Page 21

Louhi

When my eyes flutter open, I’m met with a bright white tiled ceiling. I study more of my surroundings without moving my head, realizing I’m in the infirmary.

Fuck, shit, no.

Panic seizes my chest, and my breaths become shallow and ragged as I consider my limited options to flee. A scream is snaking up my throat when a hand slams over my mouth, muffling any sound I might make. I’m about to bite that hand when Digs’s masked face comes into view, his gaze gentle as he stares down at me.

“Shh, you’re okay. You’re safe, Lou.” His deep, husky voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it before.

I’m safe with him. Digs might want to hurt me, but he won’t crack me open.

He repeats those words a few times until my respirations begin to even out and he slowly removes his hand from my mouth. It’s then that I realize I’m not on the metal table I was strapped to the last time I was in here. I’m on an actual cot with a real cushion and a pillow. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still not my perfect pillow or my fluffy bed in Boston, but it’s the closest I’ve been to comfortable since I got here.

Digs moves to sit on a chair next to my bed, but he’s close enough now that I can see him in my periphery. I tilt my head down when I notice the black uniform back on my body and a blanket covering my legs and stomach.

My voice is hoarse as I rasp, “What happened?”

He leans forward and slides a hand onto my upper arm, brushing his thumb over the delicate skin of my inner bicep.

Why the bloody hell is he touching me like that?

I want to snap at him and tell him to remove his hands from my person, but nothing comes out when I open my mouth to gripe.

“You hit your head so hard on that table that you gave yourself a concussion. You blacked out.”

With a groan, I start to reach up and touch the back of my head, but handcuffs bite into my wrist, making me grind my teeth in irritation. Of course, he kept me cuffed.

I roll my head toward Digs and wince. My movements are sluggish and drowsiness edges in, but I push past that and clear my throat before asking, “How did we get here?”

He shifts in his seat, his eyes darting around, and he appears uncomfortable. After a beat, he answers, “I cleaned you up as best I could and redressed you before hauling ass down here.” He coughs awkwardly before asking, “Are you okay?”

My eyebrows nearly hit my hairline, ignoring the throb that beats against the inside of my skull like a hammer. Is he worried about me? Does he feel guilty for sending me to Heaven—or Hell—and back?Why does he care?

I have an intimate relationship with a darkness that matches his, and I’ve never once felt remorse for that. I live in the dark, relishing the inky blackness that surrounds me, leaning into its shadowy embrace as if it were a lover. The more I’m around Digs, the more I wonder if he can say the same about the darkness living inside him.

“I’m fine,” I reply, staring back up at the ceiling. I close my eyes before they blast back open wide. I can’t go to sleep. I’m not safe in this room. I have to stay awake. I couldn’t help it when I was unconscious, but I can help it now, and I blink hard against weariness tugging at me.

Digs scoots closer as he sweeps a hand over my forehead, pushing some of my hair back. The gesture is achingly tender and something peculiar flickers in my chest as if a candle’s been lit, but I snuff it out. “I promise you’re safe. No one knows you’re here. I haven’t left you since bringing you in here and Ja—Honey Eyes is outside the room. Nothing bad will happen to you while you sleep.”

How can I trust the man responsible for so much of my suffering? I want to believe him, and the veracity shining in his luminous silvery-blue eyes is so bright that I don’t doubt their sincerity. I’ve always made it a habit to rely on the steadfastness of my gut feelings, and that’s never led me astray before, so I shouldn’t question my instincts now.

Besides, I’d be stupid to pass up the opportunity to sleep on a bed.

There’s something I’ve been wanting to know for the last several days, though, and considering the pleasant mood Digs appears to be in, I decide to explore that trust a little more—however reckless that may be—I murmur, “What month is it?”

“December.”

My eyelids slam shut then, blotting out the anguish now pricking the backs of my eyes at hearing that single word.

