Bound By Thorns (Squad Six #2)

TWELVE

Kaylan

Not here. Not now. Not yet.

As I lay back in the room Sebastian set up for me here in Brooklyn, my mind couldn’t stop spinning around a problem I never thought I’d have to face right now. Turns out, it wasn’t just the gunshot to my arm causing me all this trouble. No, it was an infection, thanks to the filthy surgical tools and all the hits I had taken to the abdomen resulting in internal lacerations. The doctors were straight with me: it’s either a hysterectomy or try saving what’s left of my fallopian tubes and one ovary.

Here I was, thirty-one years old, suddenly having to think about whether I ever want kids. This wasn’t how I pictured tackling this topic—lying in a makeshift hospital bed, deciding on surgeries that could end my chances before I had even made up my mind about children.

Lying here, the room quiet around me, I kept turning over my options. Surgery sounded daunting, but so did making a choice about kids under these circumstances. It was a lot to think about when all you’d been focusing on was just making it through each day. Now, I had to think of a potential future.

I trudged down to the command center nestled deep on the fourth basement level, dragging my worries about my parents with me. Since getting back, I hadn’t heard a peep from them despite bombarding them with calls. I figured they were spooked by the unknown number flashing on their screen, but something in my gut screamed that something was off.

Zane was hunched over his console amid the usual chaos, wrestling with the network outages still throttling Fort Lauderdale. I approached him, each step heavier than the last. “Zane Cruiser, right?” I asked, attempting to keep my voice light.

He spun around, his chair squeaking slightly, and flashed me one of his disarmingly handsome grins. “What can I do for you, Kaylan?”

I took the offered seat beside him, hesitating a moment before diving in. “I need a favor,” I started, my voice dipping with concern. “My parents—they haven’t been picking up my calls. I’m worried something might be wrong.”

Zane’s easy smile faded into a serious line, his brows knitting together as he nodded. “Of course, I can look into that,” he said, his tone now matching the gravity of my request.

I thanked him with a small, grateful smile and stood to leave. Just then, a woman with short blonde hair and a crisp British accent stopped me in my tracks. “You’re Kaylan Bennett!” she exclaimed, her face brightening.

“The dead woman, yes,” I replied, my voice tinged with a dark humor that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

Her enthusiasm briefly waned, replaced by a more solemn respect. “Kaylan Bennett, the combat medic. A survivor,” she corrected, her words casting a new light on my identity.

I couldn’t help but smile, genuinely this time, touched by her recognition of my role rather than my ordeal. “I’m Delara Booth,” she introduced herself, extending her hand. “Do you want to join me for a pre-dinner drink?”

I glanced at my watch, noting the time. “Isn’t it a bit early for that? It’s only four.”

She laughed, a sound that was both light and inviting. “Never too early for wine, darling.”

Her use of ‘darling’ sent a shiver down my spine, the term echoing too many memories of a past I was desperate to forget. Even though the word came from a woman with a British accent, my heart sank.

Is that how it was going to be now?

Me, losing my mind every time I was reminded of Ravenrock Hall?

My smile faltered, and I felt the room tilt slightly. Delara’s hands were quick to steady me.

“Sorry,” I managed to get out, the word thick in my throat. “Still recovering.”

With a sympathetic nod, she gently guided me to the lounge area. The room was bathed in warm light, with teal walls accented by gold trim. Various clusters of plush black couches were scattered about, and a large dining table sat by the windows overlooking the courtyard. We settled on opposite couches, a small table between us that, to my surprise, she opened to reveal a hidden refrigerator. She pulled out a bottle of chilled white wine just as a young man appeared, carrying a tray with two glasses. He filled our glasses and retreated as quietly as he had arrived.

“So, Kaylan,” Delara began, setting her wine on the table. “What’s on your mind?”

“Alpha Squad Six,” I responded quickly, sidestepping my actual tumult of thoughts. I wasn’t in the mood to unpack the horrors of Ravenrock Hall over a casual drink.

Her eyebrows lifted in interest. “Really? Well, you’re in luck. They’re due back this evening. The whole squad. I’ve missed Logan. We all have.”

