
“Is it?”
My eyes flick to Warner, glaring at his best friend with unfathomable anger. The story of how he lost his limb was always a confidential secret. We all got the same line—a car accident.
It was while he was working on his biggest case. The infamous Harrowdean Manor—one of six private psychiatricinstitutes scattered across the country—was closed down following the exposure of widespread corruption and abuse.
For years after, he fought to find a new normal. It took months of rehab and physiotherapy for him to even become mobile again, let alone able to have any semblance of independence.
“What about how Becket was killed in a bombing during the Michael Abaddon case?” Tom continues hotly. “Or how Tara was compromised by a trafficker and shot dead by her client?”
“Don’t bring her into this.” Hyland flushes a dark shade of red.
“Why not? You were there! Ethan too!” Tom shakes his head. “He bailed to live on a damn mountainside rather than risk his life again. Why is that?”
Stepping closer to Tom, Warner folds his arms, a grimace twisting his lips. “Our job is dangerous.”
“Haven’t you lost enough friends? You want to risk Ember too?”
Even Hyland flinches at the brutality of Tom’s attack. Sometimes, I forget just how savage he can be after years of courtroom confrontations.
Warner’s face contorts with aggravation. He looks about ready to dent my brother’s skull. They’ve rarely fought or fallen out in over twenty-five years of friendship, but that seems set to change.
“Collateral damage is inevitable,” Warner grits out. “That doesn’t give you the right to parade our losses as reasons to denounce the work we do.”
“No, it gives me the right to ensure my sister doesn’t become collateral damage like the rest of the Anaconda Team.”
“She is a grown adult!”
“Who is clearly traumatised and not thinking straight!” Tom yells back.
“We’re giving her a purpose! A chance to heal!”
“So fighting criminals is supposed to be therapeutic? Seriously?”
Fuck this.
Done with listening to them, I swipe my hands over my wet cheeks then leave the kitchen. If I stay, I may end up actually harming my brother. Even if he’s being a stupid prick right now, I’m not going to risk that.
I slam the door of my temporary bedroom behind me, hard enough to rattle the picture frames hanging on the otherwise plain white walls. The freestanding lamp in the corner sails across the room before I realise what I’m doing.
“Argh!”
Not even the sight of the twisted, damaged metal abates the intense pressure growing in my head and chest. White-hot pain pulsates behind my eyes. I feel like I’m going to explode into a million pieces.
Fear isn’t unfamiliar to me. I know what it does to your mind. How it warps every last fundamental part of who you are and how you think. It can turn even the sanest person into an unstable whirlwind, given enough time.
