CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
TY
A ll the pain I choked down last night blasts through me the second I open my eyes. My shoulder is stiff, my thigh burns, and my head pounds—an incessant thump, pulsing at my temples and along my brow bone. Everywhere throbs. But none of that compares to the phantom ache of my wife no longer wrapped around me.
The high-in-the-sky sun slices into the room, casting a golden glow. A hazy recollection of Rena waking me up for pain meds with Liam and Gage barking things at me sails through my mind. No idea when that was, but it wasn’t bright like this. I reach for my phone and note that it’s after one in the afternoon.
Fuck. That explains Rena’s absence.
Once I hobble around, quickly washing up and carefully shimmying into some comfortable clothes, I mosey out to the kitchen. My stomach is tangled in knots, upside down and threatening to expel the contents. Or lack thereof .
Liam is the first to greet me as I round the corner. “You look like shit, man.”
“I see that sensitivity training is paying off,” I quip.
He laughs while guiding me over to a seat at the kitchen table, and I loathe how weak my body feels.
“I’ll give you fucking sensitivity,” he volleys and heads toward the fridge. “I’m going to cook your broken ass breakfast. Well, lunch. Eggs. I can make scrambled eggs, and you can call it whatever the hell you want.”
“What I want is to hold my goddamn wife and for Gage to cook. I’m already nauseous. I don’t need you giving me food poisoning.”
He freezes with the egg carton balanced on his palm, cocking his head and taking me in. “Gage and Rena left. Remember?”
That effectively ejects me from my chair. I bolt straight to a standing position, nearly toppling from the momentum. “What the fuck are you talking about? Left where?”
Abandoning his meal prep, he saunters back to me. “She got her last assignment. Gage got a card too. They weren’t permitted to share the contents or communicate after departure, but they had to leave. I’m guessing KORT put Gage with her instead of you because you’re injured. Either way, we woke you up, gave you the option of tapping out or moving forward. You were in a lot of pain, but seemed lucid and were adamant that we could navigate this, as was your wife. And they were told to be in the air within three hours of receiving the card, so—”
“When was that?” I heave, bile scorching my esophagus with the question. “And in what universe would I ever approve of her being anywhere without me?”
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
She wasn’t supposed to be away from me. That was the deal. The only reason I was willing to participate in this twisted trial.
Crunch. Squeak. Blood. One wrong choice.
“It was nine thirty when we woke you up, and they left about two hours later,” he says, pushing me into the chair. “Sit the fuck down before you pass out. You’re green, for Christ’s sake. Far too wrecked to be looking after anyone. I’ll make you toast.”
Blood flow swishes against my eardrum. Something feels off. “Where?” I rasp, my throat raw.
“The plane’s destination says Chicago. I’m on top of this, Ty. I’ve got you. And our Little Moonshine is in good hands with the Big Guy.” He holds up a KORT envelope with my name scrawled across it and tosses it onto the table. “That came about ten minutes ago. I heard you moving around, so I waited.”
Wasting no time, I rip it open and pull out the card.
Tytan,
Your presence is required at The Table by nine p.m. Instructions will be given upon arrival.
“Knights are convening tonight,” I mumble, flicking the card. “If Rena and Gage are en route to Chicago, that’s probably where they’re going. Why would we be sent separately?”
He mulls that over, sticking bread in the toaster and staring at me. “I’m not sure. But I got called in hours before Celeste for her loyalty test.”
“This is the opposite,” I argue, my heart rate ratcheting higher.
“Well, we had to send a report of your injuries last night with the club’s master list because Gage and I weren’t permitted involvement unless something went wrong. So, maybe they’re giving you some extra time. Regardless, it’s still a fuck ton better than a task somewhere else. They’re all showing up for it, so no more shoot-outs or close calls. Homestretch.”
“Maybe.” The word floats out of me, but no confidence escorts it. And once everything starts crashing together in my head, I flick my gaze to his. “And executions. We often have an execution. We gotta go.”
After Liam forced me to eat his toast and something that resembled scrambled eggs, we grabbed our go bags and hustled to the private airfield. The flight time from Vegas to Chicago is roughly four hours, so we arrive a little early.
A foreboding twinge has had my stomach flipping all damn day. Last night, when I told Rena that the burn would hurt but we’d get through it, I never pictured us apart. KORT had honored my request with all the other tasks. So, this—separating us now—is significant. It’s the oil doused on the fields before the match is struck, sending those overgrown berry bushes into a heap of flames. I know it in my bones.
We stroll through the peaked wooden doorway of the ancient cathedral that sanctions the clandestine corruption of the cabal we’ve pledged our lives to, trading freedom and simplicity for clout and power. The drafty vestibule hisses with the whispers of old ghosts and apparitions that are anything but holy, warning me before I reach the welcoming table. Before I even brush my fingers over the envelope marked with my name, lying in the center of it.
The rustling of paper as I tear it open echoes around us so that even Liam’s breath hitches in his throat. And he’s not the one reading the words.
Final Task: Tytan
Sit in the sanctuary for a traitor’s execution. Participation may be required. If you speak, she dies.