Page 48 of Hysteria Rises
I narrow my eyes. “You have very limited understanding of how things work around here. You don’t know—” And with that, I get off the bed, only pausing for a second on my way out to grab the bottle of bourbon, leaving Cross to either follow me or not.
TWENTY-FIVE
ARROW
Searingpain blazes across every stripe taken out of my skin. In a semiconscious state, I moan as I try to shift in the bed. Any rest I’m getting at all is fitful and uncomfortable. I never sleep on my stomach, but I fucking have to until I heal. As it is, every movement stretches and pulls at the open wounds. Cross says it’ll be days more of this agony. There’s simply no end in sight, as far as I’m concerned. I can’t sleep for shit, not that I ever can, and I also haven’t been able to visit my siren.
I’m in a bad way, wondering how she’s handled all of this, everything from waking up with my cock inside her to thinking she was being given the right to leave to being caught and trapped in that hellish punishment with me.
I feel like shit. Every moment of what Twenty-three endured is a direct result of my unhinged actions,the deep-seated need I have to be near her, and my uncontrollable lust.
Barely audible whispering from the next bed over—Cross’s bunk—catches my attention, but my head is turned the other direction, and I’m not inclined to move an inch yet. I glance at the clock on my bedside table, noting that it’s just after midnight.
“This is ugly, the way he’s suffering. You’re sure there’s no way to access Nolan’s locked medicine cabinet?” It’s Hayze, who must be right between my bed and Cross’s.
I heave out a sigh and with effort swivel my head to face them. “I can hear you. I’m fine.”
A moment later, Cross’s hazel eyes focus on me in the dark as he mutters, “You haven’t let me have a look since yesterday.” His lips pinch together in disapproval.
That’s because it hurts like mad every time I allow it. Not that he’s doing anything wrong. It’s simply that bad, and there’s nothing to be done but let it heal. “I need—” Clenching my jaw tight, I shake my head. It’s too much to ask.
“Tell me. I’ll do my best to help.” Hayze blows out a hard breath as he reaches out, lightly grasping my forearm and squeezing. “Anything.”
I grimace, knowing full well the beating Hayze is doling out for himself is way worse than the correction he was forced to administer. “You don’t have to. I already said I don’t blame you. There wasn’t anything you could have done differently. You were acting in your father’s place at the demand of theremaining members of the Collective. That’s what’s expected of you. Finneas wouldn’t have hesitated, so you couldn’t either.”
“He’s not wrong,” Cross murmurs quietly as he studies Hayze. “Arrow wasn’t the first to take lashes and won’t be the last, I’m certain.”
Hayze peers at both of us as he scrubs a pair of tattooed hands through his hair. After several moments of what appears to be some really fucking intense internal reflection, he finally acknowledges the truth of what we’ve been trying to impress on him since the punishment was meted out in the first place. “You might be right. But that doesn’t make me feel any better about it. If my father had decided he didn’t think it was merited, he would have called a halt to it.”
Cross throws his hands up, whispering, “But the reality is that you are not yet one of the Collective. You are simply the one who will one day lead. Don’t be fooled. They’re including you right now so they still appear four-strong.”
I’ve been thinking about this ever since it happened—in the brief time periods when I wasn’t overwhelmed with simply trying to make it through another minute. But now, full awareness creeps in, no less painful than the whip to my back. My chest tightens. “Theyusedyou, Hayze. And my father allowed it to happen to both of us.”
“Mine is no better,” Cross mumbles. “You’d think a fucking medical doctor would have had something to say.”
On the other side of Cross’s bed, Malakai’s mattress squeaks with his movement. I hadn’t even realized he was there, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have said anything if I knew he was listening to our conversation. I peer over at him, only to find him leaning forward with his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to fucking say about all that, but you fuckers are going to wake everyone else up.”
Taking care not to move too quickly, I push myself to a kneeling position, sucking in an agonized breath as I do. For the first time in days, Malakai’s deep, dark eyes find mine. We stare silently at each other for several seconds before I murmur, “You don’t have to know what to say.” I don’t claim to understand what’s in his head. I never have. He runs way too often with Dragan and Gannon to be trusted, and being Kiefer’s son makes all my misgivings about him increase tenfold. Yet… I don’t know. He throws off some weird energy sometimes. Studying him, I’m sure of it—there’s something there, something he wants to say, but he’s holding back.
Shaking his head, he stands up. “Cross, you may as well show them.”
My eyes flick to Hayze’s, then Cross’s. Hayze doesn’t seem to know what’s up, but I can tell by the sudden clenching of teeth that my hazel-eyed friend sure as fuck knows what Mal is referring to. I find that very odd, but I lift my brows, since I can do that without pain. It’s about the only part of my body I can move with no repercussions.
“You go ahead. I set it there,” Malakai grinds out, pointing to something at Cross’s bedside.
Cross quietly clears his throat, then leans down and snatches up whatever it is and holds it out for me to see.
“What the fuck?” Hayze mutters. “Is that what I think it is?”
Cross holds a finger to his lips, gaze flicking for a second toward the four beds across the room. “Well, our buddy here”—he glances at Malakai, dropping his voice as he finishes—“knew of a stash of alcohol.”
He hands the bottle to Hayze, who squints in the dark, his eyes roaming over the label. His lips move, but he says nothing. I glance at him, curious, but then he mumbles, “It’s too fucking dark in here to read. What kind is it?”
“It’s Kentucky bourbon.” A low rumble of a laugh spills from Cross. “Pretty potent, too, if I read the label right. It’s a hundred proof.”
“That’s good stuff, then.” I catch my lip between my teeth. I want to snatch it out of his hands and pour it down my throat to drown the pain, drown every disturbing dream that comes to me in the darkest nights.
Hayze glances at me and shrugs as if to sayWhat do you think?but then immediately puts voice to his thoughts. “It sure as fuck couldn’t hurt.” He dampens his lips. “Whose is it?”
