Page 122 of Desecrated Saints
“Do you recognise this person?”
Agent Barlow hands me another glossy, printed photograph. Guilt and shame twist my insides until I can barely breathe. Teegan’s bright, lively smile stares back at me beneath her red hair and a handful more facial piercings than the last time I saw her. She looks different.
I can’t ignore the handful of scars marking her face, along with the slightly crooked tilt of her healed nose. To my horror, she’s missing several teeth in the photo too. The phantom pain of them cutting against my knuckles has me jumping up. My chair crashes to the floor behind me.
“When was this taken?”
“Last week,” Agent Jonas answers. “We reviewed her files to confirm her discharge as authorised by Doctor Augustus. The records surrounding her injuries mention a patient attack while in custody.”
With tears stinging my eyes, I hug her photograph to my chest. I can almost feel her arms around me, demanding a tight, desperate cuddle while laughing through the pain. I’d do anything for one more hug. I’ve lost the only two friends I’ve ever had.
That fucking hurts.
“Did you attack Teegan Lopez?”
“She was my best friend.” I study her healed, happy face. “People close to me… they get hurt. I hurt them. Everything I touch turns to shit.”
I sense Enzo stepping towards me as my crying intensifies. I’m too exhausted and emotionally drained to keep a lid on it any longer. She will forever bear the mark of our friendship. I did that to her. She gave me her love and trust. In return, I nearly took her life from her.
“Brooke,” Enzo placates. “Just take a deep breath.”
“This is never going away, is it? I thought… I thought I had a chance. All I wanted was a chance to live.”
Agent Barlow stands, her hands raised in a calming manner. “Miss West, we’re not done here. Please sit back down and answer our questions or things will get a lot more complicated for you.”
“They won’t ever let me forget,” I whisper to myself. “Augustus was right. I can’t escape Blackwood. My past will always follow me. You can’t help me.”
“This is your chance to avoid prison. You need to earn it.”
Still holding the photograph slicing my heart into ribbons, I ignore their voices. The walls are closing in on me like an optical illusion. I’m going to be crushed to death under the weight of their accusations. Just as I curl my hand around the door handle, Enzo’s arms attempt to trap me.
“No! Get your hands off me!”
“Brooke,” he repeats. “Calm down. We’re trying to help.”
Jamming my elbow into his ribcage, I take the brief distraction and wrench the door open. Hunter is trying to follow, but he’s still sore from the explosion and moving slowly. The government agents don’t move a muscle. All they care about is their recording, capturing my madness. Another point against me.
“Brooklyn, stop—”
Ignoring Hunter’s growly voice, I sprint into the waiting area. Pacing in front of the door with a stony expression, Seven stops when he spots me running at full speed.
“Eight?”
I throw myself at him. “I can’t… can’t… breathe!”
Holding me against his firm chest, he cups the back of my head. “I’ve got you, princess.”
He’s caught in a heated argument with Hunter and Enzo, who followed me from the interview room. I can’t hear a damn word while hanging off him. My ears are ringing loudly, like I’m drowning in electrified water. Each beat feels like a hose pipe of water battering my body, or the sharp sting of a whip cracking against my skin.
Seven scoops me off my feet, cradling me like I’m a lost child relying on him to bring me home. I bury my face in his neck, letting the sobs wash over me. I’m powerless. My surroundings mean nothing as I fight to stay in the driver’s seat.
“Hold on, Eight. I’m getting you out of here.”
Awash in darkness, I cling to the feel of his skin on mine. He smells like freshly ground coffee from the cup he quickly drained, and Hudson’s aftershave. They’ve been sharing clothes since they’re similar in size. My fingers tangle in his soft mane of hair. I grip it tightly, needing to feel something real in my hands.
Seven doesn’t say a word as he sprints far away from the building and those seeking to dissect my brain further. My feet hit the ground and cold air washes over me. Propped against a wall, his huge hand shakes my shoulder to try and rouse me. I’m barely holding on.
“Eight? Talk to me. Show me those beautiful eyes.”
