22. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
Jacob
I’m running before she’s finished speaking. Kendrick shouts after me, and I take a second to yell back, “It’s Quinn! Something with her heart. Alert medical!”
If she’s fucking with me, there will be more hell to pay than she can possibly imagine. But I’d never assume that, and her voice sounded genuine. “I’m coming, love. Be there soon.”
No answer.
Shit.
The short distance feels a mile long as I arrow towards my building, hopping a wall and crashing through a flower bed to slap my hand on the entry scanner. I don’t bother with the lift, taking the stairs three at a time to my floor. I find Quinn limp in the cage, on her side, eyes closed and chest heaving rapidly. I yank her out, clutch her to my chest, and race out of the flat.
Her heart? What the bloody hell is wrong with her heart? She’s young and fit. I thunder down the stairs. By the time I reach medical, I’m drenched in sweat. Light as she is, running with another person is enough to puff anyone out, and I’m breathing hard.
Kendrick has done his usual efficient job, and the sleepy-looking senior doctor waits at the doors with his younger assistant. Kendrick must have rousted the top doc out of bed in less than ten minutes.
They’ve brought a wheeled stretcher, and I place her gently onto it as the doc bends to look at Quinn. “Ah, yes. The young lady with Brugada syndrome. Very unusual at her age, and it looks like she’s having an episode. Get her inside please.”
I hold back all my questions, help the docs wheel Quinn into the spotless medical center, and stand back to let them work. Brugada syndrome? I’ve never heard of it. Why didn’t I know about this? I watch in simmering, helpless rage as they put Quinn on a drip and take an ultrasound of her chest.
They’ve taken off my dressing gown, so she’s naked, though they’ve covered her bottom half with a thin white sheet. Sticky monitors cover her chest, and a machine next to the bed shows her heart rhythm. The docs study it, talking quietly, and then the older one comes over. He’s a Brother, unlike his young assistant.
“She looks good, Jacob. Her heart has settled into a proper rhythm, and she’ll be awake soon. She’ll need regular monitoring, though, and I want to give you some meds for her to keep on hand at all times.”
“Why the fuck wasn’t I told about this?” I can barely tear my eyes from Quinn long enough to speak to him. He’s old, into his seventies, and his bald head shines in the harsh overhead light.
He only comes up to my shoulder, but his voice is stern as he replies, “A full medical history was sent to your email, along with advice to bring her in for a more focused workup. You would have received it last night. You had the information as soon as we did.”
Last night. With everything that's happened, I haven't even checked my emails. Guilt takes all the wind out of my sails, and I apologize to the doc before thumping down into a chair next to Quinn.
This is my fault. This girl, this living human, is one hundred percent my responsibility, and I didn’t take adequate care with her. I should have known everything about her medically before I put her in a cage. Before I fucked her. The excitement of the past few days has made me careless. I pull out my phone and open her file, reading carefully.
By the time I finish, I want to strangle Quinn. Numerous reports from the hospital of her getting admitted after taking drugs. Ecstasy and coke. According to the doctors’ notes, the exact worst things you can do if you have Brugada syndrome. She might have damaged her heart permanently, and for what? It looks like she was pretty sensible until six months ago, then went way off the rails.
If the useless bloody Gilda hadn’t grabbed her by mistake, she’d probably have ended up dead. She’s got zero chance of that with me around. Drugs are available in the Compound to the Brothers that want them. Some swear by microdosing LSD; others like to pretend they’re cartel lords and throw parties with bowls of charlie on the table.
I’ll make sure Quinn doesn’t get her hands on any of it and keep her drinking in check as well. She’ll be healthy if it damn well kills me.
“Jacob?” Her voice is softer than normal, without its usual acidic bite. God, I like hearing her say my name like that.
I force myself to smile down at her, though part of me wants to berate her for her behavior right away. “If you wanted out of the cage that badly, you could have just asked. No need to be so dramatic.”
She smiles weakly, then looks down at the sticky pads on her chest and the beeping monitor. She sighs, face falling. There’s a moment when she looks much older than she is, sadness and exhaustion heavy on her face. She meets my gaze again. “At least I don’t have to worry about the medical bills here.”
“That’s right. I’ll add it to your tab and take it out of your arse. Don’t worry.”
I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to make her laugh. I’m not exactly known for my sparkling sense of humor. But I hate the heaviness hanging over her. It doesn’t suit her.
She yawns and plucks at one of the pads. “Can you get these off me?”
“I’ll check with the doc.”
Five minutes later, I’m pulling the pads off her chest, accompanied by her squeaked complaints. I tap a finger to her lips. “Shush. Stop being such a wimp.”
