by Stacia Stone
I would essentially be trading her life for the information.
“Where did you serve?” I ask him. It’s not much of a stretch to guess he’s also formal military. Like recognizes like.
He hesitates but then surprises me by answering. “One tour in Kuwait and two in Iraq before I went private. You?”
A fresh wave of pain washes over me and I push it away. “Iraq, Afghanistan and then special ops in West Africa.”
“Respect.” The mercenary gives me the barest of nods. “But it doesn’t change shit.”
“Do you know who you’re working for?” I know that I can’t actually convince him of anything but I can’t help saying it. “This worth the paycheck?”
“Everybody’s got to eat.” He shrugs again. “No more bullshit, we doing this the easy way or the hard way?”
It isn’t really a choice at this point. Even as I wonder what I’m going to tell my guys. Even though I know I’m hurtling towards a future so dark that it’s like being sucked into a black hole. Even though the decision hits me like a stake to the heart.
I won’t let Sophia become another victim of this death machine.
“Point your weapon at the ground,” I command. “Use your other hand to reach into the car. Slowly.”
The guy does exactly what I ask because he knows he’s won. “Where is it?”
“There are papers rolled up in my waistband.” I say the words, even as I feel a wave of guilt so strong that it’s going to consume me. “I see that weapon move even a millimeter and I’m blowing you away.”
He doesn’t acknowledge the threat or hesitate even a moment before retrieving the papers and taking a step back.
I keep the barrel trained on him until the mercenary nods to the men behind me and slowly starts to retreat back to their vehicles.
“You’re being real smart, right now,” he says.
This isn’t over, I think but keep it to myself. Once I hear to screech of tires that lets me know the mercenaries have gone, I turn to Sophia. The bleeding from her head wound has slowed down, but she’s still unconscious. From as well as I can tell, she didn’t get shot.
She needs to go to the hospital.
But I can’t exactly call the fire department or EMS to come extract us. It might be hard to explain how the car ended up crashing in the first place, not to mention the dozens of bullet holes.
With a painful effort that leaves me a little breathless, I extract my phone from my back pocket. Savage and Frost were headed our way the last time that I talked to them. Hopefully, they’re close.
I’m not looking forward to explaining to Savage that I found the information we’ve been so desperately searching for, lost it and need him to make a detour at the hospital before we can figure out our next move.
He’s going to be pissed.
Sophia’s breathing is so light that I’m not sure I can make out a rise and fall in her chest. I press my fingers up against her neck one more time, just to assure myself that she’s still alive. There’s no getting around the reality of things. I picked her life over getting away with those documents. I prioritized how I feel about her over the mission.
But instead of bothering me, the thought brings with it a sort of peace. I’m so sick of fighting it off, of pretending that I’m somebody different on the inside than I really am.
I fucking love this girl as crazy as that sounds.
Which is why I have to let her go.
Chapter 18
I wake up not knowing where I am. Even with what I’ve been through, that might be the scariest thing I can think of.
And I wake up completely alone. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Hunt left me.
My head throbs with pain. With gently fingers, I probe the wound on my head that is wrapped in heavy bandages. It hurts a little when I touch it but then that discomfort is replaced by a deep pain that feels like an ice pick through my skull.
But it isn't just the physical pain that I have to contend with. I have to face the sick realization that my father really is the monster that Hunt said he was. The good Senator, a bastion of conservative family values, is a criminal.
Which means that my entire life has been a lie. My father didn't control my every move out of love, but just because he wanted the illusion of a perfect Christian family. It was performance art.
Maybe that's why Hunt left me here alone. Maybe he can no longer stand the sight of me, now that he knows where I came from.
And now I've lost everything.
There is an emptiness inside of me, a black hole that sucked up everything that I used to be and didn’t leave anything behind.
I don't know who I am anymore.
The hospital room is completely silent, save for the steady beep of a heart monitor. The walls are painted a snowy beige, and all the equipment is made of white plastic and steel. The only spot of color in the room is a single fake daffodil sitting in a plastic cup on the bedside table.
The room has clearly been designed to provide as little stimulation as possible. I feel like I'm in the waiting room of hell.
A wave of nausea washes over me when I turn my head. I raise my other arm and feel a painful tugging from the I.V. hooked up to my left hand.
My mind feels light and fuzzy, like all of my thoughts have been wrapped up in gauze. I know that there's something that I should be doing, some plan I should be putting together, but I have no idea what to do next.
The nurse bustles in with her arms full of medical supplies. She's dark skinned and pretty, with tightly curled hair swept back into a neat bun.
She seems surprised to see me awake. "Well rise and shine, sleeping beauty. It's time for your next dose of medication."
I try to sit up a little higher in the bed, but then I’m stopped by flash pain. "What day is it?"
"Tuesday, the 31st."
She points to a little whiteboard hanging on the wall directly across from the bed. I hadn’t noticed it before.
