Chapter Twenty-Six
Harley - Present Day
If there’s one thing I can say about my cousin, it’s that she’s a force of fucking nature.
She gets an idea or a plan in her mind, and you’re just along for the ride, hoping she lets you in on your role before it needs to be executed.
But I love that about her. She doesn’t discriminate.
A survivor is a survivor, and they all deserve a chance.
Before I know it, our head security guy, Xavier, or X, as he prefers to be known, is walking through the door with a look on his face that says he means business. Either that or he’s pissed off he’s been called out to work on his day off.
“This better be good. I was just getting to the part in The Vampire Diaries where Elena and Damon get it on,” he moans as he slumps into one of the chairs.
“I was about to offer you a coffee considering you look half dead yourself, but you’re Team Elena and Damon? What a fucking traitor. Lools, we need a new security guy.”
“Don’t look at me. I’m Team Why Choose, so what are you gonna do with me? Replace me and all?” She laughs.
“As if anyone could ever fill your size eight shoes.” She hates it when I tease her about her shoe size.
“Do you want my help or not? I’m sure I can find something else to occupy my spare time.” She stares at me pointedly.
I hold my hands up in surrender.
“X, Harley needs our help. His girlfriend is missing. Well, she’s been checked into a mental facility by her abusive mother, and we need to get her out.”
“Playing with your patients, are you, Harley? How unprofessional of you.” He sniggers like a dickhead.
“One: she’s not my girlfriend, she’s a patient. Two: patient, singular; I’ve never crossed that line in my entire career. And three: technically, she isn’t my patient, yet.”
“You have paperwork that says differently, Little Cousin,” Lools interjects.
“No one asked you. This is a purely professional situation. I just want to make sure she’s safe and help her to heal.” I hope I sound more convincing than I feel.
“Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that. I believe you; thousands wouldn’t.” My face contorts, and X looks smug at my reaction.
“Gotcha.” He chuckles.
“You’re a fucking asshole, do you know that?” It’s a rhetorical question, but I have no doubt he won’t be able to help but answer it.
“Actually, I do. It’s a status I am very proud of. You sound a tad defensive, though, bro. Probably should see someone about that.”
“Both of you, fuck off. What’s the plan?”
We sit there for hours examining the blueprints of the property, scouring reviews for hidden information, reaching out to former patients, and manage to come up with some semblance of a plan to get in, get Quinn, and get out.
The downfall is we can’t do it for a few more days because we need to recon first. Which means stopping her from being subjected to the ECT therapy isn’t guaranteed, and that fucking terrifies me.
Stephanie Jones is not to be messed with.
She may have the title of doctor, but caring about her patients is not something she’s capable of.
Patients are projects for her. A means to an end for funding and money in the bank ready for retirement.
The things I’ve already seen her do are things I would never want to subject anyone to, and if she has free will at that facility to make her own decisions and treatment plans, I would go as far as to say that most of those patients definitely don’t need to be there.
The situations she put me in, I still have nightmares about. Situations I wasn’t trained for and consequences I’ve struggled to live with.
Before I know it, I look over at the clock, and it’s the next day.
It’s been three days since I heard from Quinn.
Three days of not knowing what she’s going through and whether I’ll ever see her again.
Three days of hoping and praying she will survive whatever is coming for her and realise the strength she carries inside.