Her mouth drops open as soon as I remove my finger. “I’m not a wimp.”
“Really?” I pull off the second to last pad, and she winces. “Could have fooled me.”
“It’s sore. I’m hungry. I’ve had enough of this endless fucking day.”
I ignore her and pull off the last pad. “All done. Sit up. You can wear my dressing gown back home.”
“Great. I get to look like a geriatric.” She sits up despite her grumbling, moving obediently as I slide her arms into the sleeves and tuck it around her.
Christ. That grumpy face. Her messy hair. The way she disappears into my oversized gown. There’s something dangerously adorable about her, and my heart does a painful twist in my chest.
It’s a pang of guilt for my negligence, mixed with the desire to tuck this girl up somewhere safe and keep her there forever. I feel like I stepped on a kitten and now have to nurse it back to health.
I might be in some deep shit.
“Earth to Jacob? Can we go? I hate hospitals.”
I smile and pick her up. She wriggles against me. “Never thought you’d be so anxious to get back to my bedroom.”
That shuts her up.
Soon, she’s in my bed, eating toast. I watch every crumb as it drops onto the sheets and force myself not to react. She’s hungry. I can clean it up later. The blue circles under her eyes stand out stark against her pale skin, and a yawn overtakes me, too.
I’ve closed the blinds to try and pretend the sun isn’t rising. It’s going to be a very busy day, and I need at least a couple of hours of sleep before facing it. I can go days without rest if I have to, but I’m out of practice.
Quinn finishes her food then drops the plate carelessly on the floor and turns on her side. I need to housetrain this bloody girl. She watches me as I brush up her crumbs and collect the plate, taking it to the kitchen.
“You’re a clean freak.”
It’s a statement, not a question, and I don’t deny it. I don’t have many memories of my mum’s house, but I remember the smell. Every time I walk past an open dumpster, I get a flash of recollection. I remember picking through junk on the floor, hunting for a lost ball. The carpet, filthy with ground-in food.
It must have stuck with me, because I’ve always liked things tidy.
“You’re right. I am. And you’ll learn to be, too, or I’ll dress you in a maid’s uniform and make you clean this place top to bottom until you get the point.”
What a sexy image. My dick starts to stiffen, but I will it to stop. Down, boy. Not now. Quinn snorts and buries herself in the covers. I get in next to her, pick up her collar, then think better of it. Just this once. I don’t think my wounded kitten will be scratching me tonight.
Quinn grumbles but doesn’t say anything as I wrap my arm tight over her, settling her into my body.
I lay the flat of my palm against her chest, feeling the beat of her heart. A nice, steady pulse. Quinn stiffens. “What are you doing?”
“Just checking.” I relax, resting my palm against her stomach. “You get the best of everything now, Quinn. Better medicine than you’d get at the Mayo Clinic. That heart of yours is going to learn to behave. It won’t stop beating unless I fucking tell it to.”
***
The next day, Eve and Gabriel come to babysit Quinn, under strict instructions to keep her resting and away from any alcohol. A horror movie marathon was mentioned which, surprisingly, all three of them seem happy with. I’m pissed I can’t join in, and my mood doesn’t get any better as the day drags on.
As I predicted, our leads on the bloke who hired Barry fizzle out in a dead end. The Gilda bring in his associates, but all they know is an anonymous person posted on the dark web for a hitman. He paid a deposit with the rest promised on completion of the job, but the funds came from an encrypted account.
As I head toward Hadrian’s lab, I’m twitchy, my skin clammy. This has been a waste of a day. I’m making no progress with my research, Quinn is with my friends instead of me, and it’s all this mystery bastard’s fault.
Plenty of people have cause to hate me, but these sneaky, cowardly methods are pissing me right off. I want to punch someone, but I’ve got no target in front of me. When I find the tosser who’s disturbing my first few days with Quinn, I’ll smash him into next week.
Hadrian’s lab is in a separate building dedicated to those who need vast amounts of computing power. Beneath the building, in a huge supercooled bunker, is a supercomputer to rival the best in the world.
Seb’s office is here too, but he’s not working today. Shaken from the attack, he’s chosen to have a quiet day to himself. When I called to check on him, he sounded like he’d been on the sauce for a while. Can’t say I blame him.
I pause outside the opaque door to Hadrian’s lab, breathing deep before I press the buzzer. I can’t come in here like a raging bull—he’s got his own work to do and is doing me a favor. Not that Kendrick gave him much choice in the matter. The door slides open.