Good morning, is written on it in big, bubbly letters. Your nurse today is Cindy. Today's date is neatly written below that.
I've been unconscious for at least 24 hours, long enough for Hunt to be long gone and all the evidence with him.
He did exactly what he said he would do, use me to get what he wanted and then disappear. He made his plan clear from the beginning and, regardless of what happened between us, it had never changed. Really, he did me a favor. The smart thing to do would have been to kill me. Maybe he figured leaving me alive made us even. I should be happy.
So why do I feel so empty inside?
"Where am I? How did I get here?" I ask the nurse, as she lays a row of syringes out on the little table over my lap.
"Oh, of course you wouldn't remember, poor thing. You’re at Mercy Hospital in Shreveport." She gets an almost dreamy look on her face as she recites the details. "It was like something out of a movie. This guy comes crashing through the ambulance bay into the ER, carrying you in his arms like he just rescued you from a burning building, or something."
My heart beats a little faster. "Did he leave his name?"
"Nope. Said he ran a stop sign and T-boned another car. You were the other driver. When he realized you wouldn't wake up, he got you here as fast as he could. I guess he was worried that the ambulance would take too long to get there." She makes a flitting motion with her hand like she's trying to cool herself off. "What a hunk, too. He felt really bad about it, kept going on and on about how it was all his fault you got hurt. He left a wad of cash to pay your bill. Then he stayed long enough to make sure you were going to be okay, and left, saying he was headed to the police station to file a report."
Something tells me that he didn’t follow through with that last bit. But he stayed long enough to make sure that I was okay, that part surprises me. "Did he say anything else?"
"That was all I heard. But if I were you, I'd be trying hard to track that one down. He seems like a real keeper."
You have no idea, la
dy.
She spends a few minutes fiddling with the machines and writes down the numbers on the display. "Your blood pressure has come back down, that's good. You're due for your next dose of medication."
I eye the syringe in her hand with suspicion. It's full of clear liquid that could be anything. "What is that?"
"Just something to help relax your muscles and ease the pain. Your neck got worked pretty hard in the crash and you're going to be sore for a while. Don't worry, it won't hurt. I'm just going to push this into your I.V. line. Might make you a little sleepy."
I suddenly feel uneasy. Memories are slowly filtering back to me, now that the shock of waking up alone in the hospital has worn off.
What was it that Hunt had said? Those men who chased us weren’t the police. I remember them shooting at us before we crashed, and I passed out.
If those men weren’t police, who were they and who set them?
I don't have any real reason to think it, but somehow I just know. I'm not safe here.
Instinctively, I pull my hand back when the nurse comes toward me with the syringe. "I don't want it."
"It's just a little Valium, honey. It won't hurt you."
I know for a fact that the last thing I need to be right now is fuzzy-headed. I need to be as awake and alert as possible for whatever is going to happen next.
"Maybe later," I say, shoving my head under the blanket to block her access to my I.V. port. “I don’t need anything right now."
The nurse purses her lips. Her expression makes it clear that she really doesn’t want to take no for an answer. “Do I need to get the doctor in here to talk to you about this?”
Before I can tell her that if she brings the doctor in, then I’m just going to tell them both where they can shove that syringe, her pager goes off. She silences it with a grunt of frustration. “I have to respond to this, but I’ll be back in a minute.” She screws the top back on the syringe and waves it at me. “You’re getting this medicine when I get back.”
I glare at her back as she rushes out the door. Whatever happened to patient’s rights?
Maybe that medication is something more than she says it is, maybe she’s working with the same men who chased down Hunt and shot up the car. Clearly, rescuing me hadn’t been a part of their mission.
If my father had sent them, they wouldn’t have been shooting at a car that had me in it. But my father has already proven that he’s capable of things that I could never even imagine.
The seething pit of pain and emptiness opens up inside of me, so deep that I could fall into it and never hit the bottom.
First, I feel the sadness and lack of control. Then I’m so angry that I can barely see straight. My father lied to me and he’s been lying to me for my entire life. He lied to me about my mother even if he’d insist that was for my own good. He lied about that storage unit. And apparently, he lied about being an arms dealer and drug trafficker. Every time he sat in a church pew, all bluster and sanctimony, he lied.
At the very least, he owes me some answers.
The phone on the bedside table is just far enough away that I have to strain to reach it. My head screams in protest as I roll all the way to the side of my bed to grab it. The pain only serves to crystallize things for me because the pain I feel from the car crash is nothing compared to what I’m feeling on the inside.
I dial the number that my father made me memorize when I was a child and that had never been changed. The number that he would always answer because it was only meant for emergencies.
It only rings once before he answers.
“Dad,” I whisper and my voice cracks.
“Sophia!” He sounds frantic on the other end of the line. I realize with a start that the hasn’t heard from me in days. And he has no idea what I know about what has been going on. “Are you okay?”
“I’m in the hospital.” I wanted to stay calm, but emotion crept up on me despite my best efforts. Somehow, I’m on the edge of tears. “I got hurt pretty bad.”
