Chapter Thirty-Three - Ryder
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ryder
Everything hurts.
Or maybe it doesn’t.
Hell, if I know at this point.
I hate being conscious.
Sleep isn’t much better, but wakefulness in a zombified state is a fate worse than death—which is somehow a thought my slow brain can process.
Another fun thought my brain has held onto is that this can’t be the worst of what’s coming for me. I’m trapped—I know that much—but despite feeling like my days are timeless and endless, I know it’s only transitional.
Whatever fate awaits me will be worse still.
There’s the déjà vu that comes every time I process the same thoughts on a loop, but what else can I do?
Oh yeah, wish for death.
It’s not a pastime I’m proud of, but, you know, limited options and such.
There’s something so morbid in being trapped inside your head, wishing you’d die already so the torment can be over. The real kicker is when my brain entertains the idea that this is death.
Wouldn’t that be a stupendous revelation?
A faint click of the doorknob has become my personal form of heroin, and I await the measured footsteps that always follow. I’ve finally reached a mental capacity to know this routine, which I’m counting as a win just because I can.
First, the voice will say…
“Open,” I hear, right on time.
This time, I’m able to find my mouth and do it. Sometimes I can do that, others I can’t. Maybe one day I’ll know why that is, but right now, I’m just proud to identify the liquid flowing down my throat as water.
And right about now…
Like clockwork, the liquid goes from cool and thin to warm and thick.
Soup, I’ve decided, though I can’t pinpoint what kind.
Then…
The pressure around my wrists and ankles loosens, and I wish I could find the will to stretch them. I can’t. So, I just follow as the hands pull me up. An arm wraps around my waist, and I know exactly where we’re going.
The bathroom.
I sit on the toilet, then move to the shower, just like all the other times.
Surprisingly, I keep my small dose of consciousness through the whole shower. I even think whoever is doing this to me brushed my teeth while I was in there.
Weird.
I’m seated, dried, and clothed before the hands guide me back to wherever I’m being kept.
A chair?
I hear a light clink of glass and am filled with unease. With all my strength, I locate my mouth and force the words out.
“Don’d,” I slur, barely audible, let alone distinguishable. I try again. “Don’d do hit.”
“I wish I didn’t have to,” is all I hear before I feel the cool liquid going into my veins.
Come on, brain, at least give me something to think about.
My brain—the cruel traitor it is—does.
38 Weeks Along
The anger from Rachel’s solo trip to the garden is long gone—replaced by the most abundant sense of joy and excitement.
“It’s too soon!” Rachel says for the hundredth time in the thirty-second car ride to the base.
“Dr. Cane said a perfectly healthy baby could be delivered two weeks early. There’s nothing to worry about,” I answer, also for the hundredth time.
“My mom, grandma, and great-grandma all went into labor on their due dates.”
“And my dad left before I was born—we’re making new family traditions.”
“Ha ha. Very funny,” she says dryly.
I park the car at the same time Alec bursts through the doors with a wheelchair. “I got it! I got it!”
“Over here,” I say, gesturing to Rachel’s door, and he brings it over immediately.
We get her in the chair and set off down the long corridors of the base. I’m not sure if Rachel notices the soldiers’ wide eyes that are glued to her, or maybe she’s become used to them. Either way, she doesn’t pay them any mind, and I love how unbothered she is.
“Ugh,” she groans.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, leaning down to be closer to her.
I’m not sure I’ve smelled anything as intoxicating as her vanilla shampoo.
“I just remembered how she’s about to come out of me, and I’m not particularly looking forward to the process.”
I laugh, and her shoulders loosen at the sound. “You’re going to do great, Rebel.”
After what feels like an eternity, we get to Dr. Cane’s office. He’s already set up and ready for our arrival.
“Miss Lance, how are you feeling?” he asks, and even in the state of panicked joy that we’re in, his voice is laced with calm.
I knew I liked this guy.
“Nervous,” she admits.
His smile is warm. “There’s no need to be.” He gestures to the machinery around him. “Everything here is state-of-the-art. I have no doubt this will be an exceptionally smooth birth. Can we help Miss Lance up?”
I help pull her to a standing position, and the doctor hands her a hospital gown.
“We’ll step out so you can change,” Dr. Cane says, and he and Alec step out of the room. They both give me a brief, expectant look, and if I didn’t have both hands on Rachel, I would’ve flipped them off.
“I can change on my own, you know,” she says once we’re alone, but there’s no real conviction in the words.
