4. Silas #2
“This better be good, Si.” His voice is rough with sleep.
“I need Reid. Jack’s in the hospital in Vancouver, and I need to get there now, and I can’t wait until morning for the next flight.”
The panic bleeding through my voice pisses me off, but I can’t control it. Not when it’s Jack.
“Give me five.” He hangs up, no questions or wasted conversation.
I push my foot on the accelerator, and the truck lurches forward, gaining speed in the deserted streets. The phone lights up next to me, and I answer.
“Tell me he can help.”
“He says he’ll be there in twenty. Wait for him at the gates.”
Relief surges through my body. “Thanks, Cal. I owe you.”
“Nah. You owe Reid, and trust me,” he laughs down the phone, “that fucker will make you pay.”
“I don’t care what he asks of me; I’ll give him everything I have if he just gets me to Jack.”
Callan laughs down the phone. “Careful, he might take it.” Then he hangs up, leaving me alone with the weight of what I’m going to find when I get to Vancouver.
* * *
I park outside the gates to Reid’s heliport and wait. I don’t have to wait long; five minutes later, he pulls up beside me. I follow him through the gates and park next to his truck. When I jump out, the night air bites straight through my clothes, but I barely feel it.
I follow him inside and open the doors as he starts prepping the helicopter.
I help him push it out onto the pad, and when he gives me the go-ahead, I climb in beside him, pulling on my headset.
The cockpit feels cramped, every inch of it pressing in, leaving me nowhere to escape the weight sitting heavy in my chest.
“This is going to be a quick trip,” Reid tells me through the headset. “I’ll refuel in Nanaimo, then we’ll make the hop to Vancouver. Should get there in just under two hours.”
I nod, barely acknowledging Reid before we lift into the night. Darkness swallows us almost immediately, the coastline stretching beneath us in a long, uneven line of scattered lights. Reid stays silent while I stare out the window, watching the black water disappear under us.
Now and then a cluster of lights breaks through the dark, but most of the flight passes in silence.
Not the comfortable kind; this silence is thick, heavy, filled with the same questions circling endlessly through my head.
Who did this to Jack? Why was he beaten so badly?
And why the hell had someone left him on a dead-end road to die?
We reached Nanaimo in a little over half an hour. The refueling stop feels painfully slow, every minute stretching while Jack lies in a hospital somewhere in Vancouver, alone and broken. As soon as we’re airborne again, I settle back into my seat and fix my gaze on the darkness outside.
“So, Silas. Tell me what happened to Jack.”
I drag a breath deep into my lungs and hold it for a moment before slowly letting it go.
“Sounds like he was beaten pretty badly and left for dead on a dead-end road. Some young couple found him.” I keep my eyes on the water below because I don’t think I can look at Reid while I say the rest. “He’d been abandoned. ”
“Do they think he was mugged? Police involved?”
“I don’t know much. All I know is that he was beaten badly.” My throat tightens. “He’s got a concussion, bruised and fractured ribs, and God knows what else. They’ve got him sedated.”
Reid doesn’t respond immediately. I glance over at him and find his eyes fixed on the instruments in front of him. I turn back toward the window, swallowing against the pressure building in my throat.
Questions hit hard as Reid flies me toward Jack. What if I don’t get there in time? Who the hell did this to him?
And who the hell dumped him there?
The last question hits something deep, and a wave of rage tears through my chest. I don’t even realize I’ve clenched my hands until Reid reaches across and lays his hand over mine, steadying me before I spiral any further.
“He’s going to be okay, Si,” he says quietly. “He’s a strong kid, you’ll get him back.”
His hand leaves mine, but the warmth remains for a moment.
“I hope you’re right, Reid.”
“He’ll be okay.”
I nod, even though I don’t know if I’m agreeing with him or trying to convince myself.
The lights of Vancouver eventually appear on the horizon, spreading across the darkness in a glittering web of yellow and white. My heart kicks harder as we get closer, each kilometer dragging me toward Jack and whatever condition I’ll find him in.
Nerves suffocate me, twisting into dark thoughts.
Reid’s distorted voice comes through the headset. “I’ll get you as close to the hospital as I can.” He turns his head to me. “But ya might have to run the rest of the way or grab a rideshare.”
