Bound By Thorns (Squad Six #2)

FIFTEEN

Kaylan

Now.

I stared at this indistinct point. There was a thread loose in the sheet that was covering my mother’s corpse. Why was the thread loose? Maybe they don’t use the higher quality fabric for the dead. Why would they? These were probably recycled from when they’d seen better days.

My eyes swept toward the second cold locker that had my father’s tag on it. I wondered how they assigned the identification tags when the bodies were unclaimed with no next of kin to bother for them.

Wait .

Why wasn’t I the next of kin? Perhaps my parents removed me from their emergency details considering I had been gone for months without contact. How did the system work in that case? Perhaps there was some paperwork I’d need to file to get access to their information and assets. Not that my parents had any major wealth to begin with.

I stared at my father’s empty wrist. He used to wear the watch my mother gave him, every day, without fail. Where was it? Maybe in the bedside drawer on the right side of the bed. Wasn’t that my father’s side? I wondered if the watch still worked. It probably didn’t.

There was a CVS on the way back to my parents place. Maybe I could buy the button battery for his watch, make sure it worked.

How much do they cost?

“Excuse me?” The attendant looked at me confused.

Did I say that out loud?

“Nothing,” I cleared my throat. “Cremation. How much does it cost?”

He blinked, as if trying to make sense of my words.

“I’m not sure. But you can ask at the reception. They’ll connect you with someone who handles everything.”

I nodded.

Perfect!

My next step was to head to the reception, then.

Once the arrangements for the cremation were handled, I was free to go. I made my way to CVS and bought a few button batteries of different voltage. I wasn’t sure which one would work with my father’s watch.

As I paid at the cashier, I looked around to see if anything else caught my eye. Suddenly, my eyes were glued to the Altoid mints, peppermint flavor. Next to them were the cinnamon flavored ones.

“You want those?” The cashier asked. His warm smile made me try to recall whether I could reciprocate. Heat crept up my cheeks, but my facial muscles wouldn’t budge. He’d have to do without the niceties from me.

I shook my head, the gesture painful enough that I heard slight cracks of my neck. My body was too stiff, I reckoned. Maybe I should grab muscle relaxers. But the over the counter medicine aisle was towards the back and this particular CVS was huge.

Forget it.

I paid and left for my parent’s house. It felt like entering a stranger’s home when I stepped into the hall. The air conditioning had been turned off, leaving a stale smell in the air.

Walking into their bedroom, I made my way to the right side of the bed, opening the bedside drawer to look for the watch.

There it was.

Nestled between a few charging cables and reading glasses. I remembered he had a few pairs. The gold-rimmed one was for special occasions.

Mechanically, I matched the expired battery with the new ones I had bought and replaced it. The watch ticked to life, its second hand beginning its rhythmic journey. I stared at it, fixating on the small, deliberate movements as it completed a full rotation—circle? Orbit? I didn’t know.

Slowly, I fastened it around my wrist. It was too loose, the leather strap dangling awkwardly. I’d poke another hole in the leather to tighten it later.

I stared at the bed and wondered if this sheet had loose threads. Circling the bed, I took out the bedding and checked for it.

None.

A shrill ringing jolted me from my crouched position near the bed. I froze, disoriented for a moment, before realizing it was the landline.

The landline. My parents’ landline.

Why was it still connected?

The sound continued, sharp and insistent, pulling me to my feet. I walked to the kitchen where the phone sat on the counter, its beige plastic cracked at the edges but still functional.

“Bennett residence,” I said, picking up the receiver.

For a moment, there was nothing but static, and I almost hung up. But then, a voice cut through.

“Found her!” A man’s voice yelled, muffled as though he wasn’t speaking directly to me. Then the volume dropped, and the tone softened. “Kaylan?”

Recognition flickered. “Zane. How are you?”

My voice sounded unfamiliar even to me—flat, detached, like the words didn’t belong to me.

There was silence on the other end before Zane sighed heavily. “Kaylan, you need to come back. I’ll handle the paperwork, the legalities—everything. You don’t have to worry about it.”

I frowned, the motion slow and deliberate, as though my face had forgotten how to react naturally. “Why do I need to come back to New York?”

He ignored my question. “How are you holding up?”

The question seemed strange, unnecessary. “Why am I needed in New York?” I asked again. “Squad Six wouldn’t want me there.” I paused, thinking. I hurt their squad member. Logan suffered because of me.

“You are Squad Six, Kaylan,” Zane said firmly. “You’ve been reassigned.”

“Oh.” I blinked, the information sinking in without any weight. It felt factual, like the date or the time. Not good or bad, just… there.

I stared at the empty oil canister on the counter. I wouldn’t need to refill it if I was going back. If I’d been reassigned, then I should go back. Orders were orders. I couldn’t not follow them.

“I’ll be there by tomorrow, and I won’t need to refill the canister,” I said.

“Jesus… are you okay?” Zane’s voice softened, filled with something I vaguely recognized as concern.

I tilted my head at the question. Why was he asking that? Of course I was okay. Everything was fine. Even the watch on my wrist was ticking perfectly, and the bedsheet in the room didn’t have any loose threads.

No wait.

“The car needs more gas,” I said, my tone robotic. “It’s approximately 215 miles from Boston to New York. The car gets about 30 miles per gallon, so that’s… seven gallons. I’ll need at least eight to account for variance. Gas prices are high. I’ll budget for nine gallons to be safe.”

“Kaylan?” Zane’s voice cracked slightly, a thread of alarm creeping into it.

I barely heard him. “The tank currently has three gallons. It’s not enough. I’ll take the car to the gas station. Nine gallons is… approximately $36 if gas is $4 per gallon. I’ll need to stop by the ATM first.”

