10. Ember
EMBER
HOSTAGE – BILLIE EILISH
When I was a kid, it was normal to watch Mum endure her own personal hell. Doctors. Needles. Prognoses. Countless packets of pills, endless prescriptions, CT scans, bleak news delivered in softly painted rooms. After a while, the terror of losing my only parent became workaday.
Then she died.
In that final act, my entire world came collapsing down. Tom was inconsolable. Despite being the younger sibling, I had to care for my big brother rather than mourn. It was easier to stuff that pain down. Lock it away. Silence the grief.
But I can feel it now.
I feel it fucking everywhere .
Grief and regret too overwhelming to successfully bury grip me as I stare at my brother’s pale face. I can’t lose him too. He’s all I’ve got left. My last family member.
I’d give anything to see his smile again. Hear his voice. Feel his hand squeezing mine back. It’s been three days of excruciating waiting, and there’s no end in sight. The fact that Carlos is dead provides little comfort.
Tom is stable for now, but while he’s on the mechanical ventilator, the ICU doctors are keeping him sedated. As far as we can tell, Luis locked him in a freezing shipping container, buried in the bowels of the cargo ship, after beating him stupid.
I’m thankful Luis is dead.
But I wish I’d been the one to kill him.
Between the severe pneumonia and numerous infected wounds, Tom’s recovery promises to be slow. I understand the ordeal he’s been through since he was kidnapped. But I still long for a single sign that he knows he’s safe and no one is going to hurt him again.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper through held-back tears. “If I’d known this would happen, I never would’ve come home. I hate that you’re hurt because of me.”
Nothing but mechanical whirring answers.
“I’ll make it right, Tom. I’m going to find Gael and all the others like him. I don’t care how long it takes or where I have to search… I’ll end this.”
My fingers clench over his. He’s cold to the touch. Still. So far from the warmth and unconditional love that I associate with my better half. Tom shouldn’t be here. He’s fighting for his life, and it’s so fucking unfair.
Gaze straying to Warner, I watch his chest slowly rise and fall. He’s finally dropped off, limbs awkwardly curled up. That visitor’s chair can’t be comfortable, but he’s strung-out and dead on his feet like the rest of us.
The solitude allows my tears to flow without fear of being seen. Warm dribbles trail my cheeks, stinging like the lash of a whip carving deep into my back. Even in the safety of St Thomas’s ICU, I hear the monster who’s done this to us.
I don’t have room for disobedient products in my business.
Gael sure bit off more than he could chew with the pair of us. Against the odds, we’re alive. Scarred and beaten but not yet broken. Not quite. I have enough left to seek vengeance for the suffering my big brother has endured.
Tears bite into my cheeks as I turn my back on Tom and Warner to stalk from the room, skin rippling with a fire-like itch to tear into the next person I lay eyes on. The Sabre agents assigned to Tom’s security instantly avert their gazes at my glare.
“Do not leave him unattended,” I snap.
The bald-headed agent dips his head. “Yes ma’am.”
“I’ll be back.”
“Do you need security?” his colleague asks.
“No I fucking do not.”
A ball of heartache too large to talk around lodges in my throat, causing my steps to speed up. I flee the ICU, white hallways and beeping heart monitor machines forming a blur around me. All I can feel is that damn lump.
My mind splits then reforms, swallowing the time it takes to break outside into the cool air. The strobe lights floating across my vision are back, growing brighter each time my skull pulses with pain.
“Move!” I growl at bystanders.
When a pregnant woman and her partner accidentally bump into me, I break away from the hospital’s main entrance to escape the hustle and bustle. It’s quieter down the side street where flagrant staff members smoke out of sight.
“He isn’t answering his phone. We should leave. Warner will call when he can.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I see him, Xan.”
“If he were hurt, we’d know about it.”
“You saw the news. There was a fatality!”
A nearby couple argues, leaning against the hospital wall. I spare them a glance through tear-clogged eyes, assessing their lack of uniform and plastic shoes. Not gossiping staff, then.
“Hudson already told you he’s here,” the white-haired man reasons calmly.
“As a patient or what?” His companion—a pacing, tattooed woman—snarls at him. “That son of a bitch didn’t tell me anything.”
“And you’re surprised by that?”
“I have a right to know!”
“Who are you?” I blurt.
Both gazes shift in my direction. Recognition fills the woman’s round hazel eyes, validating my suspicions. I tense upright, pulling out my phone in preparation to call for backup.
“You’re Ember.”
My trembling hand pauses. “You know me?”
