HALSTON.
The doctor looked exhausted.
Then again, most doctors looked exhausted after treating patients.
But it was understandable because he drove the night to attend to me.
“You’re fortunate.” He said.
I hated that word because fortunate implied luck and luck implied weakness.
The bullet had entered just below my shoulder and exited cleanly through the back.
Painful and bloody, but not fatal.
I sat shirtless on the edge of the bed while the doctor finished wrapping bandages around my torso.
“You missed several vital structures by inches.”
“I noticed.”
The doctor sighed.
“You should get enough rest.”
I ignored him.
He sighed again.
“At least avoid unnecessary strain.”
A few minutes later he packed his equipment and left.
The bedroom fell silent.
I stared out the window for a long moment before speaking.
“Oliver.”
Oliver stepped forward, his expression already unhappy, as though he had read my mind.
“Bring the chair.”
Oliver looked like he wanted to argue.
He shook his head as his jaw tightened.
“Bring it.” I said louder.
He exhaled exiting the room.
Several minutes later he and some guards returned carrying the iron chair.
The sight of it alone made most men start praying.
Oliver’s expression darkened.
“Halston.”
“Do it.”
The room went quiet.
Nobody moved, they all lowered their heads except Oliver who looked at me in total disagreement.
“Do it.” The second order came colder.
This time they obeyed.
They helped me sit, locking the restraints around my wrists and ankles.
Oliver looked sick.
They started twisting the knot of the spike on the restraint, lowering it down till they pierced into my skin.
Pain exploded through my hands and feet but I didn’t make a sound.
Blood ran down my wrists and feet.
Oliver looked away, he had seen worse but anytime this happened, he couldn’t bear to look.
By the end, sweat covered my skin.
I lifted my head.
“Leave.” I gasped out, sweat pouring down my shirtless chest, mixing with the fresh blood pooling beneath my hands.
“I want to be alone.”
Oliver looked like he wanted to argue, his eyes burning with a mixture of anger and helplessness.
But he simply nodded, signaling the guards.
They stepped back, leaving me in the dim, freezing light of the attic, closing the door behind them.
For thirty minutes I sat alone with the pain.
Or maybe it was hours.
Time had lost all meaning as I sat trapped in my own self-inflicted purgatory.
BANG
The attic door was thrown open, slamming against the stone wall with a force that echoed through the rafters.
I dragged my heavy eyelids up, my vision blurring as a figure stormed into the room.
It was Kaira.
The moment she saw the chair, she froze.
Her eyes widened, darting from the blood-soaked floor to the iron spikes driven through my palms.
She looked horrified, her mind desperately trying to process what kind of unhinged, psychotic monster would willingly chain himself to an execution device.
Then, the horror turned into something else—pure rage.
“What is this madness?!” she shouted, her voice echoing off the walls as she marched toward me, her eyes literally burning with fury.
“Have you gone completely insane?!
What type of psycho does this to himself?!”
I closed my eyes.
Not now.
“Leave, Kaira,” I growled, my jaw clenching as the movement sent a fresh spike of pain through my pinned hands.
“I told Oliver…
I want to be alone.”
She didn’t listen.
She never goddamn listened.
Ignoring my command completely, she dropped to her knees right in front of the chair.
The furious storm in her eyes didn’t waver as her hands flew to the iron pin buried through my right hand.
A choked gasp tore from my throat as the rusted metal dug up from my skin.
Blood welled up from the opening, spilling over her fingers.
“I said leave!” I gasped out, the room spinning.
She ignored me and went to the one on my left hand.
“I need a moment alone, Kaira—”
“No.”
“Kaira.”
“I DON’T CARE!” She screamed right back, her voice cracking with an emotion I couldn’t identify.
Her grip tightened on the screw as she tore the iron spike completely out of my flesh.
“I don’t care about whatever sickening, twisted form of punishment this is!
I don’t care what pathetic mafia cause you think you’re serving, but I will not tolerate this stupid, suicidal madness in my sight!”
Before I could even process the sudden freedom of my right hand, she went quiet again, her jaw clenched tight as she shifted her weight down to my feet.
She knelt in the pooling blood, her hands grabbing the rusted spikes in my ankles, twisting them open.
I endured the agony, my chest heaving as blood seeped from the open wounds, staining her clothes.
Once the final spike was removed, she stood up, her chest heaving as she wiped a streak of my blood across her cheek.
She turned on her heel and walked over to the corner of the room where my clean shirt was placed.
“Are you finished?” I swallowed.
She snatched the fabric off the bed angrily, turning back to face me.
“No, I’m not finished!” She laughed bitterly.
“Do you have any idea how worried I was?!” she yelled, her voice tearing through the quiet attic, louder than before.
“I didn’t know if you were conscious!
I didn’t know if you were even breathing!
I didn’t know where you were” Her eyes burned.
“And not a single one of your useless men would tell me anything!
I literally had to question it out of Oliver.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly.
She continued.
“And then I come here to find you nailed to a damn chair!”
I sat there, utterly speechless.
Looking at the raw panic brimming in her angry eyes, I refrained from saying anything else.
Kaira let out a shuddering sigh, the blinding fury slowly giving way to exhaustion.
