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No.No.

“Rowan, he’s alive. You need to let him go so we can get him out of here and get someone to look at him,” Xander says.

“Sir,” another voice comes. “We need to go.” It’s one of Xander’s guys. A lithe man with muscles and a serpent tattoo on his face. Iskren, I think.

I’m forced back into my body and my senses heighten. The room smells stale, the odour of cigarettes and an old carpet. We’re in Greenwood, in an old derelict building that houses drug dealers and sex workers.

A few steps away, Rachel Anders’s body lies still, soaking the carpet with crimson blood that oozes out of her head. My doing. Next to her is a large man, shot in the back of his head by Xander, a knife wound in his side from Alex. I want to shoot him again for what he’s done, but I can’t focus on that now.

Alex.

Alex is all I care about.

I touch the base of his neck, feel the faint pulse Xander did, and force myself to get it together. He’s alive. He just needs medical attention.

“Call Doctor Crawley,” I hear Xander say. “Tell him to meet us in Queen’s Peak.”

“Yes, Sir,” Iskren murmurs.

My eyes fall on Rachel Anders again. I lay Alex down gently and stand up straight. A few other men I didn’t realise were in the room either take a few steps away from me or avert their eyes. I reach for my gun, still warm from the single shot. Rachel Anders stares up at me, brown eyes wide, lips parted.

I point the gun right between her eyes and pull the trigger without hesitation. The sound of the shot rips through the air. Blood and brain matter splatters in all directions, some of itlanding on my face, warm and coppery. I want to bathe in it. I want to bring her back to life and take my time with her.

“Look through everything,” I tell the men, tasting the coppery liquid on my tongue. “I want to know who she was working with.”

A few ‘yes sirs’ ring through the air but I’m not listening. I’m back by Alex’s side, picking him up and holding him close in my arms.

He’s alive.

That’s enough for now.

***

I look down at Alex, my chest tightening at the sight of him. His split lip, the purple bruise darkening on his cheek and neck, and the rough cuts marring his wrists are stark reminders of everything he went through.

The nurse did her best to clean him up, but her efforts only make the injuries more glaring. He was gone for barely a day and a half, and they still managed to leave him like this. That anger and raw pain flares inside me again.

I want to string Rachel Anders up and play target practice with her body, but she’s long gone, so I’ll revel in the fantasy instead.

I brush a strand of dark hair away from his forehead, letting my fingers and eyes linger for a moment. Even in this state, he manages to look beautiful. He doesn’t stir. His shallow, uneven breaths and the warmth of his skin are the only signs that he’s alive.

He’s alive.

I tell myself those words again and again, some silent prayer as if God still listens to anything I say.

Outside, the air is still. It’s well past midnight, and it’s just us inside the house. The doctors say he’s fine—just exhausted, dehydrated, and coming down from whatever cocktail of drugs Kane and Anders pumped into him.

He’ll be okay.

But I’m not.

I can’t stop the restless energy roiling inside me, the anger clawing at my chest. Xander’s men cleaned up afterward, turning it into a staged gang dispute. The man she was with, Lesley Cartwright, had a record as long as my arm, including manslaughter. They’ll chalk it up to him dragging her into something dangerous. But whoever Anders was working for—the one pulling her and Kane’s strings—is still out there. They’re still looking for Professor Hawthorne’s research, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Right now, only Alex matters.

As if he hears me, he stirs. A quiet sound escapes him, his eyelids fluttering before they open fully. Brown eyes lock onto mine, clouded with confusion. “Rowan?” he says softly, his voice rasping like it hasn’t been used in days.

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips, relief flooding through me all at once. “Hi.”