Page 7 of Dark Survivor (The Qaldreth Warriors #2)

He chuckled. “Indeed. Nor shall you. Suffice it to say, your brother has stolen from me for the last time.”

She grimaced. “What he does is his problem. I’m not responsible for him. I used to be, but I gave up.”

She flinched when White Hair circled her until she couldn’t see him in her peripherals anymore. Each sound he made shot through her senses, made worse when she couldn’t anticipate his actions. He stopped to her right to cup her chin, raising her gaze to his.

“So pretty, young, and soon to be a doctor?” He tutted then released her. “My men haven’t found Jamie, and until they do, you’re stuck here.” He glanced at Buzz Cut. “Did you send word that we have her?”

“I did,” the man rumbled.

“Listen, sir, you’re wasting your time. My brother doesn’t care about me unless he wants tokens.

He’s not to be trusted, will stab you in the back, and throw you under an autobus.

If you’d met me first, I would’ve warned you about him.

” She wiggled in the hopes that blood flow would return to her cold fingers.

“Now, that I can believe. Still, I must try, y’know, to get back what is mine.”

She sighed. “I understand. It’s just that I’m missing my graduation. Couldn’t you have captured me a day from now?”

White Hair laughed. “Oh, dear, you have a sense of humor.”

“I’m sorry.” She yearned to roll her eyes but resisted. “I’m a little hungover, my arms are numb, and I need to pee.”

“Loosen the ropes, Warren,” White Hair said. “Take Ms. Bryant for a…pee.”

She blessed him with a smile. “Thank you so much.”

Again, he laughed. “And manners. Are you sure you’re Jamie’s sister?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she muttered when Warren freed her hands, flooding her arms with an explosion of pins and needles. She cried out, bit her lip, and refused to move.

Warren rubbed her from shoulder to fingertips. At first, she wanted to smack him, then when the sensations faded, she thought of kissing him in sheer gratitude.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He gripped her by the elbow and hoisted her to her feet. Without a word to White Hair, he ushered her through the factory to a door she hadn’t spotted.

“Pee,” he said, shoving her inside.

The stench hit her first, but she gulped down her disgust, and did her thing, squatting like a sumo wrestler in the hopes that she touched nothing.

While she washed her hands, she stared at the window, trying to assess whether she could fit her ass through it.

Her height was an issue, and she didn’t know what awaited her outside.

It could be a sheer drop or two ravenous guard autodogs who would see her as their next meal. Did they even eat flesh?

She shook her head. Wrong thinking.

Then again, what awaited her inside the glass cell? The loss of her fingers? Her kneecaps shot off? Worse, if they gave her some of those blue pills. Certain death for sure.

Almost disbelieving what she was about to do, she tipped the trashcan over then climbed on top of it. Not a simple feat as short as she was. Balanced on her toes, the can wobbling beneath her, she unlatched the window to peer out.

Nothing but a staff parking lot meant she could slip out and make a run for it. No fences hindered her bolt for freedom, no security guards either. She squeezed her eyes shut, grittiness from lack of sleep taking effect.

Up she lifted herself, then with a grunt, she wiggled through only to realize the error of her ways. Headfirst meant landing on her face. With her ass on the sill, she gripped the window’s metal frame.

“Are you done yet?” Warren called.

She swallowed a squeak and pulled her feet through, then the strength in her arms gave out, dropping her.

Hitting the ground on her back sucked the air out of her lungs.

She gasped but couldn’t exhale. The back of her head throbbed where she must have bounced it off the tarmac.

Pain pulsed outward, worsening her headache and the nausea in her gut.

She flipped onto her stomach, pushed herself to her feet, then threw up in a nearby discarded box.

Nausea coiled, bile rose, and the horrendous tang of it coated her tongue. She swallowed hard, willing her body to realize the situation. No way would she get recaptured just because she had to spill her guts. That would be all kinds of foolish.

While wiping her mouth, she eyed the window, half-expecting Warren to be watching her.

When he wasn’t, she sprinted along the parked vehicles, keeping them between the bathroom and the road.

Her feet were stinging. The sunlight blinded her hangover-sensitive eyes, setting them on fire.

Not that she dared to close them, needing to navigate the roads of an industrial area she’d never visited.

