Chapter Fourteen
I LAY BACK DOWN ON THE DESK—trying to be obedient so they would do what I asked. It wasn’t comfortable. I would’ve preferred being unconscious again but...I wouldn’t let them out of this room unless they did what I commanded.
Whisper would be only too happy to provide the threats if they tried to be difficult.
Arching up on my elbows, I looked at the two doctors standing stiff and awkward by the door.
“Do it,” I hissed, interrupting the stagnant silence. “Remove them and you can go.”
With a heavy sigh, Harry and Roger shared a glance then moved to flank me on the desk.
“Lie down,” Roger ordered.
Having men this close to me. Men towering over me like they had when they’d inserted the very thing I wanted them to take out.
Fuck, it was hard.
Every part of me wanted to slaughter them, but...I gritted my teeth and lay back.
Grabbing my wrists, each doctor inspected a cuff, manipulating my arms almost in synchronisation. Wordlessly, they turned my palms up and down, studying the metal.
“Why do you have vascular access ports?” Harry finally asked. “Why one on each wrist? Why not in the usual place on the chest?”
Before I could reply—not that I had any intention of doing so—Harry pressed along the edge of the cuff. The skin had long since turned into scar tissue. His touch sent nasty vibrations right to my bones.
I fought the urge to kill him.
“You were bled regularly?”
I held his stare. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Permanent shunts like this can sometimes become fused with the vein itself.” Roger returned my hand to the desk.
“Without imaging, haemostatic gel, or a surgical team...” He straightened as if fortifying himself to give bad news.
“If we tried to remove them like this—in a room not equipped and with no emergency gear on hand—we could run the risk of rupturing.”
“So?”
“So?” Harry scoffed. “You’d bleed out in under a minute.”
“Wait.” Rook sucked in a breath. “It’s that dangerous?”
“I don’t care,” I hissed. “Just get it over with.”
“Your haemoglobin levels don’t match your blood volume,” Roger said, frowning at my arm. “You can’t afford to lose any more—”
“I’m not arguing with you.” My teeth ground together. “I’ll ask nicely one last time, then the panther will ask instead.”
Whisper helpfully exposed his fangs with a rabid snarl.
The two doctors tensed but Harry shrugged. “Hey, it’s your funeral. I’ll agree to remove the ports. But that thing in your chest? I’m not touching it.”
I went deathly still. “You don’t have a choice. That’s the most important part.”
“Anything dealing with the heart must be done in a controlled, sterile environment where we can monitor every vital you have,” Roger said, keeping a careful eye on Whisper.
“We’re not refusing to be awkward. It would genuinely be a life-threatening procedure, and your chances of survival would be negligible. ”
“Whisper—”
Whisper snarled and strode forward.
Roger rushed, “We don’t have ventilators to work your lungs while you’re under general anaesthesia. We don’t have imaging. We don’t have the necessary tools. It’s just not possible. Regardless of whether you order the cat to eat us alive or not.”
“I don’t think you understand. This is non-negotiable. I need it out of me. I need my heart back.”
Roger shifted closer, looming over me. “Then I might as well just kill you now and save us the stress of trying.”
Whisper hissed and stalked toward him.
I didn’t call him off.
“Fine.” Roger sagged. “Fine, alright? Tell that bloody beast not to bite me.” He pointed at the vitalsync core and the raw, angry skin around it. “May I?”
Nodding, I stared straight at the ceiling as Roger leaned closer.
My skin crawled as he inspected it from all angles, touching the green and red lights that were currently off, making me flinch as he prodded at the inflamed flesh that had never accepted the implant.
Perhaps that was the reason I burned all the time—my immune system was trying to melt it out of my body.
His touch spread wider, feathering out from the vitalsync as if he could trace the wires beneath my skin.
I held my breath, fighting the urge to rip his throat out—
Straps biting into my wrists and ankles.
The stink of antiseptic clogging my throat.
Hands.
Far, far too many hands pinning my shoulders as I thrashed and screamed.
I didn’t want to be here.
I missed my parents.
I wanted to go home.
Father said we’d go back soon.
He promised.
A man leaned over me in a mask and ordered them to hold me still.
He cut—
I choked as the past dissolved.
My muscles went rigid beneath Roger’s exploratory touch—my skin stinging as if I’d been flayed.
Whisper roared, picking up on my stress. Leaping forward, his muscles coiled to pounce.
“Don’t!” Jack-knifing upward, I shoved the doctor away and made eye contact with the livid panther. “I’m fine. It wasn’t him.”
