Page 17

SARIEL

I walk down the white hospital corridor. The silence is disrupted only by the sound of my heels hitting the epoxy floor—I regret wearing these shoes; they are pretty but not fit for a hospital. This is the coma patient wing, therefore the hushed atmosphere is the norm here.

I stop my advance as I see Ollie and Rague just outside Meg’s room.

Ollie has his back against the wall, legs wrapped around my brother’s waist. Rague is looming over his husband without taking his attention away for even a second.

His grip on Ollie’s throat is tight, but relaxed, his thumb smoothing slowly over the skin.

Ollie’s body loosens further with every word Rague softly utters while tracking Ollie’s every reaction.

Their lips move closer, and I suddenly avert my curious eyes from the intensely sensual exchange, giving the lovers some privacy.

“Hey, Sari!” Ollie calls out a moment later, making me turn to look at them again. He’s sliding down Rague’s body as he gestures me closer.

“Hi, guys. Everything okay?”

Rague nods; he’s not very talkative, but I like that about him.

“Did you like the lake house?” Ollie asks. I know Uri hired them to make the changes, he wouldn’t trust anybody else. Rague built and renovated all his restaurants.

“Love it! Thank you.” I smile at them, noticing how Ollie holds onto Rague’s bicep while lacing their fingers together.

“You should thank Uri. He’s been more insufferable than usual,” Rague mutters.

“He wanted everything perfect for you.” Ollie smirks at me.

Now that I think about it, hadn’t he started the renovation a month ago? The rat infestation happened only two days ago. He was probably planning to invite me to the lake house over summer, since he knows how much I like to splash around in the water.

“How’s Meg?” I ask them.

“Her cheeks look…rosier,” Ollie hazards, and then adds with a heavy tone. “Linda…no change.”

She’s been glued to her wife’s hospital bed since she fell into a coma. Only goes back home to shower and make phone calls to her contacts, busy trying to find Phoenix. She is looking for her revenge, and she won’t stop until she’s punished the culprit—none of us will.

Meg is our mother, not by blood, but in all the other important aspects.

With Linda, she gave us a home when we needed it the most, love, acceptance, help, and support.

When I was younger, I couldn’t understand how someone not even blood related could be so affectionate toward me, so patient and understanding.

I never met my parents. I was abandoned near a hospital and spent my first years in a group home before those horrible scientists took me away.

I hadn’t known what love was before I met my mothers and my brothers. I owe them all that I am. That’s why I let them baby me most of the time. My eyes fall to the black bracelet around my wrist.

“We need to go. See ya later.” Ollie squeezes my hand, as Rague lands a pat on my shoulder.

I move to the door and push it open, entering Meg’s hospital room. It’s a private VIP room—she’s given hefty donations to this hospital, plus Linda is friends with an administrator.

“Sari. How are you, kid?” Linda leaves the chair near the bed to come hug me. Her lemony scent reminds me of happy memories and warm nights. Kid . That’s how Meg calls me. Calls all of her kids.

“I’m okay,” I mumble against her shoulder.

She pulls back, and when her eyes fall on my face, her brows go up in question. “What happened?”

I can never hide anything from her. Being a retired secret agent doesn’t mean she lost her sharpness.

I try to feign serenity, mostly because I don’t want to think about Uri again. “Nothing.”

I left the lake house before he came back this morning. It’s kind of weird that my phone is not exploding with calls and texts from him right now.

“I want to check on Meg,” I tell her, slightly tightening my grip on her forearms.

She studies my face for a moment and then nods, letting me walk near the bed.

The tracheal tube coming out of her mouth seems fine; it makes her chest expand and deflate.

Ollie was right. Her cheeks look pink today.

I grab the chart and check the doses of the treatment she’s receiving.

Everything looks in order. Then I move near the drip line to make sure the liquid is running smoothly through the tubes.

Linda has a brush in her hand and is running it through Meg’s salt-and-pepper hair. The white streaks have spread while she’s lying in this bed. I grab her hand—feels warm, the fingers knotted with that little bump on her middle finger from all the writing.

“Any episodes?” I ask. Meg had some convulsions a couple of weeks ago caused by electrolyte imbalances.

“No.” Linda caresses her head gently. “She’s been sleeping like Snow White.”

“Are we the Seven Dwarves then?” I ask, hoping to see another smile on Linda’s face.

She sniffs. “More like goblins.”