“Warner talked about little else for the last six years.” She shrugs with a wry smile. “I heard you’re home.”
“Look, it’s been a long week, so excuse me for not feeling chatty. Tell me who you are, or I’ll have a squad of agents on your asses in seven seconds flat.”
“Seven?” Her friend frowns, appearing confused. “Bit slow. I could do all kinds of things to you in seven seconds.”
“Xander!” she hisses.
“What?” He seems utterly nonchalant. “It only takes two seconds to slit a human throat. Her backup would be useless in that situation, unless she decides to kill me first.”
I feel my brows climb to my hairline. “You think it would take me two seconds?”
“Maybe three.”
“Wow. Now I definitely want to slit your throat.”
“I’m being conservative. You appear injured.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence or there lack of,” I drawl sarcastically. “Seriously, who the fuck are you people?”
The tall, white-haired smart ass with slender limbs and frost-bitten eyes seems to catalogue every detail available to him as he spares me a bland smile.
“It’s encouraging that you don’t recognise us. At least there are some people left who haven’t seen the damn documentary.”
“I’m Ripley.” The girl steps forward, hands spread. “We’re here to see Warner. Hudson told me he’s here, but that prickly bastard slammed a classified lid down on my questions. I’m worried.”
Surprise punctures my chest. “You’re Ripley Bennet.”
“Shit.” Xander clasps the back of his neck. “She does recognise us.”
“Not you, dick.” I glower at him. “Your girlfriend.”
Ripley looks different than the vague image I remember from old news reports during Warner’s investigation. Harrowdean Manor was his defining case ten years ago. He helped dismantle a vast criminal conspiracy wrapped up in multiple psych wards across the UK, including Blackwood Institute.
“Is he okay?” Ripley wrings her hands.
“He’s fine.” I blink through another wave of dizziness. “The casualty was another agent on our secondary team. Warner’s upstairs with my brother in the ICU.”
Cursing, she tilts her gaze up to the sky for a pause. She’s relieved, I think. Warner’s relationship with Ripley has always been a bit of a mystery. He’s protective of his friend and her place in his life, rarely discussing the case once it was resolved.
“I’ll tell him to call you back,” I offer.
Xander nods, resting a hand on his girl’s shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Thank you for the throat-slicing debate. If I get it down to one second, I’ll give you a call.”
“It’s all in the wrist action.” He winks at me.
“Speaking from personal experience?”
“Are you?” Xander challenges.
Mouth closing, I shakily smile back at him. Yep. I see how they survived. The motley, fucked up family that Sabre Security seems to attract certainly doesn’t disappoint.
“I’d offer to take you upstairs, but Sabre’s got the ward locked down tight, and Warner’s asleep.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “I can pass the message along, though.”
“Thanks.” Ripley nods. “And I’m really sorry about your brother.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Turning away from them to head back inside, I halt at the sound of my name being called. Ripley has stepped forward to follow me, but she stops to rattle off some kind of address.
“What’s that?” I stare at her.
“My home studio. In case you want coffee or something stronger.”
It takes a second for me to find an adequate reply in my state of surprise.
“A coffee?”
“Or something stronger.” She hikes up a shoulder. “Looks like you could use it.”
“Right. Uh, thank you.”
She tucks a chunk of curls behind her ear. “I’m an okay listener, though I tend to zone out when I’m painting. Feel free to come talk to me though if the team drives you insane.”
“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”
“I hope so.” A grin stretches her lips.
With another nod, Ripley turns to snag Xander’s slender arm. My gaze catches on the rows of silvery, symmetrical scars that mark his visible skin. When I look up, he’s staring at me. Without an ounce of embarrassment. I try for another smile, and the corner of his mouth hooks up.
“See you around.” He loops an arm around Ripley’s neck and kisses her cheek. “Let’s go. Raine and Lennox are waiting for us.”
The pair walk off down the busy street towards the distant underground station. I watch Xander’s head turn on a swivel, always alert, monitoring their surroundings for any threats. He keeps a tight, protective hold of Ripley the whole time.
Huh.
Taking a few more minutes to calm down, I wait for my still-pounding heartbeat to settle a little before considering going back inside. My vision is wavering, the headache refusing to let up. Inside the hospital, I locate the shop, in search of coffee and painkillers.
“Were you making friends?”
The gruff rumble of Hyland’s voice startles me. “Jesus. Where did you come from?”
Towering over a magazine stand, he appraises me with a quirked brow. There’s a duffel bag over his shoulder and a grease-stained paper bag of food clasped in his hand. He looks showered and rested.
“Saw you outside.”