Her words caused an unexpected sting. Tears welled up as I realized nobody would have missed me. I’d been dead longer, and they’d moved on. Sebastian had even mentioned that Squad Two was disbanded a month ago. Lancaster Brewer and Pedro Becerra had been forced to retire. I was truly alone. Overwhelmed by sadness, I downed my glass in one go.

Delara observed me quietly, her gaze analytical. I felt like a specimen under her microscope, which only heightened my anxiety.

Clearing my throat, I admitted, “Delara, I’m sure you’re nice. But I feel like an animal in a zoo right now.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “I understand. I just want to help. We have an excellent team here, including a psychiatrist. Leora Mateez from Squad Six is actually a psychologist. We’re here if you need us.”

I nodded.

Footsteps echoed across the room, and I turned to see Sebastian approaching with his usual confident stride. There was something about him—the mix of strength and compassion—that was profoundly reassuring.

“Delara, I see you’ve met Kaylan,” he said with a smile, settling next to Delara.

“You couldn’t have kept her hidden even if you tried, Sebastian,” Delara quipped.

“I wasn’t trying to,” he shrugged, his eyes flicking to our drinks. “Ladies, isn’t it a bit—”

“Nope,” Delara cut him off, finishing her drink in one swift gulp.

Sebastian raised both brows, feigning shock. “You know, Delara, there are less aggressive ways to assert dominance over a glass.”

“Less effective though,” Delara shot back with a smirk. “Kaylan, back me up here.”

Her quip pulled a genuine giggle from me, the first in what felt like a lifetime.

Sebastian crossed his arms, his tone playful. “You know what? You’re right, Delara. Clearly, I’ve been doing it wrong. From now on, I’ll chug drinks at four in the afternoon—very dignified.”

“Four in the afternoon ?” Delara snorted. “That’s practically bedtime for your ancient ass, Seb. I’d call it night.”

Suddenly, I found myself laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face as laughter turned to sobs and back again. The emotional dam had broken, and I couldn’t stop. Delara and Sebastian exchanged puzzled looks, unsure if they should be concerned or amused. I was either a lunatic or a severely ill person.

When I finally regained composure, gasping for breath, I managed to say, “I haven’t laughed in three months.”

Delara’s expression softened, her earlier teasing giving way to quiet empathy, and maybe pity.

But Sebastian’s face lit up with proud amusement. “We plan to make you laugh more often, Kaylan,” he declared, coaxing another quiet chuckle from me. The whole exchange words warmed a part of me that I hadn’t realized was cold.

???

The sunset painted a quietude over my room, where I sat near the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the inner courtyard, my gaze distant and unfocused.

Logan had returned to his squad. He didn’t need me anymore. His wounds would now be cared for by the capable clinical staff that Sebastian had assembled. I felt redundant, unnecessary. It was as if we had both been sprinting after a speeding train—Logan had managed to grasp a handrail and was pulled aboard without a backward glance, leaving me still running, legs burning, always chasing but never quite able to reach the safety and closure of that train.

A soft knock at my door pulled me from my reverie. Opening it, a middle-aged woman entered, bearing a garment bag, shoes, and a small makeup bag.

“They are requesting your presence in the lounge in twenty minutes, Ms. Bennett,” she informed me with a gentle tone, then promptly exited.

Unzipping the garment bag, I was greeted by a black dress adorned with red sequins and an embroidered boat neckline. While striking, the dress dredged up unwanted memories of Ravenrock, casting a shadow over its beauty. Dresses weren’t just dresses anymore—they were a reminder.

My breath hitched, shallow and quick, as if the room had suddenly shrunk.

I froze, willing myself to look away, but my hands moved of their own accord, opening the shoe box. Inside were crimson stilettos, their sleek design mirroring those I’d worn during captivity. My pulse thundered in my ears, my chest tightening painfully as the flood of images came fast and unrelenting.

I blinked rapidly, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. My vision blurred, tears threatening to spill.

Not here. Not now. Not yet.

I straightened, drawing in three deep breaths as I wiped at the corners of my eyes. The tears didn’t fall. They wouldn’t—not here.

Compelled to erase any reminders of that time, I went to the reception desk to request a new outfit.

Minutes later, the woman reappeared with a sleek white shirt, gray pants, and black formal boots. Changing swiftly, I tied my short hair into a half ponytail and made my way to the lounge.