Activating her phone implant in her palm, she called the police. Tears slipped free willy-nilly, burning her cool cheeks. What she wanted to do was find a dark corner and huddle. Instead, she marched toward the city’s center and prayed she’d come across a patrolling police vehicle.

“What’s your emergency?” an AI droned.

“Hello?” she blurted. “I was kidnapped, am now free, and don’t know where the hell I am. Please…”

“One moment, please,” the AI said with saccharine sweetness.

“Ma’am, we are tracking you,” an officer said a second later.

She almost cried, so great was the relief bowing her shoulders. “Please. Hurry.”

“Tinika,” someone yelled.

She swiveled, a sob escaping her at the sight of Warren sprinting toward her.

Reacting on instinct, she bolted, crossing the streets without checking, veering around loitering homeless people or leaping over bodies she hoped still breathed.

Panic drove her to use all her energy to pump her arms, while ignoring her aching feet, her throbbing headache, and her blurred vision.

She wasn’t going back. A square with carved paving stones carried more foot traffic than she’d encountered this morning.

She stopped at the courtyard’s center and spun, trying to decide where to go next.

Away from Warren, duh. So she took the straight path in the opposite direction.

People in corporate wear, their palms to their ears, didn’t notice her or her pursuer.

When he crossed the distance between them, she veered into a building skirting the square. The cool interior offered her some relief. Warren hesitated, glowered, and still approached.

“Um, hi,” she said to the security guard behind the reception counter. “Could I wait here until the police find me?”

The skinny dude glanced at her then outside. His eyes widened when he spotted Warren.

“No, not without clearance.” He nudged his pointy chin at the door.

She gaped, her thoughts reeling. A peek confirmed Warren waiting for her to leave. A glance over her other shoulder showed the path she needed to take—up a small hill to the park beyond. She could hide there, maybe?

“Asshole,” she snapped at the guard.

Without another word, she sidled to the door, slipped through it, then ducked.

Air brushing her head told her how close Warren had come to grabbing her.

She broke into a sprint. At this time of the morning, the park grounds were empty except for two cyclists, a woman with her stroller, and a few joggers. A crowd would’ve been helpful.

Everything ached, from her leg muscles to her chest, tight from her ragged breaths. Sweat pooled at the base of her spine and between her breasts.

“Tiny, come on,” Warren called.

She faced him while walking backward. “No, I won’t be used as a pawn. Kill my brother, do what you want with him, but leave me out of whatever this is.” She swiveled and slammed into someone. With a cry, she teetered, her arms flying wide.

“I’ve got you, miss,” a man said.

The red of his uniform caught her attention, and she whimpered, lunging forward to grip his arms. “Officer?”

“I told you we’d find you.”

At his familiar voice, she slid to the ground, uncaring that she sat there sobbing. “Thank you.”

“Are you all right? Do you need an ambo?”

When her tears didn’t soothe her gritty eyelids, she had to face the truth as excruciating agony forced her to shut her eyes. “I do need medical attention. Please.” She folded both forearms across her face. “Arc eyes,” she wailed.

This was her fault for not shielding herself against arc flashes. She knew better, knew the damage the radiation could do. It was for this very reason that welders had protective gear.

What followed was a blur, made worse by her diminishing ability to see.

Warren was no more, not in the crowd gathered around the ambulance, not on the outskirts of the park. He’d vanished as if demons had chased her across blocks instead of a drug lord’s hitman. Would they try this again? Steal her from wherever? She couldn’t say.

Swear words clung to the tip of her tongue, begging for release. Even if she spewed them at her brother, he’d shrug them off. If she told her folks, they wouldn’t believe her, like a med student had a reason to lie.

She was grateful though for Parsons, the officer who’d stayed by her side. His voice had the most impact on her, keeping her in the moment and sane.

“You don’t have to stay,” she said to him once they had her in a ward.

The doctor had examined her after administering anesthetic eye drops. A nurse now placed padded dressings over her eyes. She’d have to endure the pain with only Ibuprofen and Proparacaine drops to help her endure.

“I will, until your parents arrive.”

“You called them?” she squeaked, slumped, then stiffened when the nurse tutted.

