Page 6

My brain aches and crawls. I was unconscious for a week—an extraordinary amount of time for me to process. In fact, I’m not processing. I just sit in bed and focus on the ceiling, while people mill around me. Nurses taking my vitals, Saint and Reese hovering.

No Kade.

My thoughts are jumbled, and my mouth doesn’t work. I haven’t tried to speak, plagued by thoughts of Terror. It felt like I was living there again, stuck in a cycle of vicious torture and long periods of isolation.

Then a rush of heat and pleasure, too quick to grasp before I’m dropped back into darkness.

Saint keeps talking at me.

Reese held my hand for a few minutes, but I didn’t squeeze back.

It was real. Him, then. The slow way he tried to creep into my heart, only to leave. And I got in trouble for it. For his insolence. The fear I experienced later wasn’t for him—it was because of him.

Because he put me in danger simply by preferring me and breaking Terror’s rules.

Eventually, the nurses and doctors leave. Saint mutters something about going down the hall.

Reese has been trying to make eye contact, but I can’t look at him. My pupils reacted to the doctor’s light, I heard them all say that everything is normal. There’s a new bag of fluids hanging next to my shoulder, dripping through the IV stuck in my arm.

To flush out…

Something .

Everything mechanical keeps trudging along. Heart. Lungs. Eyelids.

The things that take effort are out of reach.

Reese sighs. A door closes.

Someone else comes to stand over the bed, his face swimming over mine. “Have to make this quick, Artemis. No time for pleasantries or inquisitions.”

He uncaps a syringe. The liquid is cold—colder than the fluids—as it floods into my bloodstream. The rushing euphoria follows.

A hand covers my mouth, blocking my groan.

“Madness,” he whispers in my ear.

His breath on my skin should make my skin crawl, but my body has been taken over by other sensations.

“We’re all mad, Artemis. When you get out of here, you know where to find me.”

I can’t.

I can’t think about what the fuck he’s talking about when I’m floating like this. I lose the sensation of gravity. Every brush of air against my skin is like a thousand fingers coaxing me to pleasure.

I’m lost in it, awake and somewhat aware but totally blissed out.

Another door opens, the light spilling across my bed, and then it clicks off. Reese doesn’t come back over. He returns to his own bed, but I can’t tell if he’s looking at me. I don’t want him to see what I’m feeling.

I remain still and quiet, and his breathing eventually evens out.

I’m left… like this.

Two days later, I am given the green light to go home. The rush receded as the morning dawned, although I hadn’t slept. When the nurses came in for their rounds, I was able to focus on them. My brain unscrambled long enough to give them words, pieces of what had happened…

Saint pulls up to the curb. He circles around, offering his hands to me. I take them, my legs still a bit unsteady, and stand up out of the wheelchair. I get into the passenger seat and cross my arms over my chest.

I have bandages on my arm from the IV, many stitches to close up the knife wounds in my stomach and abdomen, and a headache the size of Texas.

I know what I need.

I just don’t know how to get it.

Yesterday, the doctors told me I was being drugged, and Saint followed it up that a now-fired nurse was to blame. They gave me something that reverses overdoses, and that’s how they woke me up. But the fact that it was a nurse who was giving me something…

How did Gabriel plant so many people around me?

Not just the nurse, but Kade, too.

Reese is already back at my condo. He was discharged yesterday, and I didn’t have the heart to send him away. He had to ditch his apartment because of me…

Or because of Kade?

Because Kade was searching for him.

Is he still? I mean—he set out to do what he wanted. He found Reese.

“Are you okay?” Saint asks.

I make some vague noise. The real answer is no, of course I’m not okay. But how do I tell him that when he’s never been fucking honest with me about how he’s doing?

And true to fashion, he does not open up and spill his guts to me. He doesn’t say that he’s not okay, or that he’s indifferent, or anything of the sort. He just drives.

My brother, Wolfe, and Jace are in Emerald Cove. That’s the only other town in the county, and directly south from Sterling Falls. The easiest way to get there is by ferry. The other way is driving, although it adds almost a half hour onto the journey.

They’re there to complete the favor for Reese. The old friend who needs saving.

Hmm.

Maybe them being out of the way is better… Less chance of my brother being hurt by the Cyclopes.

Although isn’t it suspicious timing? Them leaving on some errand just as a new gang moves in?

“I have to stop by the sheriff’s,” Saint says in a low voice. “He wanted my statement, some bullshit about how we found you.”

I shrug and slide my phone from my sweatshirt pocket. Someone was kind enough to locate and return it to me, although I haven’t been able to go through it before now.

My head is pounding. I don’t even unlock the phone, just pretend to be busy on it while Saint turns toward the center of town.

He parks and glances at me, then rolls down the windows. Like I’m a dog?

“Just leave it running,” I say.

He sighs, seeming to want to argue with me, then gives up on it and nods. “Five minutes. Ten, tops.”

“Whatever.”

He heads inside, his long stride eating up the wide, shallow marble steps. As soon as he’s out of sight, I get out and circle around, taking the driver’s seat.

My trip won’t take me long. I park in front of the bar, pocketing the keys and walking inside like I am meant to be here. Like I’m not currently in danger just by being in West Falls.

Laughable.

I can barely think over my headache, and my skin crawls, too. I’m covered in a clammy sweat, and pretending I was fine for Saint was hard enough.