His tail whipped, and for a second, it looked like he’d ignore me but—
“Come here, kitty cat,” Rook cooed softly. “Come on.”
Incredibly, his hackles smoothed and his body uncoiled. With a pitiful chuff, he slinked to her side.
Whispering something to the creature, Rook guided him to the small bench by the door where her rucksack waited.
Sitting down, she stayed there for a second before dropping to her knees and pulling Whisper close.
“I’ll hold onto the furry protection detail.
Just concentrate on what you’re doing. If there’s a way to get Lucien free from the cuffs and the pacemaker, then do it. But...please make it quick.”
Roger exhaled slowly and moved hesitantly back toward me. I had to admit, he had a good bedside manner. He never moved too fast, always methodical and calm. It granted me a false sense of peace that he could help me, even though I had no idea how.
“Grab that lamp, will you, Harry?” He pointed at the floor lamp with cream tassels.
Harry went to claim the fixture, dragging it into place directly over my face. Plugging it into a closer socket, he blinded me—drenching my chest with warm light as the vitalsync core glittered like treasure buried in my flesh.
Roger leaned in, close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath, his neck pulsating with every beat of his heart.
I suddenly felt very homicidal.
“What the hell is this thing?”
I let him study it, my entire body crawling.
“What does it do to you?” Harry asked, joining the investigation.
Balling my hands, I spoke through clenched teeth. “It drugs me.”
“No.” The older doctor shook his head. “No, that’s not possible. It would have to have a storage component and be regularly topped up to drug you. Did they top it up?”
I frowned. “No.”
“Well then. It’s not drugs.”
My mind raced.
What the hell did that mean?
How was Marcus hurting me all these years?
“But it feels as if my system is drenched with poison. Like venom is being injected directly into my nervous system. It knocks me out cold when it gets to a certain level.”
The two men shared a look. “That definitely correlates to how electromagnetic pulses can override the heart. It causes cardiac distress and is often described as burning agony.”
Rook made a soft noise that tugged at the very heart they discussed.
Doing my best not to look in her direction, I snapped, “How do you propose to stop it then?”
“I might have an idea.” Roger straightened his spine, working out a crick in his neck. “Or at least, I hope I do.”
“Can you remove it, after all?”
“Oh no.” He crossed his arms with a scowl, my blood morbidly bright on his white sleeves. “It can’t be removed. Harry and I are emergency surgeons. We’re capable of dealing with all kinds of trauma, but you need a cardiologist and probably a biotech specialist to survive that kind of procedure.”
My temper steadily rose. “Then what do you propose to do about it?”
“It can’t be removed but...perhaps I can disable it.”
“What does that mean?”
“I can see what you’re thinking, Roger, but are you sure it’s frequency based?” Harry asked. “Not chemical? Because if we get that wrong, we’ll kill him.”
Roger dragged a hand down his face, rubbing away his exhaustion. “There’s no reservoir. No ports. No refill mechanism.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not drug-mediated,” Harry shot back. “Microdosing could—”
“I don’t think it is. Look at the tissue response.” He angled the floor lamp a little further down my body, spotlighting my chest. “There’s chronic inflammation but no necrosis. Whatever this thing is doing, it’s signalling, not secreting.”
Harry frowned and crouched to see from another angle. “You’re saying it’s a weaponised pacemaker?”
“Sounds rather brutal.” Roger shuddered. “However, if it’s frequency-based then—”
“It can be disrupted,” Harry cut in.
“I was thinking frying it would be better.”
Harry’s gaze lifted slowly to Roger’s. “Defibrillation?”
Roger didn’t answer immediately. He just stared at the vitalsync core, jaw set, and eyes calculating. “A high-energy pulse could overload the transmitter.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Harry asked quietly.
Roger finally looked at me. “Then the current would arc through the myocardium. It would cause tissue damage and possibly induce fatal arrhythmia.”
“If you didn’t catch that,” Harry patted my bare shoulder. “It could stop your heart. Still keen to go ahead?”
“Ehhh...” Rook piped up from her spot on the floor with Whisper. “Maybe we should wait until—”
“Do it.” I refused to look at her. “I want it destroyed.”
Roger’s shoulders slumped, the weight of my choice settling in. “We’ll only get one attempt.”
“Then get it over with.”
For a second, he looked like he’d renege on his agreement but then he sighed. “Fine. But you can’t move while we work. And fair warning...all of it will hurt.”
“I’m used to pain and you have my word I’ll be as still as a corpse.”
With another heavy sigh, the doctor went to a black bag that was already packed and waiting by the exit. Rummaging for a while, he brought a bunch of tools and dumped them on the desk beside my waist.