I take a deep breath, debating taking my own car. It's probably better if I do, it’s a normal-looking car. It shouldn’t attract any unwanted attention.
I head to it, unlocking the door, and sliding behind the wheel. I input the address the nurse sent into my GPS and put it into gear. Time to see what the fuck that waste of space wants.
An hour later, I pull into the parking lot for Mercy Hospital. I go through the main doors, and straight to the front desk.
“I’m Hunter Harris. My father, Liam Harris, is here?”
The receptionist looks up with a smile. “Oh, yes, Mr. Harris. We've been waiting for you. I'll ring the nurse to come get you.”
I thank her, only waiting a heartbeat before a nurse comes out of the double doors that lead to the hospital rooms. “Right this way, Mr. Harris.”
I follow her, and she scurries into a room in the middle of the hall, close to the nurse’s station. “Here we are! Your father had a major stroke, and it severely weakened his heart. We can't get a transplant, so we’re just trying to keep him comfortable.”
I just nod, emotionless. I follow her inside and internally recoil at the sight of the neglectful bastard who sired me. He’s skinny and frail now, his hair almost completely grey. His tired eyes land on me, and he attempts to speak. “Son… please… come. I must speak with you.”
The nurse leaves quietly, shutting the door behind her. I walk to his bedside. “What could you possibly have to say to me, after all this time?”
“It’s about your... sister...” He starts coughing, gasping for breath.
I lay into him, having zero patience for this piece of shit. “What about Cynthia? She was kidnapped years ago! And what did you do to find her? Nothing! I've been the only one looking for her since she disappeared! I raised her—not you!” He flinches, but I refuse to back down and be nicer. Fuck. Him. “Talk, old man!”
Tears fill his eyes. “She was taken for a reason, son. I... already...” He starts coughing again. “I... knew. I was told before it happened.” He looks away in shame. “I was... paid... to turn my eyes away...”
“What?” I bellow. “Where the hell is she?”
He coughs again, this time blood coming up, staining his lips. “The...” he starts to rasp out. “The family... the...” Before he can finish his sentence, he starts to convulse. The machines he’s attached to go crazy, alarms sounding throughout the room.
Doctors and nurses rush in. “Please step back, Mr. Harris!”
I just stand there, screaming at him, “Don’t you dare die without telling me, you bastard! Where is my sister?”
The doctor in charge shoves me backwards to drag the paddles in. The heart monitor goes crazy, fuck!
“Clear!” The doctor shouts, attempting to restart his heart. He tries three times, but his pulse never goes back to normal until… and nothing. The doctor steps back, looking to me with sorrow in his expression. “Time of death...”
I tune him out, absolutely flabbergasted that fucker was a part of Cynthia being kidnapped. I sneer, turning on my heel to leave.
“Wait, Mr. Harris!”
I ignore them, walking fast to get the hell out of there. I make it back to my car, and floor it back to The Retreat.
I fill the guys and Jax in by text and settle in for the drive as memories of childhood sift through my mind.
Hunter Age 13
My parents are passed out in the living room, and it’s only seven in the morning. I'm woken up by my sister crying loudly. I wait to see if my mom will go help her, but there’s no movement whatsoever. Cynthia keeps crying, so I drag myself out of bed and go into the tiny area of the back of this rundown trailer used as her “nursery”—though it’s not even a room. It's by the back door.
I shuffle towards her, shushing her with a gentle voice. “It’s okay, Cynthia, I’ve got you.”
I lift her gently from the secondhand crib we got from a neighbor. She's three now, but we can’t afford a proper toddler bed. There's a threadbare blanket, and a toy I stole from a toy store for her in there.
I frown at how warm she feels. I put the back of my hand to her head, and her chest. She's burning up. Fuck!
In a panic, I rush out to the living room, Cynthia still in my arms. “Mom, Dad! Wake up! Something's wrong with Cynthia!”
I shake them both roughly, but they don’t even stir. There are empty bottles of alcohol near my dad, and some needles scattered on the table. They're fucked out of their minds—there will be no help from them.
I go back into Cynthia's area, grabbing some clothes I hurriedly put on her after changing her diaper clumsily. She's not even potty-trained yet—my parents can’t be bothered.