Pretending I’m well enough to walk into Madness is an entirely different beast.

Squaring my shoulders, I look around at the nearly empty bar and restaurant. I take a seat at the bar, only a twitch of my lips revealing the pain.

The bartender stops in front of me. This guy is new—not the one who got the knife to the back, because I’m fairly certain that guy died. Or at the very least, was physically maimed beyond being able to work here anymore.

“What can I get you?”

I lift my chin. “I’m pretty sure you know who I need to talk to. The last time someone said his name, though, a lot of people got their asses kicked.”

He scoffs. “You don’t look like you could win against a field mouse.”

Well, probably not in this condition. But the comment smarts.

“I’m scrappier than I seem.” My head gives another thud of pain, right between my eyes, and reminds me why I’m here. “Now, is he here?”

There’s a back office. I could just head in that direction, but I figure that’s not very polite of me.

He finally sighs and goes to the wall, picking up a phone off the receiver.

Old school.

I can’t make out his words, but he disappears around the bar and out of sight a second later.

Gabriel takes his place. He seems fine—physically untouched anyway. No bruising, no circles under his eyes. He isn’t addicted to anything except vengeance, I’d bet. His dark hair is growing out a little, and his blue eyes are as clear as ever.

He’s beautiful, and as bad as it is, I can see exactly why the people at Terror held on to him so tightly. In that regard, he reminds me of Kade. Similar bone structure in the face, high cheekbones. The only difference, of course, are their frames. Where Gabriel is tall and lean, Kade is a boulder.

I should not think about Kade Laurent anymore.

We stare at each other, and he cracks a smile. His face comes alive with it, an utter transformation, and I dig my nails into my thighs.

“You’re looking… alive,” he comments.

“Wasn’t that the point?”

“No.” He leans on the bar, propping his chin up on his hand. “No, stabbing you was kind of a gamble. And Antonio… did Kade get to him in time? He was so disappointed in me.”

I narrow my eyes, but I don’t mention Saint and Reese. I heard that both were there, although I think I passed out before they arrived.

It wasn’t until I woke up in the hospital two days ago that I even learned Antonio survived.

“You had a nurse drugging me, and you don’t know if Antonio made it?”

He grins. “Oh! You caught me. Yes, my little birdies are all over the city. They sing the most delicious songs to me…”

From his pocket, he withdraws a syringe. It’s capped, the liquid already filled in the chamber. He holds it up, pretending to examine it.

My attention on it sharpens. I can’t help it—there’s a physical reaction inside me. Like something being yanked just behind my navel.

“What is that?” I ask carefully.

“Heroin,” he replies.

Sweat breaks out across my back.

“You knew that, though, tricky Artemis.” He holds out his hand, flat on the bar top with his palm up. “Give me your hand.”

I don’t want to.

But there’s a promise of relief if I do.

“Time is running out,” he murmurs. “How long do you think the sheriff will keep Saint busy?”

I start, leaning back. How the fuck does he know that?

“Now, now, I just told you.” His expression becomes ambivalent. “Little birdies everywhere.”

That’s not good. I glower at him, but his fingers just wiggle on the bar. Waiting for my hand. The syringe is still in the other. My head is splitting open. Everything is beginning to hurt, pain creeping back in all over me the longer I sit on this stool.

I give him my hand.

His fingers slide down, wrapping around my wrist, and he puts the syringe sideways in his mouth. He uses his now-free hand to shove the sleeve of my sweatshirt up, exposing the gauze tape covering where the IV was inserted.

He runs his thumb over it, then peels up the tape. Just one side. There’s a dark-red spot from the previous needle.

When I try to withdraw, he holds fast. “You need this,” he says. “I know you don’t think so, but I want to help you take away your pain.”

“Answer something for me.” My voice wobbles, but I push ahead. “Shouldn’t you be anti-drugs?”

He bites the cap off. Quicker than anticipated, and with easy practice, he slides it into my skin. He pulls the plunger back a fraction, satisfied when drops of blood enter the chamber with the heroin.

Poised on the edge of giving it to me, he stops.

“What are you waiting for?”

His eyes gleam. “It’s your turn.”

My muscles lock up, and I force myself to glance around.

The shame pressing onto my shoulders is almost too much weight, and the back of my neck burns.

It isn’t just that, though, or the fact that not a single person is looking at us.

It’s the headache, the skin-crawling sensation.

My stomach is rolling, and every bone in my body aches.

And the heroin will make it stop.

“It’ll shut off your brain for a little while, too,” Gabriel whispers, leaning closer. He still holds my wrist, a finger pressing down on where the needle meets my skin to keep it in place. “Who needs traumatic thoughts running through that pretty head of yours?”

Not me.

I close my eyes and fight the urge, but it’s not enough. My willpower isn’t enough.

I reach for the syringe and depress the plunger. As soon as it’s injected, Gabriel pulls it out and caps it. He tucks the used needle in his pocket, watching me like a hawk.

It doesn’t take long for the effect to hit—although it doesn’t immediately drag me under.

No… it’s just that I can suddenly function . My muscles relax, my headache eases away. The tide of pleasure coasting under my skin is secondary to the relief.

“There you go,” he whispers. “You know where to find me when you need more.”

I shake my head, already patting down the tape and tugging my sleeve into place.

“I’m not coming back here,” I tell him.

His laugh follows me to the door.