I want to challenge him, accuse him of all the things that Hunt had told me and force him to tell me the truth. But at the end of the day, I’m just a scared little girl who wants her dad to chase away the monsters hiding under her bed.
“Where are you?” he asks, his voice more frantic than I’ve ever heard it.
“I don’t know—"
“Does anyone there know who you are?”
“I woke up in the hospital, but I don’t have any ID on me so probably not.”
“I need you to listen to me very carefully, Sophia. I am tracing this call but that means someone else can too. I’m on my way to come get you, but do not leave there with anyone else. No matter what they tell you.”
“It’s okay, Dad. The kidnappers are the ones who left me here. It’s all over.”
“It’s not over.”
I’ve never heard my father sound like this: afraid. The anger dies on my tongue to be replaced by fear. “Dad, what is going on?”
“Just be ready to go when I get there and remember I’m coming for you, myself. Don’t trust anyone else, okay!”
“Okay—"
“We have to end the call before someone traces it. Don’t move and don’t tell anyone who you really are. I’m on the way to get you.”
The line clicks in my ear as my father hangs up.
What the hell is going on?
The longer I wait, the more scared I start to feel. Any minute, the nurse is going to come back with her knock-out juice and I’ll be dead to the world again. My father had never sounded as afraid as he had on the phone, like he thought somebody was going to come after me.
But he had also said to stay here and wait for him.
Call it an instinct or a sixth sense, but a little voice inside of me is screaming that I have to get out of here. Right now.
I hear the nurse’s voice outside the door as she says something to what I assume is an orderly. “Let me finish this up, then I have a shot to give to the Jane Doe in 440 and I’ll be right with you.”
Making a decision, I lever myself up on the bed and place my sock-covered feet on the tile floor. The I.V. is still connected to the back of my hand and I just look at it for a moment, trying to work up the courage to pull it out. It’s just like ripping off a bandaid, I tell myself. Just get it over with. I pick off the tape with a broken fingernail and grasp the little plastic piece with my fingers. Taking another deep breath, I yank it out.
“Oh, shit.”
A gush of blood shoots across the sheets and stains the hospital gown that I’m wearing. Who knew that such a little wound could bleed so much.
I’m super unsteady when I rise to my feet and the hospital slowly spins around me for a minute before finally coming to a stop.
“I will not pass out,” I whisper to myself. Hopefully, if I say it enough times, then that will make it true.
My old clothes had been shoved into a plastic bag and left inside of a cabinet underneath the television. They were dirty, and the shirt was blood-stained, but I figure that I’ll draw less attention in those clothes then in a hospital gown that barely covers my backside.
When I crack open the door of the hospital room, the hallway appears deserted. Thanking my lucky stars, I dash out and speed walk in what I hope is the direction of the exit. I hit the elevator bay and immediately start jabbing the down button as hard as I can. Each elevator has a little screen on top to let you know what floor it’s currently on and none of them are anywhere near me.
I hear voices coming down the hallway and I immediately make for the stairwell. What’s ten flights of stairs when you’re running for your life?
Or maybe I’m just crazy and running from my own imagination.
I’ve calmed down a bit by the time that I get down the main floor. Maybe I’m overreacting, I think to myself. Maybe my dad had sounded scared on the phone because this is the first time he’d been able to communicate with me since I was violently ripped from my home by kidnappers.<
br />
Anybody would be rattled in that situation.
But I just knew that there was more to it. The men who chased us down at the storage unit were very real and what assurance did I have that they wouldn’t come after me again. Hunt had gotten the information that he wanted, but maybe he would eventually decide that I was another loose end that needed to be tied up.
I just need to get away from here and that’s the only thing that I’m focusing on. Even if I’m completely overreacting, there isn’t any reason that I can’t wait for my dad at a coffee shop a few blocks away. I’d call him from a payphone and he could just pick me up there.
By the time I hit the lobby, I nearly have myself convinced that running out of my hospital room in blood-drenched clothes is a complete overreaction.
That’s when someone grabs me from behind and drags me back into the stairwell.
Chapter 19
Visions of rape and murder dance through my head, like blood-drenched sugar plums. This is it. I’d survived so much and now I’m going to die in the stairwell of a hospital, because I couldn’t just do what I was told. The one time I decide to disobey my father and it gets me killed.
But the smell of the hand covering my mouth is intimately familiar. That impression is immediately confirmed when the hands wrapped around my body fall away and I turn to face my would-be assailant.
“Hunt!”
He’s dressed in the same blue scrubs that all the hospital employees are wearing. I hope he didn’t hurt anyone to get their uniform.
“Sophia,” he responds evenly, like he didn’t just drag me into a stairwell.
“What are you doing here?” I nearly shout. All the hurt, anger and naked fear threatens to overwhelm me.
“Saving your life.” He grabs my arms and starts to pull me toward the stairs leading toward the basement. “We have to go.”