Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SIMON
Iswiped the towel over my neck and forehead, collecting the sweat dripping from me. I needed reprieve, and I found it in the early morning at the hotel’s gym.
Working out until I was a puddle of nothing, I continued until the burn turned to a dreaded numbness. Pushing myself past the limits I knew I probably should, I continued until Thorne wandered in, his demons plastered on his face.
Even though he was my former commander, he had always been much more than that.
He was my friend and closest comrade, someone I looked up to for his resilience and strength.
While his walls were impenetrable, it was impossible not to notice when something was off, and he’d been different this entire trip.
He elected not to speak or acknowledge me, and I didn’t push him as we both finished our workouts. Nothing but shallow pants filled the room.
Resting my head on my forearm, I leaned over, legs still on the bike after cycling almost ten miles. I was hoping it would erase the monotonous thoughts of Liam, but nothing seemed to dull the ache in my chest or quiet the nightmare-fueled thoughts in my head.
Blowing out a shuddered breath, I twisted to glance at Thorne, who was equally sweaty, yet somehow still collected.
“Do… Do you ever struggle? Jesus, I’m dying and you… You look like a magazine cover.”
Reaching for his dumbass earbud connected to a wire that went around the back of his neck, like the ancient human he was, he plucked it free. “What?”
Huffing, I raised a shaky hand. “You. Not struggle. Look… Look like a magazine cover,” I rasped through fits of coughing.
“You really need to work on your cardio, O’Neill.”
Laughing between bouts of stuttered inhales, I shook my head. “God, not everyone is built like you. You’re a fucking warrior—”
“Yeah, because what choice do I have?” he practically muttered. “I worked for everything I am. My position. My physique. All of it. It’s not like it was just handed off to me on a silver platter.”
Wrapping my fingers around the bike’s handles, I leaned back. “I’m fully aware you weren’t given a choice, Thorne. Nothing was handed to you on a silver platter, and you worked, well, still work hard to maintain it.”
“Again, because what choice do I have?” He slowed his pedaling, pushing himself off his bike.
“There may not always be a choice, but there never has to be a time that choice is made alone, you know. Liam always says that sometimes we’re stuck on a never-ending cycle, like a merry-go-round, but we can always choose who joins us on the ride.”
He bit his bottom lip with a lack of amusement, his brows raising. “Mmm. Mhm.”
Sighing, I followed. “Look, I’m not the… best at these types of things, but I’m always here for you, man. You’ve always been there for me, especially now… with Liam gone, but I don’t know. I just appreciate you, and hope you know I would gladly do the same for you.”
“Thanks,” he replied with that monotonous timbre that came alongside his once-icy demeanor, which I thought we’d all successfully helped him escape from. “Appreciate it.”
“Hey, you… you okay?”
Biting my lip, I draped my towel over my shoulder. Moving to place my hand on his, a loud crack sounded, followed by more pops. I knew they belonged to one thing.
Gunfire.
Thorne’s eyes widened, immediate panic spreading over his features as his mind reared back to that day. Shoving me back behind one of the pillars, his order came through bared teeth.
“Stay the fuck there, and hold the fuck still.”
“Yes, sir.” It flowed through me immediately, that chain of command still embedded in my system.
He moved—no, stalked through the gym, planting himself beside the door as he peered out the small, rectangular window.
Snatching a thirty-five-pound plate from the rack beside him, I caught the shift in his stance, one that indicated an impending infiltrator.
Those echoes grew louder, screams ceasing as chaos ensued outside the gym. Swallowing, I stood in the same spot, listening to his demand, wondering when—
The door slammed open, cracking against the wall as thudding footfalls breached the threshold. As soon as that booted foot stepped over Thorne’s established safe space, he swung the plate with ease, sending it sailing into the infiltrator’s face.
Bones snapped upon impact, but Thorne wasted no time. Shoving the man back, his fingers coiled around the rifle as a shot rang out, elbow colliding with the soldier’s jaw. With one yank, Thorne disarmed him, shattering the poor bastard’s trigger finger.
Second nature took over, his movements mirroring a fluid dance as he adjusted his grip on the gun and fired a shot into the man’s chest. Popping the magazine free, he checked the rounds before slipping it back into place with deadly precision.
“Let’s fucking move, O’Neill!”
“Yes, commander.” It slipped from my lips, and with a resounding nod, I followed him as I always would.
He slid from the training room with his back to the wall, keeping himself tucked in the shadows as we made our way to the stairwell. Prying the door open, he grabbed me by the back of my neck, shoving me inside first.
“Move. I’ll cover your back.”
Flicking my gaze upward, I grimaced. “Fuck. Shouldn’t… Shouldn’t have done all those miles.”
Taking a deep breath, I bolted up the stairs with Thorne on my heels. There wasn’t a second of hesitation in his steps, and I knew I had to ensure mine remained the same because his mind was fixated on one thing.
Oren.
It wasn’t only the skilled movements of his training that launched him forward, but a deep-rooted fear of what had occurred before—Oren’s near-death experience.
Slamming my palms into the metal push bar, the door to the eighteenth floor opened, but I didn’t step through, not until Thorne gave the signal.
Slipping from the stairwell, the hallways were empty, but blood coated the walls, and rooms were kicked in. We were on the opposite side of where our group of rooms were, and with each slide of my boot, my breath caught in my throat.
A massacre, that’s what this was. There was no rhyme or reason to the killing, simply an eradication to showcase Stefan’s gruesome nature.
