Page 73 of Ravaged Soul
Nothing but mechanical whirring answers.
“I’ll make it right, Tom. I’m going to find Gael and all the others like him. I don’t care how long it takes or where I have to search… I’ll end this.”
My fingers clench over his. He’s cold to the touch. Still. So far from the warmth and unconditional love that I associate with my better half. Tom shouldn’t be here. He’s fighting for his life, and it’s so fucking unfair.
Gaze straying to Warner, I watch his chest slowly rise and fall. He’s finally dropped off, limbs awkwardly curled up. That visitor’s chair can’t be comfortable, but he’s strung-out and dead on his feet like the rest of us.
The solitude allows my tears to flow without fear of being seen. Warm dribbles trail my cheeks, stinging like the lash of a whip carving deep into my back. Even in the safety of St Thomas’s ICU, I hear the monster who’s done this to us.
I don’t have room for disobedient products in my business.
Gael sure bit off more than he could chew with the pair of us. Against the odds, we’re alive. Scarred and beaten but not yet broken. Not quite. I have enough left to seek vengeance for the suffering my big brother has endured.
Tears bite into my cheeks as I turn my back on Tom and Warner to stalk from the room, skin rippling with a fire-like itch to tear into the next person I lay eyes on. The Sabre agents assigned to Tom’s security instantly avert their gazes at my glare.
“Do not leave him unattended,” I snap.
The bald-headed agent dips his head. “Yes ma’am.”
“I’ll be back.”
“Do you need security?” his colleague asks.
“No I fucking do not.”
A ball of heartache too large to talk around lodges in my throat, causing my steps to speed up. I flee the ICU, white hallways and beeping heart monitor machines forming a blur around me. All I can feel is that damn lump.
My mind splits then reforms, swallowing the time it takes to break outside into the cool air. The strobe lights floating across my vision are back, growing brighter each time my skull pulses with pain.
“Move!” I growl at bystanders.
When a pregnant woman and her partner accidentally bump into me, I break away from the hospital’s main entrance to escape the hustle and bustle. It’s quieter down the side street where flagrant staff members smoke out of sight.
“He isn’t answering his phone. We should leave. Warner will call when he can.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I see him, Xan.”
“If he were hurt, we’d know about it.”
“You saw the news. There was a fatality!”
A nearby couple argues, leaning against the hospital wall. I spare them a glance through tear-clogged eyes, assessing their lack of uniform and plastic shoes. Not gossiping staff, then.
“Hudson already told you he’s here,” the white-haired man reasons calmly.
“As a patient or what?” His companion—a pacing, tattooed woman—snarls at him. “That son of a bitch didn’t tell me anything.”
“And you’re surprised by that?”
“I have a right to know!”
“Who are you?” I blurt.
Both gazes shift in my direction. Recognition fills the woman’s round hazel eyes, validating my suspicions. I tense upright, pulling out my phone in preparation to call for backup.
“You’re Ember.”
My trembling hand pauses. “You know me?”
