Bound By Thorns (Squad Six #2)

SEVEN

Logan

I had a plan, or the beginning of one. The infirmary sat just one level up from the dungeon, a detail I filed away during my last painful visit. I noted the lack of guards on the stairway leading up from the infirmary, but I couldn’t be sure what awaited at the top.

It felt like we were beneath a massive structure, maybe a sprawling mansion or an extensive warehouse. To get to the infirmary, I’d have to be in bad shape, so bad that Kaylan would insist on moving me there for treatment. And for that level of damage, I needed to provoke Tyka, strike a nerve deep enough to earn his worst.

In my head, I was counting down. For my first act, I’d have to mock an escape to understand as much as I could about the grounds. Later, I’d create a more meticulous plan to get the hell out. Once I did make my escape, I was certain they’d dismantle this place, and move their dark operation to a new location, especially knowing I could storm back with my squad. The thought of leaving the other prisoners behind gnawed at me. Having endured the brutal conditions, I knew the slow death we were all subjected to. I felt a compelling duty to rescue them.

But then, my mind veered to Kaylan. Her role here puzzled me, her alliance with Garret, her assistance in his schemes, her sharing meals, and her sleeping…

I forced my thoughts away from that unsettling trail, focusing instead on the plan of mock escape and the faint hope of salvation it brought.

The next day was the day I’d be making Tyka’s life hell with just my words, and in return, he’d give me the sweet taste of his fists or maybe a few kicks to render me broken. I just hoped Kaylan would make the decision to take me to the infirmary, otherwise all this would be for nothing.

When Tyka loomed into my cell, his smirk was less aggravating, his foul breath not as suffocating. I was oddly at peace, knowing each moment could be bringing me closer to a desperate grasp of freedom.

Once we were in the chamber, I looked around the familiar room, which always ended up blurry by the end of each session. The ragged exposed bricks, walls stripped off its plaster, the cold stone floor that dug in my back the day Tyka pushed my near-limp body to fall on my back.

The solitary bulb that hung from the ceiling, ominously. I wouldn’t miss this, definitely not.

Soon, I found myself suspended from the ceiling hook, the rope biting into my wrists, almost a part of me now. At that moment, hanging just inches off the ground, I couldn’t help but anticipate the end of this torment.

“So today…you will tell us where your base of operations was when you attacked Warehouse 67,” Tyka growled, his face inches away from me.

“New York, next question?” I croaked, my stamina wearing thin.

I knew the punch was coming, but it hurt all the same. Air thinned and I struggled to breathe after the blow to my chest.

“Don’t try to be smart, Logan Carlton. It wouldn’t bode well for you. Your five-member squad suddenly had backup,” Tyka’s voice seethed with barely contained fury.

I loaded my metaphorical gun and fired a shot, “You were always the smart one…Tyka Carlton.”

At the mention of his full legal name, his eyes, cold and gray, ignited with an infernal rage, a clear testament to the deep-seated animosity that had festered over the years.

“Don’t,” straight punch to my nose. “Fucking,” uppercut to the jaw. “CALL ME THAT!” Somewhere, I couldn’t feel anything.

The ringing in my ears was back, but it dissipated after a few seconds. I spat the pool of blood in my mouth right at his feet and he stepped backward, his face still twisting with fury.

I was on the right path, I had gotten him distracted enough that he forgot about his line of questioning. Time for the second shot.

“Sorry,” I breathed painfully, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, brother .”

An inhumane roar echoed through the room. Before I could blink, a flurry of fists rammed into me. There wasn’t an inch of my body spared.

I became so numb with the shock of trauma, that my body immediately surrendered to the sensation. Soon, everything was black. I could still hear them, but my vision was engulfed in darkness. For a moment I panicked, thinking I had been left blinded by the assault. But then I hoped that it was because my eyes were closed.

“…won’t like this,” a female voice mumbled quietly.

“I don’t care!” Tyka barked. “I will cut each and every limb off him. He only needs his mouth to talk.”

His voice was panicky, almost manic.

“Let’s take him to the infirmary,” the female whispered and I became certain it was Kaylan.

I didn’t know if I could, but I was sure my lips twitched slightly at the small victory.

???

I woke up with a frantic sigh, pain lancing through me with every breath. A wave of relief hit me when I felt the softness of a bed underneath me. I was in the infirmary.

Now all I had to do was get the fuck up, and walk out of this infirmary without alerting anyone. Suddenly, the doorknob clicked, and I feigned unconsciousness.

“I still need to check on him,” Kaylan’s voice cut through the silence, tinged with annoyance.

“Boss needs you ready and naked in your room in fifteen minutes,” Tyka’s voice slithered through the air, dripping with contempt. Though I couldn’t see him, I pictured his sneer all too well.

Your room.

So, she doesn’t sleep with him in the same room?

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she responded, her voice quivering with a feigned bravado. A heavy silence hung in the air. My hands clenched under the sheets.

“You know, Kaylan, once you’re useless to him, I’m taking my turn with you,” Tyka murmured, his voice a menacing whisper. I wanted to burst open my eyes and confront the disgust in Tyka’s words, yet I remained motionless, protecting my ruse. The room fell silent again until I heard the sound of something metallic hitting the floor.

“Keep that filthy mouth away from me,” Kaylan’s voice broke, sharp with fear and I swore I almost moved.