Thorne’s breath hitched behind me, his panic palpable. Rifle trembling, he gestured forward, his throat bobbing with an intentional swallow.
I wanted to tell him it would be okay, that everyone was alright, but if it weren’t true… that would only add to his downfall. Stepping over another body, a sharp whistle cut through, the unmistakable crack of a gun echoing.
But it was the voice of his love that sent Thorne racing.
“Fuck!”
Rifle raised, Thorne took off in a sprint down the hall. I followed him, my gut stirring with unease.
Oren stood at the threshold of their room, breathing heavily as bodies littered the entrance. Gun trembling, he swiped at the crimson staining his cheek with the back of his hand. Snapping his cerulean gaze to Thorne, an immediate smile graced his features, even if it was shaky.
“B-Baby…”
As Thorne stepped past the next room, it was as if time slowed and moved faster all at once. Unable to process in time, the weapon was already aimed at him. With a quick pull on the trigger, the bullet was released, sinking into Thorne with a whistle I would never forget.
“Stefan sends his regards.” The man turned to me, raising his pistol once more. “You. Come with—”
Another shot sounded, but this time it was the masked assailant who dropped, blood dripping from his thigh as he screamed.
Matt kept his barrel pointing at the intruder, snarling. “I’ll fucking gut you! I’ll fucking make you wish that bullet had killed you!”
Dropping the rifle, Thorne’s hand traveled down to his stomach. Palming it once, he lifted it slowly, a thick layer of crimson coating his palm. He lifted his gaze to look between Oren and me, his body swaying once before he collapsed.
Oren was there instantly, hands pressing against the wound in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. “O-Oh God… Oh God… No… No. No. No.”
“S-Shit…” Thorne mumbled, the agony obvious in his timbre. “Levander… someone… needs to check on Levander…”
Matt stood frozen, eyes locked on the pool of Thorne’s life force seeping into the carpet. Swallowing the lump forming, I pointed a finger at him. “Matt. Levander.”
Blinking, he turned his attention to me. “What…”
“Levander!” I practically screamed, fumbling with my phone to call for help.
With one last look, he took off toward Levander’s penthouse, another set of worries lining his features.
While my phone rang, I brushed away the fallen tears on my face. “Oren. Oren, I need you to keep applying pressure.”
But he was sobbing, hands trembling as saltwater carved rivers into his cheeks. “No. Baby, no. I-I… It won’t stop. It won’t stop. Get it to s-stop, Sai.”
Thorne groaned, grabbing Oren’s hand. “Stop… Stop, dove… Look… Look at me…”
Lifting those cerulean irises to Thorne, his lip wobbled. “But… I need… need to stop it.”
The line clicked, a woman’s voice flooding through as I rattled off our location, briefly explaining the situation as I tried to maintain a level tone. Thorne… Fuck, he was dying.
Dying.
Skin paling with each passing second, he sank deeper into Oren’s arms. “I-I… I… I love you, dove… I need you… to stay strong for Simon, and help… help rescue Liam… It’ll be okay.” Lifting a shaking hand, he brushed his bloodied thumb over Oren’s cheek. “I promise… it’ll be okay…”
Resting his forehead against Thorne’s, Oren took his hand, interlacing his fingers. “Please… No. I can’t… can’t without you.” Another wail shook his body, the tremor wracking his frame.
Chest rattling, Thorne nestled closer, his lids fluttering. “I’ll always… be with… with you… I promise… I love…” His arm slackened, his chin dipping in toward Oren as his eyes slowly closed.
“I-I love… love you too…” Cradling Thorne’s head to his chest, he was still applying pressure to the wound with his other hand—a fruitless cause considering the amount of his essence coating Oren and the floor.
I watched in horror as Thorne’s breath stilled, his body going slack in Oren’s arms. My hold on the phone loosened as Oren immediately caught the shift, palm cradling his cheek.
“Baby?”
Shaking him gently, the horror slowly washed over his face at the realization that Thorne wasn’t breathing. Panic washed over my best friend, his breath sharp and rapid.
“No. No, no, no, you… you wake up. Please. Please!” Snapping his attention to me, his cry was guttural. “Sai, he’s not… he’s not breathing!”
Without waiting for my reply, he lowered Thorne to the ground, immediately tilting his chin upward as his lips sealed around Thorne’s.
Oren’s tears mixed with Thorne’s blood, each breath he pumped into him more futile than the last. Positioning his palms against his sternum, he pressed inward, but it had the opposite effect as crimson spurted from the wound.
Ripping his hand away, I turned to Oren. “Stop. You’re making it worse. You… You can’t because of the wound.”
Thrashing against me, he shouted, “Let me go! Sai, let me go!”
“The medics are on their way. Oren, they’ll be here soon.”
As if on cue, they stormed into the hallway, quickly approaching as Oren yanked himself from me.
“I-I need… I need to breathe into him. He…” His finger pointed at Thorne.
“He needs me. He… He… I love him.” His words came out broken, more desperate as the medics immediately attended to Thorne’s lifeless body.
Hauling Oren to me, I wrapped my arm around him. “I’ve got you… I’ve got you, Oren.”
Still fighting against me, I continued to hold him as Matt appeared, carrying an injured Levander. While everything descended into chaos, I clung to Oren, keeping him from blocking the medics, but also to prevent myself from rupturing because Thorne was dead.
I wasn’t sure there would be any way to revive him.