Page 51 of Martyr
“Please, what? Please save your life? Please let you die? Please, feed your cat? Tell your loved ones you’re so fucking sorry for leading the life of a motorcycle gangster with who knowshowmany deaths on your hands?” I rise and step off him. “No. No to all of that. You didn’t help me, so I cannot help you.”
I wait for the next wave to come and rinse his blood from my hands.
Metaphorically and literally.
Leaving him where he is, I dust the stupid sand from my soaked jeans and head back to my motorcycle.
A Cyclops awaits me. He seems vaguely green in the face—or maybe that’s just the garish yellow streetlight overhead. It’s messing with my color perception.
“Boss wants to see you.” His gaze moves past me to the man. “Is that guy dead?”
I make a face. “Does he look dead to you?”
“I—”
“He’s not. Not yet anyway.” I glance over my shoulder. “I suppose he might be useful. Go and fetch him before he fades away.”
The Cyclops moves to follow my order, then pauses. “Who is he?”
I smile. “The leader of the Hell Hounds.”
22KADE
Lyssa is asleep.
The good kind, luckily. It’s actually much noisier than her comatose form. Her chest rises and falls less evenly, her lips are parted, and she occasionally shifts and twitches.
We had a chat before her eyes got heavy. I held her hand. Maybe I cried a little—sue me.
Dr. Hawthorne comes in and takes stock of the room, then tips her head toward the door.
I let Lyssa’s hand slide from mine and follow her into the hall.
“How are you holding up, Mr. Laurent?” she asks, her voice and expression full of concern.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Trying to wrap my head around reality.”
She nods in understanding. “Lyssa has a long road ahead of her. Physical therapy, in tandem with talk therapy… she’s awake, but her journey has only gotten more complex.”
“Right.”
“She needs to build up her muscles and learn how to use her body again. It’s a great sign that she is talking and seems cognizant of where she is.”
“Because she used to live here.”
Dr. Hawthorne pauses. “Yes, well, from my understanding there was quite a bit of trauma between that stay and the start of this one.”
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “I want what’s best for her. If we need to fly in a specialist—do it. Whatever it takes.”
“Don’t expect overnight miracles, Mr. Laurent.”
“I’m not.”
She smiles. “Should I expect you to stick around for a while, then? The moral support will be a huge factor. And continued support throughout her treatment. Of course, I don’t expect you to be here every day. Checking in on her, however… I know you’re good for that.”
“I’ll be here until work tears me away.”
My voice is steady, butworkis just a euphemism forOuranos. He allowed me the time off to check on my sister, but I’m almost certain he did not expect me to still be here. My phone was left in the boat, which means it’s currently at the bottom of the harbor.