I lower to my knees, pulling her pants down gently.
“Why let you, when I can do it so much better?” I ask and decide then—as her face pulls into a wide smile—that I will spend the rest of my life making this woman laugh.
The rest of my life… funny how that doesn’t sound long enough.
I help Rachel change and open the door for the doctor and Alec once she’s covered.
I lift her onto the bed and press a kiss on her forehead. “Still light as a feather.”
“Oh, hush,” she mutters with a breathless laugh.
“Now what?” I ask.
“I’ll do an exam to see how far along she is, but then it’s just a waiting game.”
I point to the door. “Out,” I order Alec.
“Be nice,” Rachel mumbles from beside me.
Alec holds his hands up. “Not offended. I’ll be right outside,” he says as the door shuts behind him.
“Ah, ah,” Rachel’s gasps have me rushing to take her hands in mine.
“What’s wrong, Rebel?”
“Just doesn’t feel the best,” she says, face contorting.
“Just keep breathing,” Dr. Cane tells her, lifting his head from the other side of the table. “Miss Lance, you’re already five centimeters dilated. I have a feeling this is going to go by very quickly.”
“Is that a good thing?” I demand, not sure if I should be relieved or worried.
“For her, it is,” he says.
Rachel squeezes my hand, and when I look down, a light sheen of sweat is already covering her face.
“Do you need ice chips? An ice pack? A fan?”
She lets out a laugh that turns to deep breathing as another wave hits her.
“I’m okay,” she says, breathing through the pain.
Pride swells in my chest at Rachel’s unwavering strength—and she hasn’t even started pushing yet.
“You’ve got this, Rebel. Little Delilah is going to be a breeze.”
“Little Lynette,” she corrects, then pauses before shaking her head with a faint smile. “What about Lyla? A mix of their names.”
“Lyla,” I whisper, and something in my chest warms. “I love it.”
Rachel’s lips press together as she tries to control her emotions. “Lyla Bates.”
“You’re giving her my last name?”
She nods, and I wonder if my heart could feel fuller.
That’s when the lights go out.
Rachel’s grip on my hand turns bruising. “Ryder? What’s going on?”
Every killer instinct in me is screaming, and I pull my phone from my pocket to cast light in the room, and Dr. Cane does the same.
“I have no idea,” I tell her honestly.
A power outage isn’t something that just happens to a place like the base. We have a military-grade system and backup generators.
The fact that they haven’t kicked in yet is a bad sign.
“Mr. Bates, is there a way to find out what’s going on?” Dr. Cane asks, voice tight but still very much collected.
My phone rings, and I bring it to my ear at the same time the base’s alarm system goes off. The ear-piercing blare slices through the room with blade-like brutality, and Rachel winces in protest, bringing her hands to cover her ears.
“Moreno?” I shout into my phone.
“The base is under attack,” he shouts back.
The base is under attack.
Now, of all times?
When the woman I love is giving birth to our daughter?
My mind races through the facts.
Rachel is in labor.
This baby is coming fast.
Dr. Cane needs his equipment to deliver my child safely.
The power is out.
The base is under attack.
Every meeting where I protested Mason’s arrival at the base flashes through my head. Every time I insisted he wasn’t safe for Rachel to be around, I was ignored.
What are the odds that the base would be attacked the exact same day that Mason Consoli gets here?
At the exact time that Rachel goes into labor?
I have to protect her. I have to eradicate this threat and ensure no one touches Rachel or our child.
I will do whatever it takes to protect them—even if that means doing the last thing on earth that I want to.
The words feel like acid in my mouth, but I say them anyway. “I’m on my way.” And I hang up the phone.
“What?” Rachel shrieks, somehow louder than the alarms.
“The base is under attack. I need to handle this so you and the baby are safe.”
I place a kiss on her forehead, and Rachel grips my arm so hard her fingernails draw blood. “Ryder,” she says, voice rough as a gravel road and just as dry. “Please don’t leave me right now. I can’t do this by myself.”
“I’ll be right back,” I insist, gently tugging out of her hold.
“Please!”
“Miss Lance, I need you to remain calm,” Dr. Cane tries, but she ignores him.
Tears stream freely down Rachel’s face, mixing with the sweat that mats her hair to her forehead.
“Ryder, I am begging you. Please, don’t leave me,” she pleads, voice breaking on the last word.
It takes everything in me to go to the door.
“I promise I’ll be back once it’s safe,” I say, then open the door and race down the hall to find and kill Mason Consoli.