“You fucking whore!” Tyka bellowed, followed by something else hitting the floor. “I see how you look at him. I know all about your little strip show when he was hypothermic. Don’t think I won’t tell the boss.”

“He’s a patient to me,” she shrieked. “And an asset to Garret. Now, leave !”

The door shut after a few tense moments, and Kaylan’s shaky breaths were the only sound left.

Slowly, I felt her approach my bed. Then, her touch, soft on my cheek, fingers trailing through my hair. I lay perfectly still. I didn’t dare move.

“Logan?” she breathed out, her voice cracking, “Please open your eyes.”

This woman, shredding my every rational thought, was utterly confusing. She unraveled me completely. She had no idea what she did to me. And I intended to keep it that way.

I stayed there, my eyes closed, breathing steady until she checked my vitals, poked around my IV, possibly giving me some medication, and then sound of her departing footsteps faded away.

I waited for a few minutes until there was nothing but silence both inside and outside the infirmary. Then I slowly opened my eyes, got up, and hunted for something I could use as a weapon.

Heading to one of the lower cabinets, I saw a treasure trove of surgical goodies.

There has to be a scalpel in here.

Below the rusted forceps and clamps, I saw some scissors and a scalpel.

Bingo!

I tucked the scissors into the waistband of my boxers, the metal cold against my skin, and gripped the scalpel tightly in my hand. Turning the knob of the infirmary door as slowly as possible, I winced at the faint creak it made. Peering into the hallway, I spotted only an old woman carrying a tray of food to one of the rooms beyond.

Her steps were unhurried, her focus on balancing the tray, giving me the perfect window to slip past. Moving low and soundless, I crept out of the infirmary and headed up the stairs, every step a cautious gamble against the creaking wood.

The mansion above was a bizarre contradiction. Dirty carpets lined the hallways, their faded patterns hidden beneath layers of grime. The air smelled of mildew and something faintly metallic. I moved through the kitchen, where mismatched cabinets hung crookedly, some doors missing entirely. Dust clung to the surfaces, and a dull hum from an old refrigerator filled the silence.

Beyond the kitchen, the house seemed to shift. A grand space opened up, dominated by an oversized staircase. The wood gleamed under the flickering light of a dusty chandelier, as though someone had polished it recently. The chandelier hung low, its crystals dulled, with several bulbs burned out, casting uneven shadows across the room.

I paused, my eyes sweeping the space, cataloging every detail. The staircase curved upward in a horseshoe pattern, splitting into two directions. To the left, a hallway with cracked, faded portraits stretched into shadow. To the right, a pair of heavy double doors with ornate brass handles stood imposingly, untouched by the neglect that plagued the rest of the mansion. Locked, I guessed, noting their pristine condition.

Tall French doors stood at the far end of the room. Their glass panes were cracked, but iron bars reinforced them, making them useless as an escape. Cameras were nestled in the corners of the ceiling, though one hung at an awkward angle, likely out of commission.

I moved on, slipping through a narrow door under the staircase. It led to a cramped passage lined with cleaning supplies and discarded furniture. A small, dusty window provided a faint glimpse of the outside, but the rusted bars confirmed there was no escape that way either.

Continuing my silent exploration, I found another door near the kitchen. It led to the backyard. The smell of damp earth hit me as I stepped outside, the night air heavy and cool.

The backyard was vast, a forgotten relic of what might have once been a grand estate. Overgrown grass stretched toward an unkempt garden, where weeds choked what little life remained. Beyond the garden was a massive forest, its dense shadows beckoning me with the promise of freedom.

I hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, my bare feet crunching against the dry grass.

But just as I took another step, I felt it—the unmistakable presence of someone behind me.

“Going somewhere, Logan?” a voice drawled, low and mocking.

Tyka.

I spun around, but it was too late. His hand gripped my arm, yanking me back, and I caught the glint of a weapon under the dim moonlight.

Our fight was immediate and brutal. I swung the scalpel, its blade gleaming under the moonlight, aiming for his flesh. Tyka dodged, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid every strike. The scalpel found its mark, slicing through his arm, drawing blood.

He roared in pain and anger, retaliating with a vengeance. I lost the scalpel in the struggle, but my hand found the scissors tucked in my boxers. The makeshift weapon was awkward, yet effective as I stabbed at him, each puncture a small victory in the desperate fight for survival.

Tyka was relentless, though. He managed to knock the scissors from my grasp, turning the fight into a punishing melee of fists and fury. We traded blows, but my desperation lent me a wild edge. I landed a solid punch to his jaw, heard the satisfying crack of impact, but the triumph was fleeting.

As we grappled, I felt the sting of his punches, each one a hammer blow against my already battered body.

I was at my weakest.

Dammit!

But I fought through the pain, fueled by rage and the desperate need to escape this hell.

In a moment of distraction, Tyka found his advantage. He seized me, his grip iron-tight, and before I could react, I felt the cold jab of something small piercing my neck. Within a few seconds, my limbs grew heavy, the possible drug stealing my strength and blurring my vision.

I reassured myself, clinging to the one solace I had—I now knew so much more about this place than I had before. This mock escape wasn’t a failure.

It’ll be fine.

As my consciousness began to slip away, the last thing I saw was Tyka’s looming figure, a shadow against the dim light, and then… nothing.