Page 39 of Ravaged Soul

“This piece of shit watched her being tortured!”

“I know, but he’s no use to us dead.”

Looking over my shoulder, I catch the final punch to the kidneys that causes more blood to spill from Dominic’s mouth. Axel begrudgingly eases off, panting hard through a mask of righteous anger.

His eyes briefly flick in my direction, and he cocks a brow.You good?

All I can summon is a shrug.

Warner gestures towards the restrained group. “We’ll transport them back to HQ for further questioning before we hand them over for prosecution. I want an ID on Luis’s location. I don’t care how we get it.”

“Mind if I lend a hand?” Blaine offers.

“You’ve earned that right. Thank you for finding them.”

I’m not the only one who startles at Warner’s sincere thanks. Even Blaine stares at him for a long moment like he’s unsure quite how to react.

“Okay,” he eventually accepts.

“Don’t look so affronted, Madden.”

“More like disturbed.” He smirks in amusement.

When Warner catches my gaze, he offers me the first genuine smile since Tom was taken. I can’t quite find the mental strength to give one back, but I respond with a semi-hopeful nod.

One step closer.

We’re coming, Tom.

CHAPTER 5

EMBER

ONE LAST BREATH – CREED

Sitting stifflyin the uncomfortable examination chair, I study the medical poster on the wall directly opposite.Your health is our priority.The urge to snort wins out. More like the extortionate cheques that Sabre is signing off on my behalf.

The EEG itself is painless. Nothing more than a sticky sensation where the electrodes are positioned on my scalp. When the technician asked me to breathe hard and fast to simulate hyperventilation, I tried to block out the reminder of how it felt to black out with Diego straddling me.

In. Out.

In. Out.

Breathing is easy. Right? Simple. Just like existing with the constant threat of my brain attacking itself and attempting to cripple me at any moment. Only that isn’t easy or simple, and apparently, neither is breathing anymore.

“Okay, Miss Lawson.” Alex, the smiley technician, directs me. “Very good. Just breathe normally for me.”

Tearing my gaze from that damned poster, I focus on his name tag instead. My lungs are burning, but he wanted to measure my brain’s electrical activity in a state of stimulation. Not unlike facing an arch nemesis hellbent on recapturing me.

“Any discomfort? Dizziness?”

“Some,” I reply shortly.

“Okay, take a moment. Relax for me.”

“What does the chart say?”

“I’ll let Doctor Fawn interpret the data for you. Post-Traumatic Epilepsy is a complex condition, but he’s well-versed in it.”