Hadrian’s lab is tiny compared to mine and devoid of everything except ten PC screens facing each other in a circle, each with an empty chair facing the screen. A desk with three monitors, a mouse, and keyboard sits in the middle. A VR device hangs on a stand next to it. No visible PC towers—everything is linked to the supercomputer downstairs.
It’s quiet and eerie. There’s almost no color in the white room. I jump as the screen directly facing the door flickers on. A face appears. A pretty woman in her mid-thirties with red hair tied up in a ponytail. Freckles decorate her cheeks, and the corners of her green eyes move as she gives me a welcoming smile.
“Jacob. Lovely to meet you. I’m Candice. Hadrian just stepped out for a minute. He’ll be along shortly. Please, have a seat.” She looks down, indicating the seat in front of her screen.
“Ah…” I’m not usually lost for words, but this is right out of my comfort zone. My instinct is to ignore the avatar, but her pleasant, expectant expression and the very human way her eyes blink as I stare at her makes it feel almost rude to do so.
I take up the spot facing her. It. My back prickles at the feeling of being watched by the screens behind me. If they all come to life at once, I’m getting the hell out of here.
“How has your day been so far?” Candice has a slight accent, mostly US but with a bit of something else mixed in. Scottish? It makes me want to ask her where she’s from, though, of course, that’s ridiculous.
“Long,” I answer instead. “If Hadrian’s going to be a while, I’ll come back.”
“You don’t need to worry.” She looks over my shoulder. I turn, but there’s no one there. Another shiver creeps up my spine. “He’s almost here.”
The next moment, the door slides open, and Hadrian enters. He looks tired, eyes shadowed, but then again, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him looking bright and cheery. Maybe that’s just his face. He glances between me and Candice, a crease forming between his brows. “Candice. I didn’t tell you to let anyone in here.”
She smiles, and I swear to fucking God there’s mischief in it. “Oh, I know. But I scanned his biometrics, and I knew you were expecting him for a meeting. I made the call that you’d want me to politely greet our guest.”
He studies her, thoughtful. “A fair call, but next time, check with me first, okay?’
“No problem.” She rolls her eyes at me and lowers her voice. “He’s such a worrywart.”
Jesus. Running for the door is looking more attractive by the second.
“Ignore her.” Hadrian seats himself at the main desk. “I’ve made some progress, but not as much as I hoped. Whoever did this is a high-level hacker. The bots they used to make the posts are quite sophisticated.”
“Hardly,” Candice interrupts.
“That’s enough,” Hadrian shoots back absently, as though he’s used to this sort of interaction. “They respond to basic inquiries and have been programmed well enough to further their goal of incriminating you, though any complex questioning is too much for them. From analyzing the phrasing they use, I’d say your culprit is British, thirties or forties. Not a kid.”
“Thanks. That’s actually very helpful.” Someone from back home. Probably not a competitor.
“No problem. And you’ll be pleased to know my creations have done their work of exonerating you. They’ve given enough counterviews to make it clear this was a witch hunt.”
Bots arguing with bots. Is anything on social media real? I give it a wide berth, only using it when I can’t avoid it. This shit just hammers home why.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
Hadrian meets my gaze and smiles. It’s a nervous, quick expression, as if he doesn’t do it much. “No problem. This sort of thing is good practice for them.”
“Did you have a chance to look into the dark web account that put out the call for a hit?”
“Still working on that one. It’s a sewer in there. I should have some news for you in a couple of days.”
I nod, trying to keep the frustration from my face. I’ll have to wait, and that’s that. I say goodbye to Hadrian and Candice—Christ, I can’t stop thinking of her as a real person—and head toward home. I check my phone to see Gabriel has sent me a picture of Eve and Quinn together under a blanket, their eyes wide.
Gabriel: She’s not so bad. Might be a good friend for Eve once she settles. I put on The Descent for them, and Eve is freaking out. Quinn keeps messing with her.
The message makes me smile. I’m glad they’re all getting along, and I can’t wait to join them. A horror movie sounds good, followed by kicking Eve and Gabriel out and fucking Quinn senseless. The doc says it’s safe, so it's happening tonight.
My phone rings, and I wince when I see it’s Grandad. I haven’t called him since Quinn arrived, and he’s probably pissed with me. Fair play if he is. I answer. “All right? Took some time off banging Mrs. Belkins next door to give me a call, did ya?”
A long pause. “Hello, my boy.”
I stop dead. Something’s wrong. My gut churns, bracing for the bad news. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Ruth.” My little sister. She’s three years younger than me, and still lives in London.
“What? Spit it out, Grandad.”
“Some cunt pushed her in front of a tube train. She’s not dead, but it crushed her leg. They’ve had to amputate.”