Sean

I sat at Louhi’s bedside all night, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. Beautiful is too slight a word to describe this woman, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to touch her, telling myself that tending to her wounds and checking on her broken fingers wasn’t really touching her .

With an impressive display of self-restraint, I managed to hold off until she was awake before putting my hands on her in any meaningful way, but I didn’t stop after she fell back asleep. Keeping her small hand in mine, feeling her pulse thrum against my middle finger, I held her hand until she regained consciousness once again.

When she woke back up, I mentally slapped myself for going so fucking soft as Jace and I took her back to her cell, leaving her with some food and water.

I should be getting answers for Thompson, not ensuring her comfort and safety.

I’m not sure if it’s the lack of sleep or the fact that this woman is upending my entire life, but after Jace and I both showered and changed, I grumbled at him to meet me on the roof.

Before heading up there, I made a detour to snatch Mercer’s and Lou’s files from the locked cabinet in the office, where I’ve kept them since only Jace and I have the combination.

Jace is smoking a cigarette when I get to the rooftop, and he offers me a smoke that I greedily accept, considering what a long-ass night it’s been.

Slumping in the chair next to him, I sigh. He mutters an amused affirmation, adding, “Fucking Lou.”

I grunt in response and take a drag of the cancer stick before bringing life to the thought that’s been lurking in the darkest corners of my mind. “What if she didn’t do it?”

“Do what?”

“What if she didn’t attempt to set those bombs off? What if she didn’t even plant them in the first place? What if she isn’t the terrorist responsible for that?”

Jace scoffs as he tips his head back up at the morning sky. “You’re delusional. Of course, she did it. She wouldn’t be here unless she was guilty.”

I face him, despite his eyes being closed as he soaks up the sun’s rays. “Hear me out. I think we have it wrong. I don’t think she did it. ”

He lifts his head then, eyeing me with both confusion and concern.

“Sean,” he starts. People rarely use my first name, so I know he’s serious when he continues. “The government doesn’t fuck up when they send people here. If you’re at Exile Island, you did what you’re accused of, you’re a problem that needs to be solved. You know this.”

“But what if the government fucked up this time ?”

I’m not a conspiracy theorist; I believe facts. And I’ve been fitting together facts like a ten-thousand-piece puzzle when it comes to Lou. The image isn’t revealing itself to be anything like the one I’ve been told to see.

Jace shakes his head before arguing, “Command doesn’t make mistakes like that. I think you’re seeing what you want to see.”

He might be right. I don’t want Lou to be responsible for such heinous acts and, more importantly, I don’t want to have to put her to death. However, there’s a piece of me that truly doubts she did the things she’s being accused of. If there’s a chance—even a small, miniscule chance—that she’s innocent of those crimes, I want to give her the opportunity to keep breathing, to keep living.

Pushing further, I retort, “Seriously, what if they did?”

Jace sighs before taking another drag and relenting. “ Fine , I’ll bite. Why do you think that?”

“What if she hasn’t been answering our questions because she doesn’t know? She has no idea where the next attack will be. She doesn’t know why the Fed was targeted. She doesn’t have anyone working for her. What if it’s all because she isn’t the terrorist the damn government claims? She said once that I needed to ask better questions and what if that’s because she can’t answer these?”

He appears to ponder that deeply for a moment before declaring, “She’s still clearly some kind of criminal, though. She killed Stuco in cold blood.”

“I haven’t worked out that part yet, but I don’t disagree. ”

After a beat of silence, he admits, “If you are right, and I’m not saying you are, what does that mean for her?”

“I don’t know, but I’d think we need to report the mistake before it’s too late.”

Neither of us speaks for what feels like hours as we both lose ourselves in our thoughts. I don’t know what crimes she’s committed, or how the hell she got here if she didn’t do what she’s being accused of. But I’m not stupid enough to think she’s innocent. She showed up prepared to endure extreme torture and that can only mean she’s wrapped up in something shady.

I’m not sure what any of that means for her or her future. However, I am certain that I’m attached. I’m hooked on Lou, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do about that.