“What?”
She shakes her head, walks over to me, sets my coffee down on the table beside my bed, and then moves over to her chair at the far end of the room. She sits down gracefully and crosses her legs, then blows the coffee to cool it and takes a sip. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“The big brother thing. You’re putting more pressure on yourself, putting more weight on your already overworked shoulders. You need to focus on dealing with Lily, right?”
“Well, yeah… but—”
“Then focus on her.” She leans forward, clasping her drink in both hands. “I spent a lot of last night sat in this chair, wide awake.”
I absently scratch the back of my neck and smile sheepishly. “I… wasn’t snoring, was I?”
She grins. “No… I was trying to process all the information you gave me last night. See, the problem is, I believe you. It would actually be easier to wrap my head around what you were saying if I knew it was a lie. But the fact you were telling the truth makes it more difficult to comprehend. But, by the time the sun had risen, I had come to one conclusion.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Which was?”
“The safest place I can be right now is with you. I’ve seen what you can do — how you handled yourself in my office when we were attacked… And I’m guessing I know better than most how your mind works. I’m not some stupid, scared little girl, alright? I’m actually very smart. And I’ve been on my own for a long time, which has made me very independent. I’ve done plenty of self-defense classes and I feel confident looking after myself. Now all that might not sound impressive to someone like you, and it might not make me some badass assassin, but what it does mean is that you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll do whatever you say without question. All I ask in return is that you focus on getting us out of this in one piece. Sound fair?”
I lean back and rest against the pillows in bed.
Huh… Talk about being put in your place…
I stare at her. She’s relaxed back into her chair, holding my gaze in a practiced, professional way — approachable and open, but respectfully distant. Right now, she’s working. She’s not Kaitlyn the target, or Kaitlyn the victim. She’s not even Kaitlyn my friend. She’s Kaitlyn the therapist, and I’m simply one of her patients.
Under these extenuating circumstances, I’m impressed she still has the strength to try to fix me. To still work, and forget everything else.
She reminds me of me.
I nod and smile. “That’s fair. Thank you.” I reach over and pick up my coffee. I move it toward my mouth to take a sip, but stop as I catch a glimpse inside the cup. I frown and look back over at her. “You say you’ll do whatever I say, without question, right?”
She nods.
“Good.” I hold the cup out to her. “Then take this shit away and get me a real drink! Seriously, what the fuck is this?”
She frowns and laughs at the same time. “It’s coffee!”
“Alright, listen… this isn’t coffee. For a start, it’s not black. It looks like an old lady’s diarrhea or something.”
She was just taking a sip of her own coffee when I said that. She stops mid-mouthful and puts the drink down on the table beside her chair. “And I’m no longer thirsty…”
I set my drink back down next to me. “I’m just saying, if we’re gonna be hanging out together, you need to learn what real coffee is. You see—”
The surgical consultant who came to see me last night just walked in. His eyes are red, and he looks very tired. Poor bastard must be on a long-ass shift if he’s been working through the night.
He smiles weakly at me. “Mr. Foley, how are you today?”
I shrug. “I’m okay.”
“Good. We’ve got you booked in for surgery in a couple hours. It’ll be myself performing the procedure. A nurse will be along in a few moments to fit the cannula. Do you have any questions?”
“How long am I gonna be out for?”
He thinks about it. “Hard to say exactly, but your x-ray suggests the damage is moderate at best, so barring any complications, I’d say the procedure shouldn’t last any longer than an hour.”
I let out a frustrated breath. I’m the target for a dangerous assassin, and I’m going to be completely defenseless… An hour’s going to feel like a lifetime!
“Okay, thanks, Doc.” He nods and leaves. I look at Kaitlyn. “I need you to do me a favor. Get my cell out of my shorts’ pocket and call Pierce — his number’s programmed in. Explain what’s happening and tell him I need either him personally, or some of his men, to get their asses down here and make sure I’m actually able to wake up from this goddamn operation. I know you can look after yourself, but if I’m out for an hour, there’s nothing to stop Lily walking in here and getting you, and I can’t have that.”
She nods, gets the phone from my shorts, and steps outside the room. I lean back, resting my head in the palm of my left hand. I hate this. For the first time in… possibly my entire life, I feel like a victim. I know I need this surgery, and I know I’m lucky it’s all I need after what we went through in Kaitlyn’s office yesterday. But asking The Order for help… Asking them to protect me… it doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel like me anymore. I don’t feel like Adrian Hell. I wanted him dead and gone, out of my life forever, but that plan went to shit a few months ago. So now he’s back, and I’m living that life again. But it’s not the same. It’s not how it used to be. I’m not how I used to be. It’s as if I’ve been… neutered. I mean, look at me! My head’s a goddamn mess — I dread to think what I’d be like if I didn’t have Kaitlyn… I’m nothing more than Horizon’s pet. His wild animal, reluctantly tamed and kept on a leash for his amusement. I’m hiding from someone who’s trying to kill me because I don’t feel like I can defend myself…
I let out a long, heavy, tired sigh.
Maybe I should just let Lily get to me during my operation… put me out of my fucking misery.
21
Consciousness hits me like a lazy wave crashing over a shoreline. I keep my eyes closed as all my systems and senses fire up again, rebooting after a factory reset.
You have to be impressed with my computer metaphors, c’mon!
Instinctively, I try to move the fingers on my right hand.
Nothing.
Oh man, I hope the surgery worked.
I concentrate on my arm. I can feel something on it… something heavy and tight. I slowly, cautiously, open one eye and glance down. There’s a plastic cast molded to the outside of my forearm and held firmly in place by two black Velcro straps fastened over the inside, partially covering my tattoo. The top of it fits like a fingerless glove, with another strap fastened across my palm, which has bandages beneath it. There’s a final strap across my wrist.
Well, that explains why I can’t move my fingers. At least it’s secure, which I’m guessing is a sign the surgery went well and it’s been prepared for rehab.
I close my eye again and take some deep breaths. Since waking up, I’ve felt pretty nauseous. I don’t think general anesthesia agrees with me.
In fact…
I sit bolt upright, turn to my left and grab the cardboard sick bucket — you know, that thing that looks like an upside-down hat — and vomit.
Oh my God, that sucks…
I cough and spit the last bit out and sit back.
Well, I’m awake!
I look around the room. The sun is still bright outside, despite the blinds being closed at the window. I’m alone and the door is shut.
Kaitlyn!