Bound By Thorns (Squad Six #2)

EIGHT

Kaylan

Not here. Not now. Not yet.

Three days. That’s all I had to carve out Logan’s escape from the depths of this hellish mansion. His failed attempt to flee had all the guards on high alert. Which was why I would have to plan for a nightly escape, at an hour that is usually Garret’s session. Or perhaps I could plan for after?

I wish I could’ve warned Logan about the extensive security they have on the grounds. The hidden cameras must have kept an eye on him the whole time. They had Crazon here to help them track individuals using heat signatures and computer vision engineering. I knew how to avoid those cameras at least inside the mansion.

I brought my mind back to the topic at hand. Nightly escape. But then, I would have to leave the car out in the open for anyone to find for at least four hours, which posed a risk.

I learned that Noel would be guarding the cells that night, which was only slightly problematic. He would notice it wasn’t Ingrid with me, but Logan.

I didn’t much care about that, other than the fact that Noel wouldn’t be able to explain to Garret later as to how two of the former Alpha Squad members escaped under his nose.

Tyka’s growing impatience with me and Logan added another layer of risk. He was starting to notice the cracks in my facade, the way my indifference slipped whenever I was around Logan. I had to maintain a careful balance until we could make our escape, or I’d draw too much scrutiny.

That next evening was tough. I accompanied Tyka and Noel to the cells, pausing at the torture chamber before moving on. A part of me dreaded what we might find inside. My fears were confirmed when Tyka swung open the heavy wooden door to reveal Logan, suspended from the ceiling, his body a canvas of bleeding stab wounds, deliberately placed to prolong suffering without a quick death. He was in no condition to escape anytime soon, complicating my plans further.

Left in the room with Logan, Tyka, and Noel, I felt their eyes boring into me as I approached to inspect Logan’s injuries. With their backs turned, I allowed a flicker of concern to show, but as Logan’s eyes snapped open, I quickly masked my emotions, reverting to the cold, detached role I was forced to play.

“Awful to see you again,” Logan’s voice was weak.

“Don’t speak and stay still,” I responded, my tone clipped and professional. Who was I kidding? I was pissed at him.

His gaze locked with mine, searching, probing. The usual disgust flickered across his features as he tried to reconcile the person caring for him with the one allied with his tormentors.

“I need to take him off the hook,” I stated plainly to Tyka, hoping to move things along.

Tyka grunted in annoyance but complied, helping me lower Logan from the ceiling. The clink of the chains as we unhooked him echoed ominously in the chamber.

“Get this done quickly,” Tyka barked, his patience thinning.

I caught Noel’s eye for a brief moment; his expression was unreadable, indifferent to the suffering before him.

“It takes however much time it takes,” I mumbled and Tyka chuckled darkly.

As I gently laid Logan on the cold, stone floor, he winced sharply. I maintained a neutral facade, my face giving away nothing. Logan continued to watch me, his eyes intense, trying to decode my actions. It was crucial that I gave nothing away, not with Tyka and Noel watching my every move.

I inspected one of the stab wounds dangerously close to the kidneys, “You couldn’t have aimed an inch higher? Now I need to check for kidney damage.” I faked an exasperated sigh, and Tyka just groaned in response.

“Infirmary?” Noel’s voice cut through, ever the indifferent brute.

I nodded, and they carried Logan, who grunted and howled in pain, upstairs. I maintained a look of irritation, but inside, panic was setting in. If the wound had reached his kidney, I’d be forced to operate with those filthy surgical tools. The risk of infection was high, not to mention a potentially extended recovery.

Shit .

He might not even be able to walk when our escape plan was set to roll out. Now my irritation wasn’t just an act; it was real, fueled by worry and frustration.

Alone with Logan in the infirmary, I grabbed the ultrasound transducer and applied gel to it. Carefully avoiding the wound, I scanned the area around it, praying they hadn’t hit anything vital. Relief washed over me when the scan showed the kidney was intact; it was just the surrounding tissue that was damaged.

When I looked up, Logan was staring at me intensely. “What?” I snapped, momentarily dropping my guarded demeanor.

He rolled his eyes in disgust and muttered something under his breath.

“How do you do it?” he asked after a beat, his voice thick with contempt.

“Do what?” I was genuinely puzzled for a moment.

“Fix us prisoners only to send us back to be tortured the next day.” He clarified.

“They call you residents,” I replied mechanically.

A snort escaped him, almost a laugh. “You mean ‘we’. Don’t you count yourself among them?”

“I’m just their doctor,” I responded dryly.

“And Garret’s whore,” he added sharply.

His words felt like a physical blow, slicing through the facade I’d maintained. The transducer slipped from my fingers, dangling comically by its cord. I was aware of the whispers, that I was Garret’s whore, but hearing Logan say it so bluntly felt like drowning.

He frowned, perhaps sensing he’d crossed a line, and turned away. “So, did they slice open my kidney or what?”

I shook my head, afraid that my voice might crack if I spoke. I regained my composure, rehooking the transducer. He hummed in response, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. As I stitched him up, a heavy silence settled between us. I realized then, no matter what I did to save him, in Logan’s eyes, I would always be nothing more than Garret Tyson’s whore. Even though he lived because of my care, and even though he would soon escape because of my efforts, to him, that was all I was.

A whore.

Logan

She was quiet after that, and I couldn’t shake off the image of the pain that had flashed across her face when I called her that word.

Garret’s whore.

My intention was to provoke her, to break through her usual iciness and maybe, just maybe, get her to contradict me and reveal something more about herself. But I didn’t expect her to look so wounded, then fall into such a deep silence.

As she meticulously and skillfully stitched up each of my stab wounds and wrapped them in bandages, I found myself watching her closely. I tried to read any emotion that might flicker across her face, but after that initial show of hurt, she had completely composed herself.

I realized after a while that I wasn’t just observing her out of curiosity anymore. I found myself caught up in the details—the subtle twitch of her gray eyes, the faint dark circles under them, the way her lashes brushed her cheeks when she closed her eyes to recall where something was in the infirmary. These little details drew me in, against my will, making me notice her in a way I hadn’t intended.

Then she left without a single word.

Fuck .

Before the guilt set in, I closed my eyes and willed myself to find another way to escape. I couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not by Kaylan Bennett.