Bound By Thorns (Squad Six #2)

FOURTEEN

Logan

I leaned against the wall outside the lounge after everyone had dispersed for the night. Zarek and Leora had crossed over to their apartment in the adjacent Blackthorn building. I had lingered outside Kaylan’s room for a few moments before knocking, but received no answer. Resolved to find her, I sought out Zane, certain he would know her whereabouts.

Now, I found myself standing just out of sight, eavesdropping on Sebastian and Zane as they relaxed on the couch, whiskey in hand, with Zane’s laptop balanced on his knees.

“I can’t track her quickly the old-fashioned way,” Zane was saying, frustration coloring his tone.

Sebastian let out a frustrated grunt, “Why the hell do you have an untraceable car in the fleet?”

“I needed a car completely outside of Crazon’s control,” Zane huffed and then muttered in a low voice, “Guess I didn’t expect this to happen.”

I leaned in closer, my interest piqued as Sebastian lounged back, his demeanor too relaxed for my liking considering Kaylan could be in danger. The memory of my hands around her neck surged up, fueling a mix of fury and remorse within me. Shaking off the guilt, I focused back on their conversation.

“Where do you think she’s headed?” Sebastian asked.

“Probably Boston,” Zane replied without hesitation. “She wants to know about her parents.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, thick with implications.

“Out with it, Specter. What’s the situation?” Sebastian’s voice was sharp.

Zane exhaled deeply, his next words heavy, “She’ll find them at Massachusetts General Hospital, in the morgue. They’re listed as unclaimed.”

“Fucking hell!” Sebastian exploded. “Garret?”

“It seems likely.”

My breath caught in my throat as the gravity of the situation sank in. Kaylan’s parents were dead, and she was about to discover this horrific truth alone.

“She shouldn’t be out there alone, Sebastian,” Zane said, his concern evident.

“She shouldn’t be out there, period. In her condition–fucking hell, Zane. She shouldn’t be–”

Unable to contain my confusion and growing concern, I stormed in, “What condition?”

They both turned to stare at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“What condition?’ I repeated, needing answers.

Sebastian stood and approached me with a measured gait, his eyes hard with disapproval. “You need help, Logan,” he said coldly. “You aren’t allowed to hurt anyone else on my watch.”

I nodded, subdued but persistent. “Fine, but what condition, Sebastian?”

He paused, his expression softening slightly. “She was shot, not long ago,” he explained, though his tone suggested there was more he wasn’t saying.

“Sebas–”

“Get some sleep, Logan,” Zane said blandly and turned his attention to his laptop.

I looked around the lounge for a few beats, as if I’d summon her. Then, I left.

Pausing outside my room, the weight of the night’s revelations pressed down on me. The silence of the hallway seemed to echo the turmoil inside me—anger, regret, fear. She was out there, heading into a storm of grief, alone, and it was all because of me.

Without entering my room, I turned sharply and headed toward the gym. There, under the dim overhead lights, I took out my frustrations on the nearest punching bag. I didn’t care for boxing wraps, just relying on my hands to take the brunt of the force. Each thud of my fists against the heavy bag was a futile attempt to silence the chaos in my mind.

I lost track of time as I moved from one piece of equipment to another, pushing myself until my limbs trembled and my breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes, but I welcomed the pain—it was a distraction from the guilt gnawing at my heart.

It wasn’t until my muscles burned with exhaustion and I could barely stand that I finally stopped. Drained, I slumped against the cool wall, letting the chill seep into my overheated skin. The gym was silent now, my ragged breathing the only sound in the vast space. I didn’t return to my room; instead, I stayed there, on the floor, until the early hours of the morning.

???

“I had a call with Alpha One this morning,” Zarek announced as we gathered around the lounge table for breakfast. My presence was more physical than mental, my thoughts scattered and restless from a sleepless night.

“They’ve officially cleared Kaylan to join Alpha Squad Six as our combat medic,” Zarek continued, effectively snapping my wandering attention back to the conversation.

I stared at Zarek like he was speaking Spanish. For all I knew, he could be, because my mind couldn’t register the impact of what had been just said.

Dylan, munching on his bacon, nodded in approval. “Having a medic in the squad would be nice,” he said, his voice muffled slightly by food.

Zarek waited for the murmurs of agreement to subside before adding, “There’s a catch, though.”

I waited until he had everyone’s attention, especially mine.

“Both of you,” Zarek directed his gaze at me, a serious undertone in his voice, “need clearance for active duty from Dr. Gabriella Mendoza. That’s on my orders.”

I glanced down at my untouched plate, the weight of the conversation making even the simplest movements feel heavy and deliberate.

“I’ll do it, Ghost,” I finally said, raising my eyes to meet his. “I want to be back, completely back.”

Leora gave my shoulder a supportive pat and offered a reassuring smile.

Delara, ever curious, shifted the topic. “Has anyone heard from Kaylan?”

Zane and Sebastian shook their heads.

“Any idea where she might have gone?” Amelia pitched in.

“Just that she’s likely in Boston, her hometown,” Zane supplied.

A heavy silence fell over the group, which I eventually broke. “I need to apologize for last night,” I admitted, my voice low. “I lost control. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s not us you need to make amends with, Logan,” Zarek said gently.

