But now… I can’t control anything.
Least of all what happens to my brother.
It’s already been one torturous week since Tom was taken, and a full twenty-four hours since Luis made contact to demand a full surrender in exchange for his life. I can still hear his smug words.
When you’re ready to accept my terms, call this number. No tricks, no games. Leave Sabre Security out of this, and your brother will live.
Frankly, I was ready to hand myself over.
“Fuck Warner and his stupid fucking investigation,” I hiss angrily. “Fuck Hyland. Fuck Axel. Fuck the directors. Fuck Doctor Richards. Fuck Blaine. Fuck them all!”
Every single one of them is responsible for my current predicament. Because they demanded my trust. My patience. The promise that I wouldn’t do anything reckless before we locate Tom.
Delivering each blow in fast succession, thoughts of what horrors my brother could be suffering through taunt me. I know how sharp those whips bite. The way skin shreds and weeps with blood. How every strike chips away at your hope and faith.
Dark memories hit hard and fast like rapid gunfire, each bullet slashing deep into my traumatised brain tissue and disturbing ghosts I’ve tried to keep buried. Only now, the image of Tom locked in a cage haunts me instead of my own wails.
“Fuck!” I growl out.
Punch. Kick.
“Goddamn Luis!”
Kick. Kick. Punch.
“I’ll kill you for this!”
Punch. Kick. Punch.
No matter how many times I assault the swinging bag until my knuckles split and muscles screech in warning, the fear refuses to shift. Jagged, ice-cold tendrils have already made their home, curled around my skeleton.
They asked me to trust them, but at what cost?
I’m failing again.
First Gracie. I failed her. I couldn’t keep her safe. I abandoned her, despite what anyone says otherwise. And I’ve failed to find her in the months that I’ve been free from Gael. According to Luis, she’s already dead.
Now… Tom.
Do I have to lose him too?
All my life, it feels like I’ve danced a non-consensual tango with death. First, it was our mother—the death that I don’t allow myself to dwell on. But it made me who I am. At least until I was taken. Then death became a daily occurrence, and I forged myself in those icy fires.
One more day.
That’s all I’m giving them. One day then I’ll go. I don’t care if I have to cut them all down to escape this damn building and make contact with Luis. I’ll surrender. I’ll be the bait. I’ll do anything.
I won’t lose anyone else.
At the feeling of warmth trickling from my knuckles down my jelly-like arms, I let my knees collapse. Crumpling on the hard floor of the training room, bone-deep pain and exhaustion set in fast.
I’ve been beating the shit out of the punching bag for almost three hours, pushing past every last physical and mental limitation I encounter. Never once acknowledging the warning signs of an attack blaring like a red flag to a bull.
Knees folding to curl up into my chest, I hug my trembling legs tight, waiting for the dizziness to subside. Despite taking my new medication, I can feel a blackout hovering on the precipice. All the signs are there.
Disgusted with myself, I unlace my arms then attempt to wrestle myself upright. The room tips and sways, eaten by spilled ink blots. Blinking rapidly does little to alleviate the intense vertigo.
I’m forced to press my forehead into the floor to halt the freefall. My vision dips in and out as a swarm of vicious hornets drown out my hearing, filling my skull with static. The whole world is spinning out of control.
