Page 43 of Girl Lost (The King Legacy #1)

THEY WERE KEEPING HIM alert now. But he couldn’t move his legs.

Stryker tried to shift. Flex his toes. Nothing.

A heavy numbness pressed down. A leaden weight that started at his chest and extended to his feet.

Paralyzed.

Just breathe. Stay calm.

Nothing else had changed. Crisp hospital sheets against his skin. A gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath. He could see the sterile white walls of the room. Medical equipment. One-way mirrors mocked his helplessness.

Relentless beeping of the monitors. An insidious reminder of his precarious existence.

But he couldn’t move his legs. He couldn’t feel them.

The injection. The sharp prick in his back. A zing down his spine ten times worse than jamming his funny bone.

A burning sensation spreading through his veins.

The doctor’s cold, clinical tone. “This will make things easier for you, Mr. King.”

Easier for him, maybe. But for Stryker, it was a living nightmare.

How long? How long would this paralysis last? Was it temporary? Or had they done something irreversible? Something that would leave him trapped in this prison of his own body forever?

He tried to call out, to ask for help, but only managed a strangled gasp. They’d taken his voice too.

He was a living, breathing specimen, trapped in a cage of flesh and bone.

A soft hiss. The door opening.

He blinked. Waited. A sliver of hope flickered. Maybe Luna. Maybe Corbin. Maybe someone had come to rescue him.

Not Luna. Not Corbin.

Dr. Forest. The man who held his life in his hands. The man who saw him as nothing more than a resource. A means to an end.

And someone else.

A woman. A young woman. Face pale. Lips pale. Bloodless. Drawn. Skin ... translucent. Blue veins winding like a road map of fragility.

Wheelchair. Her chest rising and falling. Her breathing shallow. Labored.

“Stryker, this is Dr. Elizabeth Forest.” Dr. Forest stopped the wheelchair beside the bed.

The bed whirred. Rose to a forty-five-degree angle. He could see the woman more clearly now. She looked older than he’d thought. Forty perhaps. Her eyes a dull blue, shadowed with fatigue. Like she’d seen too much.

“Elizabeth is my daughter,” Forest said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. King.” Elizabeth lifted a hand but let it fall back to her lap. “I’ve heard so much about you.” She sounded strong despite her frail appearance.

He licked his cracked lips. Fought the lingering nausea. “All ... good ... things ... I hope.”

“The best,” she said.

Dr. Forest said, “Elizabeth’s a brilliant young doctor. A pioneer in her field.” He glanced at his daughter. “She’s the one who de veloped the bioprinting process. The one who’s going to change the world.”

Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to her lap. “It’s not just me, Dad. It’s a team effort.”

“Nonsense, darling.” Forest patted her hand. “You’re the brains behind it all. The genius who saw the potential when everyone else dismissed it as science fiction.”

He turned to Stryker, his eyes hard. Intense. “You see, Mr. King, we’re not monsters. We’re visionaries. We’re trying to save lives. To solve a crisis that’s plaguing humanity.”

“Crisis?” Stryker’s brow furrowed. “What crisis?”

“The organ shortage,” Elizabeth said. “It’s a global epidemic, Mr. King.

Millions of people are dying every year, waiting for a transplant.

The demand far outweighs the supply. Did you know that in the United States alone, over a hundred thousand people are on the organ transplant waiting list?

And every day, seventeen people die waiting for a lifesaving organ.

That’s seventeen people who could have been saved if we had the technology to create new organs. ”

“Living donors ... are ... are an option.” The words felt weak. Inadequate in the face of her passion.

“Kidneys and livers, but it’s not enough.” Forest cut him off. “And even when there are living donors, it’s a risky procedure. You’re asking a healthy person to undergo major surgery, to potentially sacrifice their own health, for someone they might not even know.”

Elizabeth said, “It’s never going to be enough. What about hearts? People can’t die fast enough to save everyone who needs a heart.”

“So, you’re justifying your actions?” He’d found his voice.

Planned to use it. “You’re justifying kidnapping innocent people, harvesting their organs?

Just because they made mistakes, because they struggled with addiction, you decided their lives were expendable?

That their bodies were just ... resources? ”

“It’s not like that, Mr. King.” Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair. “We’re not targeting just anyone. We’re focusing on those who are already lost. Those who are throwing their lives away. Those who, in a sense, have already chosen death.”

“They’re still human beings.” He shifted.

The restraints bit into his wrists, but they weren’t paralyzed like his legs.

“Those people deserve a chance.” He studied Elizabeth’s face, searching for a flicker of doubt, a hint of compassion in those cool blue eyes.

He saw none. “You’re playing God, deciding who lives. Who dies.”

Elizabeth’s fingers tightened on the arms of her wheelchair. She rolled forward an inch and thrust her chin forward. “Someone has to. He doesn’t seem to care much anymore.”

“He?”

“God,” Elizabeth said in a breath of disdain. “He lets innocents suffer. Lets children die. Where’s the justice in that?”

Elizabeth’s pain was real. Her desperation was justified in her mind. But she was wrong. So wrong.

But Stryker sensed there was still good in her. He had to reach her.

“You see kids like Carlie. Like Trinity.” Stryker swallowed the bile rising in the back of his throat and continued.

“You see their mistakes, their struggles, and you think they’re beyond saving.

Lost causes.” He paused. “You know the story Jesus told. About the shepherd leaving the ninety-nine to find the one lost sheep. That’s what we do, Elizabeth.

That’s what we’re called to do. Even one lost sheep is worth finding. Worth bringing back to the flock.”

She shook her head.

“You’re brilliant, Elizabeth. You’re capable of amazing things.” Stryker glanced at Forest, then spoke, his tone low, just loud enough for Elizabeth to hear. “Don’t waste your talent on this. Don’t let your father drag you down with him.”

“He’s not dragging me down,” Elizabeth said.

“This was my idea, Mr. King. My vision.” She rolled her chair closer.

“I went to Yale with a man named Everett Reeves. He understood. He saw the potential. He helped me secure the funding, the resources, the ... connections we needed to make this happen.”

Reeves.

Summer’s adoptive parents.

He’d placed Luna and Corbin’s baby girl in the arms of Patricia Reeves, her husband Everett looking over her shoulder.

“It’s about saving lives, Mr. King,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t you see? My father ... he’s trying to save me. He’s trying to save us all.”

Forest placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, leaning close to Stryker’s ear. “And your sacrifice is a small price to pay for the greater good.”