“She left,” I murmured, the guilt evident in my tone. “She wouldn’t even want my apology now.”

“She’ll be back. She’s got unfinished business here. She’ll come back.”

Sebastian’s words hung in the air, unanswered, as I pushed my chair back and left the table. The conversation behind me blurred into meaningless noise as I made my way to my room. My hand was just on the doorknob when Zarek’s voice stopped me.

“Logan?”

I froze. His hand landed gently on my shoulder, grounding me as he stepped in front of me, blocking my retreat.

“What do you need, Ghost?” I asked, my voice tight.

“Zarek,” he said, his tone firm but calm. “Or Zar. Take your pick, Logan. I’m not Ghost right now.”

I gave a half-hearted chuckle, shaking my head at his insistence.

“When was the last time you properly slept?” he asked, his voice softer now.

Good question.

My throat tightened as I forced the words out. “I’m not sure. A few days ago?”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes assessing me like he was scanning for every crack I tried to hide.

“Dr. Stacey’s downstairs in the bay. Go see him.”

I snorted bitterly. “You want a traumatized man prone to dissociative psychotic episodes to get his hands on sleeping pills? Sounds like a great idea.”

Zarek didn’t flinch. His steady gaze held mine, unrelenting. “Logan, sleep,” he said quietly, but there was no mistaking the command in his tone. “Please. Sleep, brother.”

The sincerity in his voice scraped against something raw in me, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. My throat worked overtime, but no words came.

As he turned to leave, I blurted out, “Leo said something, didn’t she?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. His expression softened, the edges of his usual sharp demeanor fading just slightly. “Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping lower, more deliberate.

“You were destroyed there, Logan. And if you don’t heal from it, that destruction has to go somewhere—and it’ll take the people you love down with it.”

The words hit like a gut punch, stealing the air from my lungs. Brutal. True. My chest tightened as I absorbed the weight of them. I was going to destroy everything, wasn’t I? Myself. Kaylan. My squad.

Zarek gave me a long look, his eyes filled with understanding but no pity.

And then he was gone, leaving me standing there with nothing but the echo of his words and the overwhelming realization that maybe… just maybe… I couldn’t keep fighting this war within myself alone.

The bay was quiet when I stepped in, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights the only sound. It felt colder than I remembered, the sterile air seeping into my skin. For a moment, I hesitated, my hand resting against the frame of the door.

“Logan,” Dr. Stacey called out, his voice calm but firm. He was at the counter, organizing a tray of supplies.

I nodded once, stepping further into the room. “Zar sent me,” I muttered, the words awkward on my tongue.

“I figured he might,” Stacey said, setting the tray aside and motioning for me to follow him. “Come on. Let’s figure this out.”

I followed him down the short hallway to the infirmary, where the brightness of the overhead lights stung my tired eyes. He gestured for me to sit on one of the pristine beds and pulled up a stool, settling across from me.

“Zarek said you haven’t slept in a few days,” he started, leaning forward slightly. “That right?”

I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Something like that.”

Stacey let out a soft sigh, his tone laced with patience. “Logan, this isn’t sustainable. Sleep deprivation like this doesn’t just make you tired—it screws with your ability to think, your emotional regulation. For someone in your position, it’s a slippery slope to a full psychotic break. You know that, you had one.”

I didn’t answer, my jaw tightening as I stared at the floor.

He let the silence linger for a beat before standing and moving to the cabinet. He pulled out a small vial and a syringe, inspecting it carefully before turning back to me.

“This is Lorazepam in a single high-dose injection,” he said. “It’s not a long-term solution, but it’s used for extreme cases like yours—patients who need a hard reset. You’ll sleep for at least 30 hours, uninterrupted.”

My head shot up. “Thirty hours?”

“Yes,” Stacey said, his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s what you need. This will give your body and brain the time they need to reset, to stop spiraling.”

I stared at the syringe in his hand, unease bubbling in my chest. “What happens after?”

“After, we reassess,” he said, his voice steady. “This isn’t a cure. It’s a pause button, a way to give you the strength to start again. I’ll work with your psychiatrist on this. Dr. Mendoza, right?”

I nodded, swallowing hard, my mouth dry. “What if I don’t wake up?”

Stacey gave me a reassuring smile, his calm demeanor never wavering. “You will. I’ll monitor you while you’re under to make sure. But if you keep going like this, without sleep, the risk isn’t if you’ll wake up—it’s if you’ll break down completely.”

I hesitated, my fingers curling into fists. He was right, and I hated it. With a reluctant nod, I sat back and rolled up my sleeve.

“Good choice,” Stacey said quietly as he prepped the injection. He worked quickly, the cold sting of the alcohol wipe followed by the sharper sting of the needle.

“All done,” he said, stepping back. “It’ll take about ten minutes to kick in. Let’s get you back to your room.”

I nodded, already feeling the edges of my awareness start to blur. He walked beside me as I made my way back, steadying me when my steps faltered. By the time we reached my door, the weight in my body was undeniable, pressing down on me like gravity had doubled.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Stacey said as he opened the door for me.

I didn’t respond, too exhausted to argue. I sank onto my bed, my limbs heavy, my mind already slipping into the void.

For the first time in days, I surrendered completely. The darkness came fast and deep, swallowing me whole. And for once, I didn’t fight it.