“Get up.” She said as she stepped closer.
I blinked.
“What?”
“We’re going back to the bedroom.”
I almost laughed.
“You are giving orders now?”
“Yes.”
“Kaira—”
“Get up.” She said firmer.
It was terrifying how she almost sounded like me.
Her hands gently looped under my arm, hoisting my body out of the torture chair.
Her shoulder tucked under my arm, supporting me as we left the attic.
***********
The following morning arrived far too early.
I was halfway through ruining my bandage when the bedroom door opened.
I was sitting on the edge of the mattress, the fresh dressing the doctor had applied the night before had already become stained.
My shoulder protested every movement as I tried to unwrap it with one hand.
I looked up and saw Kaira entering, carrying a breakfast tray.
Her gaze dropped to the half-removed bandage hanging from my shoulder.
She stopped.
“You look ridiculous.”
I continued tugging at the dressing.
“Good morning to you too.”
She set the tray onto the table harder than necessary.
The bandage caught against the stitches, pain shot through my shoulder.
My jaw clenched.
With an irritated exhale, she crossed the room.
“Move.”
I still kept trying to handle it on my own.
“You’ll only make the injury worse.” She hissed.
I raised an eyebrow.
She held out her hand.
“Either let me do it or continue bleeding all over the bed.”
Reluctantly, I lowered my hand.
She stepped closer, standing in front of me.
Close enough that I could smell her perfume, close enough that loose strands of dark hair brushed her cheek as she leaned forward.
She began removing the ruined dressing.
Her fingers were surprisingly gentle, her brows pulling together when I shifted.
I looked up, watching her face—the dark sweep of her eyelashes, the absolute concentration in her eyes, the way her fingers trembled just a fraction whenever they slid across the bare skin of my ribs. Visit novelping.com for the full chapter.
When she finished, she moved back.
“There.”
I looked down.
It was perfect for some reason.
“Have you done this before?”
“No.” One hand clasped the opposite wrist.
“Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
She picked up my shirt, her hands brushed over my collarbone.
I stared, my eyes subconsciously lowering to her form.
“Don’t make this weird.” She glanced at me.
My lips thinned as I looked away.
I slid my uninjured arm through the sleeve and she guided the other side carefully over the bandaged shoulder, buttoning up the shirt.
Our eyes met for a dangerously brief moment, her palms still resting flat against my chest for a lingering, breathless second, till she abruptly pulled back.
She retreated to the far corner of the room, sitting in a low chair and staring intently at her lap while I forced myself to focus on the breakfast tray.
Her attempt at acting detached was entirely transparent.
The moment I lifted the glass of juice, the raw muscles in my arm flared, forcing a painful grunt from my lips.
Kaira’s eyes darted up, locking onto my face before quickly looking away.
I cut into the food.
She looked.
I glanced back, and she immediately grabbed a magazine from the table and opened it upside down.
I nearly laughed.
A heavy knock disrupted the quiet.
“Enter,” I muttered.
Oliver walked in, his eyes moved from me to Kaira, then back to me.
His expression became extremely interesting.
“Good morning, sir.”
I narrowed my eyes, I knew various silly thoughts were running through his mind at the moment yet he calmly gestured for the family doctor to follow him.
The doctor carried a tray of medical supplies to clean and dress the puncture wounds on my palms and feet.
The doctor began treating and dressing the puncture holes.
I kept my expression entirely blank, refusing to show weakness.
But my eyes automatically sought out Kaira.
She was already looking, her fingers gripping the armrests of her chair so tightly her knuckles were white.
She slowly raised her gaze to steal another glance at my bandaged feet.
Standing a few feet away, Oliver stood, totally professional, but his eyes were practically flying back and forth between the two of us like a spectator at a tennis match.
A silent amusement rolled off him, his eyebrows lifting slightly every time Kaira and I looked away from each other.
Dimwit.
The doctor packed his supplies.
“All clean.
You should heal nicely.”
“Thank you.”
Oliver escorted him toward the door.
Before leaving, Oliver glanced over his shoulder.
“Oliver.” I rolled my eyes
“Yes, sir?”
“Leave.”
His smile widened.
“Of course, sir.”
Then he disappeared, closing the door behind him.
INTERLUDE
A single lamp burned above the circular table at the center of the room, casting long shadows across stone walls.
Ronan stood by the windows of his private office, watching the morning fog roll over the city skyline.
The Mask entered.
Her wound had been cleaned and bandaged.
She sank down onto one knee, bowing her head.
“Well.” His voice was calm.
“That was disappointing.”
“I failed.” The Mask continued.
“The mission failed.”
Ronan turned.
“You indeed did fail but at least it is your first time.”
“I cannot permit myself to live with a broken record.
So I have returned to request death,” The words sounded calm.
Ronan walked around the desk.
A guard standing nearby immediately straightened.
He extended his hand.
The guard understood instantly, placing a handgun into Ronan’s palm.
Ronan examined the weapon casually, as his jaw ticked.
He stopped directly above her, extending his arm until the barrel settled against the side of her head.
The masked woman remained perfectly still, waiting for the bullet to drop.