She’s probably right. We are still a handful.

I let the white coat slide down my shoulders and place it on the small sofa near the window.

The view to the snowy back garden is placid.

There are a few patients strolling around, a couple of doctors smoking near the metal ashtrays, and a jogger running with her dog on a leash—the black collar around its neck reminds me of the nipple clamp I saw yesterday on that website.

“Spit it out, Sari.”

When I turn around, Linda is seated in the chair near the bed again.

Her fingers crossed on her lap. Back straight.

Watchful eyes fixed on me. That’s the pose she used to give us as kids to force out a confession—like who’d cracked the Ming dynasty vase in the entrance or set the Persian rug in the library on fire or recorded a video of our neighbor’s son beating the gardener and sent it to the police.

She was quite proud of the last one. The pose has never failed.

It’s still kind of intimidating after all these years.

“Do you think I’m weak?” I ask, letting yesterday’s upsetting mood get a hold on me again.

“Of course not. I’ve always thought you are the strongest among your brothers.”

I gasp. I need a moment to process her words. “The fact that I don’t feel the need to kill is seen as something uncanny in this family.”

She hums. “Maybe. But what happened to every one of you made you…peculiar. Each of you found a way to cope. Most of you kill for revenge, need, enjoyment—doesn’t really matter. Have you found your way to cope, yet?”

“Work on my research?” It’s more a question than a statement.

“That’s work. I’m talking about pleasure. About that something that makes you shudder with anticipation and urge you to let go of everything else.” She smiles expectantly.

“I…I th-think it’s pain.” I squeeze my eyes closed after the admission. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud, and I’m terrified.

Linda doesn’t make me wait long. “I’m pretty sure you don’t mean causing pain. So it’s being in pain.”

I keep my eyes down as I nod, the gesture is filled with hesitation.

“Seeing donors suffering makes my stomach quiver most of the time. But the thought of feeling it…it excites me.” I finally lift my eyes to her. There’s no trace of judgment on her blank face.

“Pain is the best teacher, they say, because through it you find out what kind of person you are. Your limits, your strength, your resistance.” She doesn’t seem surprised.

A sudden doubt overwhelms me. “Did you already know?”

“I know everything about my sons.” She smirks. “Meg had a suspicion. She wasn’t sure, though.”

I grab my braid and pull at it, feeling anxious and naked under her sharp blue eyes.

“Was she disappointed?” I whisper, so very scared about Linda’s reply.

“Never.” Her answer is quick and resolute. “But she was worried.”

“I’ve never…actually done it, but I want to try.”

“So, go out there and experience it. You’ll never know if you don’t.” She makes it sound so easy.

“Are you not disgusted?” I need more reassurance from her. That makes me feel really weak and pathetic.

“Sari, you should know by now that I’m not what society would call a fit mother. But I gave my precious sons the tools they needed to live a full life, with no fear. Keep that head high and go your own way.”

“But after all the hurt I suffered when I was a kid, the torture, how can I crave pain now? There must be something really wrong with me.” I feel tears running down my face as I drop down on the chair on the other side of Meg’s bed. How could she have accepted me? How can Linda, or worse…Uri?

Linda slowly leans toward me, placing her elbows on her thighs.

“You lived through a horrifying experience, Sari. Nobody would come out of it unscathed. I can’t use psychological terminology—that’s Meg’s expertise—but the way I see it, this is your way of dealing with all that agonizing shit.

A means of adaption, a survival strategy.

Because by now you know how justice is so very unjust.”

“A defense mechanism?” I’ve never seen it this way.

“Call it what you want. Rationalizing it won’t make those dark thoughts disappear. You need to explore and see what happens, just like your brothers did with killing. But share the experience with someone you trust completely.”

“Dating has been quite hard.” I sniff and wipe my wet cheeks with the long sleeve of my sweater.

“That’s strange. Whatever Uri aims at, he hits. You know how much he cares for you in his own sociopathic way.”

Why is she talking about Uri now? Is it because she knows about my feelings toward him?

“The tea about you and Uri needs to be spilled.”

Tea? Spilled? She knows! Before I can ask her about it, Uri arrives, followed by Clover.

“Hi there,” Clover greets us. Then he bows at Meg. He said it’s his Japanese way to show his respect for her.

“Hey, Clover, Uri,” I hear Linda say.

I feel Uri’s piercing gaze on me. His brows turned down in a frown. “You cried.”