I nod and turn my head to the city beneath us. The roads have become ribbons of light, with cars moving through them despite the hour. It’s almost three in the morning, yet the city still carries on as though it doesn’t know it should be asleep.
“Hospital coming up,” Reid says, pointing to my right. I follow his gaze and spot the building rising above the surrounding streets. I look out as the car park comes into view.
“Looks like you don’t need to walk.” Reid circles the car park, finding it empty. “I’ll circle and then land, Rook. When I land, it’ll be a hot exit, so no fucking around.”
I huff a laugh at what he has suggested. “Fuck, you really are a cowboy.”
I smile quietly at the nickname. I was given it not long after my first deployment. Everyone thinks it’s short for Rookie, or named after the bird. But it isn’t.
I was on base sitting in the sun playing chess when a guy sat down and asked if he could play. We played, and I won the game with a checkmate from my rook. Ever since then, I was Rook. One of the strongest pieces on the board. It’s restricting, strategic, and like me, dominant.
I barely have time to process his words before Reid has circled the car park and, because apparently the man has absolutely no regard for someone who might want to keep his aviation license, he brings the helicopter down, landing gently.
The moment the skids touch the asphalt, I rip off my headset, shove open the door, grab my bag, and jump out. I glance back once as Reid lifts away again and give him a quick salute before turning, running toward the hospital entrance.
I don’t waste time wondering what the staff are going to think about a helicopter landing in their car park; they can deal with Reid. Right now, I need to get to Jack.
* * *
The nurse leads me through the Emergency Department and down the hallway, stopping outside a door. She touches my arm gently. “You need to be aware, Mr. Thorne… Jack is pretty banged up. Physically, he doesn’t look good. I just want to bring that to your attention before you go in.”
I look at her hand, then her face. “Thanks for the warning, but I’ve seen bad before.” I push the door open, and the sight of Jack hits me so hard it stops me dead in my tracks. A small sob rips out of me, raw and broken, and I take my first step toward my broken boy.
Jack looks like he’s been put through a meat grinder.
His face is covered in dried blood. Bandages cover the worst of it, but blood—bright red—has seeped through the white bandages, stark red and shocking.
His cheekbone and eye socket are clearly broken, both eyes swollen almost completely shut.
Purple and black bruises spread across his torso in ugly patches, making it hard to find a single place untouched by violence.
His throat is badly bruised, a thick band of purple slashing across it, and thick white bandages wrap his hands and arms.
I move to the chair beside the bed, and taking his hand gently in mine, I sit down slowly, unable to take my eyes off him.
I’ve seen men injured before, and I’ve seen what bullets, knives, and fists can do to a body.
I’ve watched people bleed and helped put soldiers back together.
But none of it prepares me for seeing Jack lying motionless beneath hospital sheets.
The nurse had told me that the IV is carrying warm fluids into his veins to help combat the hypothermia, and I listen to Jack’s heartbeat from the monitor beside him, telling me he’s alive as it continues its steady rhythm.
I sit there listening to it, watching the numbers change and settle, needing the constant reminder that he’s still alive.
The nurse comes back into the room, and I watch as she checks Jack’s vitals. While she does that, I step into the hallway to call CJ, who answers on the first ring.
“How is he?”
“Stable.” I drag a hand through my hair, staring through the small window in the door at Jack. “But fuck, CJ, he’s a mess. Whoever did this to him worked him over pretty good.”
“He’s going to be okay, Rook,” CJ says.
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “He’s going to be here for a few days. Once they release him, I’ll hire a car and bring him home. Is Hale okay with you until then?”
“Yeah, he’s no problem. He’s still asleep.”
Relief loosens something in my chest. “Good.”
We talk for another minute before I end the call and head back into Jack’s room.
The nurse finishes and leaves us alone again, and I sit beside the bed staring at him for a long moment before reaching for his hand.
His skin feels cold against mine, and I gently close my fingers around his and lower my head until my lips rest against his knuckles.
“Wake up, dove,” I whisper. “Please wake up.” My chest aches as I look at him, and I squeeze his hand gently, careful not to disturb the IV. “I’m not letting you go, dove.”
As I sit there, I form a plan. First, I’m getting Jack home, and I’m going to make him tell me who did this to him.
And then?
I’ll make sure the fucker screams for mercy before I slit their throat.