8. Raegan
Chapter eight
Raegan
“Time to go to work, pet,” Gordon says from behind me. His hand strokes down my hair.
Disgust churns in my gut at his touch before it quickly dissipates behind the barrier of emotionlessness I’ve built to keep myself sane. Numb.
He removes the collar from my neck and I move forward to do as he instructed without a word.
Holt is here in the training room with us, guarding Mallory as the constant threat that’s dangled in front of me whenever Gordon requires me to do something he thinks I may push back on. She looks at me like I’m the monster that lurks under her bed, leaning into Holt for his protection. I ignore them both, following Gordon’s direction on autopilot while my mind tucks itself away to the safe place I’ve been using to get through my latest sessions.
I think about all the help Elias has given me. His unwavering faith and trust in me that still feels undeserved.
I remember eating Chinese food with Portia as we shared our stories without holding back, and she continued to stand by me as the greatest friend I could ask for. Or the way her smile lights up any room she’s in, immediately uplifting the mood.
Mostly, I go back to my time at Old Red with the guys.
“I have always loved you, and there is nowhere you can go where I won’t follow…”
“You don’t get to run from me, beautiful…I’m yours whether you want me or not…”
“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that…”
“I choose to believe in you, because that’s what I should have done from the start…”
My right knee buckles, and I crash to the unforgiving wood floor on my hands and knees. The pain snaps me back to reality. I grit my teeth through the sharp, stabbing agony that momentarily blinds me.
After Gordon shot my knee, it apparently shattered the bone there. He told the healers to let it heal wrong. Now it hurts to run or walk on for too long.
I use it as a timer lately of how long I’ve been training for that day. Reaching this point means I’m almost finished.
“—wrap up this pet project of yours before he makes me do it for you. The president is not pleased that you picked this up again,” an unfamiliar, dreary voice says slowly with mild disinterest.
Gordon’s standing at the open doorway to the training room, but the person who’s talking is still in the hallway, obstructed from view.
“He’s the one who approved it. I’m just finishing what I started,” Gordon counters, annoyed.
“That was quite a long time ago. There are expiration dates on such things,” the other man replies, then breathes a long, tired sigh. “I like you, Gordon. I understand your desire all too well, and it’s why I’ve asked the president to give you this second chance before he intervenes. But if you don’t show results in the next month, even his patience will have waned.”
“After all I’ve given him—”
“—ah-ah! Careful with what you’re about to say. I sympathize with you, but that is all. My loyalty lies irrevocably with our president.”
Gordon’s knuckles pale as the tablet shakes in his grip. “Why are you here, Royce? To threaten me?”
The other man’s name makes me pause mid-motion in my current task. I know that name. Where have I heard it before?
Royce.
Thorne.
The necromancer.
“Of course not. I send my puppets for such things,” Royce calmly explains. “I’m here for a fresh soul. Perhaps two or three, even, and I heard that you’ve been collecting some as of late.”
Gordon’s frown deepens. “I thought Thorne left.”
“This information comes from a different source. You should know by now our president has his eyes everywhere.” There’s a pause before he continues, “So? Is the one in there finished? That young girl would do nicely as well if she’s next.”
Don’t react.
I force my body to continue exerting my gift without missing a beat, my eyes staring at what I’m doing even though my mind is deep in their conversation. I can feel the moment Gordon’s gaze swings my way, checking for a response to what Royce said about Mallory.
It isn’t until I hear Gordon speak again that I finally expel the breath I’d been holding. “How fresh do you need them? And are you looking for any particular gift?”
“Within the week would be best. The gift does not matter. I’ll be sending Thorne back to that city where his Guild is, so he can sniff them out. The president is eager to learn more about what sorts of gifts and members are part of it and how he can use them. Since my puppet created it, he’ll have a better idea of where to look or who may be a part of it.”
Gordon scoffs. “Your puppet keeps a secret that big from you, and that’s all the president has to say about it?”
Royce makes a clucking noise. “Yes, well, that’s been rectified. It’s time-consuming to go through a puppet’s head, but I’ve made the exception with Thorne due to this connection. That aside, his body is beyond a healer’s repair at this point and I need those souls to freshen it up some.”
“There are a few in the disposal room in the basement. Have your pick.”
“Wonderful. I’ll get out of your way, then. Good day.”
Gordon watches past the door as footsteps recede down the hallway in pronounced, steady clicks that remind me of a ticking clock.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
I can’t stay here any longer. Not if Thorne’s going back to root out the Guild. The others think he’s dead and they won’t see him coming. Thorne wants Jackson alive to help him, and I’ll bet he plans to use Aiden and the others’ lives against him to get what he wants.
But the only way I can escape is if I kill Gordon and the threat he made against the guys with him.