“Had to. You’re blind, Ms. Bryant,” he said.

“True.” She forced a smile she far from felt. “It’s temporary, though—about five days. Don’t get me wrong. It’s going to suck.”

“Tiny?” Mom cried, entering with a flurry of squeaks from her sneakers on the polished floor.

“Hi, Mom.” She kept her smile in place by sheer will.

“What happened?” Mom asked, bringing with her a cloud of rose perfume.

Tiny hesitated. Burning scratched at her eyelids, drooping her shoulders. How could she tell her mom without revealing the truth that she wouldn’t believe anyway?

“Fireworks incident in the city square,” Parsons said. “We were lucky to find her, ma’am.”

Tiny smiled in the direction of his voice. She wished she could squeeze his hand in gratitude. He’d been her hero when she’d needed one so desperately.

“Thank you, young man,” Mom said. “Your father’s sorting out the payment. Jamie’s—”

“Don’t mention his name,” Tiny snapped, venom in her voice. She wanted to kill him, strangle him with her bare hands.

“Why are you angry with your brother?” Mom sighed. “This vendetta you have against—”

“How’s my pumpkin?” Dad asked, his heavy tread music to Tiny’s ears.

She sucked in a calming breath, uncurled her fingers, and pasted on a smile. Now wasn’t the time to discuss Jamie’s secret criminal life. Her parents wouldn’t believe her anyway. She needed evidence or law enforcement to spill the beans.

“Better,” she said. “All thanks to Officer Parsons…” He hadn’t given her his first name, but she couldn’t be sure, not remembering anything past the agony that had consumed her eyes at the time.

“You have a remarkable daughter,” he said, which he no doubt told all the women he rescued.

“What were you doing in the city center?” Dad tutted. “You missed your graduation.”

“Oh?” Parsons asked.

“Yes, our daughter’s a doctor now.” Pride filled Mom’s voice.

“I still have to do my residency,” Tiny hurried to remind them.

“Good, you are here, Mr. and Mrs. Bryant,” Dr. Murray said, his gravelly voice recognizable. “I’m sorry to have to tell your this, but the damage is severe.” He cleared his throat. “I want to run some more tests, which is why Tiny’s been admitted for overnight care.”

Severe? Chills sent a shiver across her shoulders and down her spine. No. She was fine. Dr. Murray was just being cautious. She refused to consider what the worst-case scenario could be, but her mind went there anyway.

Permanent blindness.

“Hey, sister,” Jamie said, striding into the stunned silence.

Her thoughts went blank. Fury exploded in her.

She hadn’t planned to slide off the bed, but she did, stumbling toward her brother’s voice.

Tears inflamed her eyes and cheeks, matching the blaze of anger inside her.

She threw a punch, missed, spun on the spot, and fell, collapsing to the floor amid shuddering sobs.

Everything ached: her knees, heart, eyes.

The cold registered from the tiles and the gap in her hospital gown.

None of that mattered. All her hopes and dreams had shattered.

“Jamie Bryant?” Officer Parsons asked. He gripped Tiny’s waist, the warmth of his hands making her shiver. Without warning, he hoisted her into his arms and carried her to bed like she weighed nothing. Then his touch and presence were gone.

“If I ever see you again, brother , I’ll kill you,” she spat at the room while someone tucked the blanket around her.

“Is it the medication?” Mom asked from a way off. “I’m so sorry. She’s never acted like this.”

Tiny screamed, cursed, gestured with her arms, demanded a gun, some weapon, poison. Whatever she spewed was beyond her control as if the connection between her brain and her tongue had been severed.

“Pumpkin,” Dad said, his steadfastness breaking through the blinding haze of fury and sorrow.

“Let me explain, Mr. Bryant,” Officer Parsons said. “But first, your son is under arrest.”

“What? Why?” Mom squeaked, her footsteps tapping in a flurry of activity.

Right then, that said it all. How much Tiny truly mattered to her parents. Not that she’d ever wanted them to choose between their two children. But for farg’s sake, she could be blind because of Jamie.

Fargen blind.

Bitterness coated her tongue, and she struggled to swallow. Throughout Officer Parsons’s explanation, her parents’ shock, and her brother’s whining, she sat, listened, and let the hatred fester.