“Kaylan,” Zane said again, louder this time. “Listen to me. Just stay where you are. I’m coming to get you. Don’t worry about the car, or the gas, or the math. Just… sit tight, okay?”

I blinked again, processing his words. Sit tight? Why would I need to sit tight? The math was sound. The plan was logical. But his voice—it had a strange urgency I couldn’t ignore.

“Okay,” I murmured after a beat. “I’ll wait.”

The line stayed silent for a moment before Zane exhaled, the sound heavy with relief. “I’ll be there soon, Kaylan. Just… hold on.”

I placed the receiver back on the cradle, staring at it for a long moment before turning back to the counter. Everything was fine. I only needed to poke a new hole in the watch’s strap.

Everything was fine.

???

Back in New York at the Blackthorn security office, it really hit me how naive I’d been. Despite Logan’s blowup, Squad Six didn’t hold it against me. They actually welcomed me back warmly and told me about Alpha One’s decision to add me to their squad.

At dinner that night, Logan wasn’t there. Zarek told me about how he was not sleeping at all, so they had given him a medication to force him to sleep. Lorazepam, probably.

Maybe I could do with some forced sleeping.

After dinner, I stumbled into the bathroom, my movements mechanical, like a puppet on invisible strings. I flicked on the light and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

My eyes were swollen, puffy from lack of sleep, probably. But that wasn’t what caught me off guard.

It was the way my eyes stared back at me.

Accusatory.

Repulsed.

Enraged.

Why?

The thought came slowly, like a drip of water through a crack, seeping into my mind. My parents had been poisoned a week before Sebastian rescued us. A week before freedom, before escape.

And then his words echoed in my memory, slick and venomous.

‘I was just jealous, darling, but you shouldn’t have made me jealous. Everything has consequences.’

The pieces snapped together. Garret. He’d already seen through my charade, hadn’t he? He must have known I was pulling away, my loyalty fracturing. And he punished me because he could.

My parents were gone—erased because of me. Because I’d let Garret into my life.

And now, with my body no longer my own, with children I might never have, I realized something colder and darker.

I had ended my family line.

They were gone, and the only legacy left was my hollow existence.

I stared into my own eyes again. My chest felt tight, but no tears came. Nothing came.

I gripped the edge of the sink, my knuckles turning white. My mind screamed for release, for something to break through this debilitating numbness.

Snap out of it. Snap out of it. Snap out of it.

My nails dug into the porcelain, the cold hardness grounding me.

Yes here. Yes now. Now, Kaylan.

I forced myself to look into the mirror again. To meet those accusing eyes. To acknowledge the pain, to let it consume me. My breath steadied, barely, and the world began to shift back into focus.

Now, Kaylan!

The first tear slipped free, carving a cold, lonely path down my cheek. I reached for it in the mirror, tracing its path like I was watching someone else cry, someone more human, someone desperate enough to break.

Then came the second tear.

I held my breath, waiting for more, willing more. I wished for tears, for sobs, for something—anything—that would shake me free of this suffocating numbness. Hell, I would’ve begged for a panic attack.

But the tears stopped.

My reflection mocked me, hollow and incomplete.

Bring them back!

My nails scraped against the counter as if I could claw the grief out of myself.

Stumbling back into my room, I collapsed onto the floor near the bed, my legs folding beneath me like they no longer had the strength to hold me up. My gaze wandered aimlessly until it landed on an old shoebox shoved against the base of the wall.

The box from the lounge party.

I scrambled toward it, my hands trembling as I pulled it open. The crimson stilettos stared back at me, vivid and sharp against the dull haze of the room. For a moment, I felt nothing. A quiet void, a terrifying emptiness that whispered nothing would ever break through.

But then it happened.

The dam shattered, and everything I had been holding back came flooding out, all at once.

Squad Two.

Florida.

Ravenrock Hall.

Garret.

Noel.

Logan.

My parents.

The tears came first, hot and relentless, then the sobs, raw and violent, leaving my chest aching and my throat burning.

I curled into myself on the cold floor until darkness consumed me.

???

When I woke up, I was still on the floor. A dull throbbing pain hitting my temples. But I felt a semblance of normalcy I had been desperate for.

As I wandered the halls aimlessly, I hadn’t planned to find myself outside Logan’s room, but there I was, hesitating at the door.

I’m a masochist.

I pushed the door open gently and slipped inside. The room was dim, dusk light seeping through the edges of the drawn curtains. Logan was sprawled on his stomach, the lines of sleep marking his face softly. I tiptoed closer, my movements cautious—more out of respect than fear.

The scars on his back glinted golden in the dim light, each mark a harsh reminder of the torture he had endured. I found myself captivated, unable to look away from the brutal testament to his past.

Despite the terrifying encounter where he had nearly choked me, my trust in him hadn’t wavered. I hoped deeply that he was trapped in a dreamless rest, free from the shadows of Ravenrock.

Sitting down at the edge of the bed, the mattress dipped under my weight. He looked different in sleep—peaceful, almost boyish with his beard trimmed down to a stubble, his long dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

A part of me longed to touch him, to offer some comfort, but I held back, hovering just inches from his face. I pulled my hand back, not wanting to overstep, not now. I stood to leave, stepping quietly towards the door, but the slight rustle of sheets stopped me.

Turning around, I saw him stirring. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then widening slightly as they adjusted to the dim light and recognized me. I braced myself for anger, for shouting—or worse, the silence of resentment.

But none came. He just looked at me, his expression unreadable, no trace of anger or warmth. Just a blank, tired acknowledgment.