Page 22 of The Reckoning
“Then we improvise.” The cold calculation in his voice reminds me that my brother isn’t just damaged—he’s dangerous.
I nod, hating that I have to trust him but knowing we don’t have a choice.
“The Mill House, probably,” I say suddenly. “After we get out of this safe house, we take her there. Lee runs security for that place like Fort Knox. No way anyone breaches those defenses. And they likely saw everyone move out months ago. Lee can easily ensure all society activities are shut down for the time being.”
Arson studies him carefully. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. Lee’s paranoid about security, and he has the resources. It’s the safest place off Richard’s radar.” Drew meets both our gazes steadily. “At least until we figure out our next move.”
For now, at least.Nothing stays safe forever in Richard’s world, and we all know it.
The sound of a car engine outside breaks the tension, tires crunching on gravel. Drew moves to the window, peering through a gap in the boarded-up glass.
“Doctor’s here,” he announces.
Arson’s entire body goes rigid, his hands clenching into fists. “About fucking time.”
Drew opens the door as footsteps approach—a middle-aged man with kind eyes and the careful manner of someone who’s learned not to ask too many questions. He nods politely as he enters, medical bag in hand.
“Gentlemen. I understand you have a patient who needs attention?”
SEVEN
LILIAN
Consciousness returns in fragments—disjointed sensations floating in darkness. The sheets beneath me are soft, comforting. I’d be able to enjoy the moment if it wasn’t for the dull pain throbbing in my head. Or the fact that I don’t know where I am. The antiseptic smell that always reminds me of hospital rooms and fear tickles my nostrils. I try to open my eyes but they’re so heavy, like my eyelids have been replaced with lead weights.
I remember falling asleep in Aries’s lap and then…nothing.
“Easy now,” a voice says.Male. Unfamiliar.“You’re safe. It’s okay.”
Fear overtakes me, and I force my eyes open, blinking against the soft light. The room slowly comes into focus—sparse, utilitarian, dominated by the bed I’m lying in. Not a hospital room, despite the medical equipment. The walls are bare concrete, the ceiling crossed with exposed pipes.A warehouse, maybe.Or some kind of industrial space converted for use. Not Arson’s warehouse, though.
A man leans over me, studying my face with professional interest.
All I can do is blink as I try to take in every detail. Older, maybe mid-sixties, with a round face and wire-rimmed glasses. His white coat is immaculate, contrasting with the scruffiness of his salt-and-pepper beard.
“Good, good,” he murmurs, pulling out a penlight. He shines it in each eye, and before I can protest, he’s done. “Pupillary response normal. Follow my finger, please.”
I track his finger as it moves from side to side, fighting the urge to slap his hand away. The doctor—at least I assume he’s a doctor—seems satisfied with whatever he sees.
“Where am I?” My voice is raspy, like I’ve been screaming.Maybe I have been. No, probably because I can’t remember the last time I ate or drank anything.
“Somewhere safe,” he answers, unhelpfully. “Any pain? Nausea? Dizziness?”
“Yes, my head hurts a little,” I admit, reaching up to touch the tender spot at my temple. “I think I just hit it on one of those guys’ chins when he grabbed me.”
“Nothing much. You seem to have a few bruises, including that one on your temple, but everything else seems to be within normal range. You’ve been sleeping for some time since you were brought here, and your…er…companions have been worried.”
“Hours?”How long have I been here?I struggle to sit up, ignoring the way the room tilts around me at the sudden movement. “Who are you? How did I get here?”
The man places a steadying hand on my shoulder, gently guiding me back against the pillows. “My name is Dr. Banks. I can’t explain what happened because I wasn’t there. I’m just the guy they call when medical attention is needed. You’ll need to ask one of the men who brought you here.”
One of the men who brought me here?Arson? Aries?My pulse quickens, setting off the monitor I hadn’t noticed he attached to my finger.
“Relax,” Dr. Banks admonishes, adjusting the small rectangle beeping away with my heart. “Your heart rate is already elevated. No need to stress it further.”
My heart.It’s always my heart. The defective organ that’s defined my entire existence, dictated every choice, every restriction.
