Chapter 64
Austin
Something’s off .
As I slowly opened my eyes, I didn’t need my vision to clear to know the colorless room and beeping machine meant I was in the hospital.
The last thing I remember is Shepherd Security bursting into the warehouse and saving my life.
“Austin?”
My eyes focused on my brother at a glacial pace.
“Bryce?” I croaked.
“You’re awake.”
“Nina?”
“She’s in her room with Mary.”
“Where’s G?”
“If you mean Ryan Gibson, he’s standing outside Nina’s room. Your friend refuses to leave her side unless John is with her.”
He paused for a second, staring at my face as if trying to solve a puzzle.
“How are you feeling?”
The question had to be a joke; my left eye was swollen shut, and my lips were cracked and swollen. I could feel tape on my cheek when I talked, so I assumed I had cuts there. I’d been shot in the arm and I had God knows how many broken ribs. Not to mention, I’d taken a gunshot to the knee.
While I was aware of my injuries, I was mostly pain-free thanks to the morphine.
“Beat up,” I laughed.
“You almost died and you’re laughing?” Bryce asked.
“Come on, Bryce, you’re a cop, you should understand gallows humor.”
His eyes narrowed. “Apparently, so are you.”
Shit. What did I tell him?
“Unless, of course, you lied and you aren’t actually in the CIA.”
Fuck. How much did I tell him?
It was easy to hide my expression behind a grimace of pain as the morphine’s effect began to fade.
As my mind cleared from the drug induced haze, the memories of seeing my brothers and sisters returned.
“You were more talkative last time you woke up,” Bryce said.
“Too talkative, apparently.” As I recalled making the decision, I couldn’t find the regret and guilt that should have accompanied the memory.
“So it’s true?”
I sighed. “Yes, but you can’t tell anyone.” I gave him the party line.
“I won’t, but you should.”
“No, I shouldn’t.” It was one thing for Bryce to know, he carried a badge, but my other siblings didn’t need to know. Not yet. It was still too risky and would be until Gibson and I found every corrupt officer involved in the Singer case.
My left knee itched, so I reached down to scratch it.
“Don’t,” Bryce caught my hand. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
I’m not going to like this.
I looked down at my legs.
Empty space.
My brain refused to accept what my eyes saw.
I wiggled my toes.
I can only feel the right ones moving.
“Austin, the doctors tried, they really did,” Bryce waited for me to look at him. “But they couldn’t save your leg.”
I looked back down.
There’s nothing where my left foot should be.
“It’s gone?”
Bryce squeezed my shoulder.
“They had to amputate it, just above the knee.”
My left leg was gone.
My heart beat too fast.
My left leg is gone.
My breaths came too fast, but I couldn’t get enough air.
The alarm on my EKG sounded as memories flooded my mind, bringing with them pain and panic.
“Austin,” Bryce hit the call button on my bed. “You have to breathe.”
Two nurses ran into the room. Within seconds, morphine flooded my system, and I stopped caring that I’d lost my left leg.