What the fuck?
Blinking, I tried to make sense of the scrambled existence of my mind.
It came to me in pieces.
Nightmarish pieces I couldn’t compute.
Skittles dead in the sand.
My brother beneath me.
A harpoon within me.
Cal dying on my beach.
Corpses of my guards and the shitty situation of failure.
I groaned as a fresh wave of agony crippled me.
Handcuffs spread my arms as if I was on some sinner’s cross, shackling me to metal bars. A cage surrounded me, biting into my back, consuming me like a python.
My heart shed off its sick sedation, granting me fury and fight.
I jerked against the handcuffs, jangling them nosily against steel. My ears rang as the noise vibrated around the villa.
A villa I recognised.
The one where disobedient goddesses spent a night or two.
I winced as yet another flare of agony crushed me, recognising with horrifying clarity that I was in Ace’s old cage. The chimpanzee who I’d put to sleep after a life of misery. However, instead of standing tall and offering no place to stretch out, the cage had been placed on its side, trapping me while letting me lay horizontally on its painful bars.
I fought harder, clanking the handcuffs again. I flinched as a warning pain in the back of my hand ignited. A needle fed into my vein, fed by a tube, hooked up to an intravenous bag of liquid outside the cage.
The world spun.
The urge to vomit rose.
I gritted my teeth and looked down my body.
I still wore my black boxer-briefs and had been covered with a white sheet that’d fallen between my legs as I’d struggled. Tugging my right leg free from the sheet, the urge to vomit doubled.
A huge bandage wrapped around the meaty part of my leg. A bloom of red glowed in the centre. My skin around the bandage was a vicious scarlet, along with the rest of my leg down to my toes.
An infection had set in.
Wincing against the bite of metal beneath my back, I gritted my teeth, forcing my brain that couldn’t quite shed off the sickening haze to work and work fast.
I’m alive.
I’m sick and wounded.
I’m in a goddamn monkey cage.
My nostrils flared as I kicked my legs, trying to scoot into a sitting position.
Pain.
Motherfucking debilitating pain.
Sweat broke out over my chest, granting the uncomfortable tangle of hot and cold from fever.
A phantom kiss pressed on my lips—residue from my dream.
Eleanor.
Christ…had Drake chased after her?
How long had I been out?
Was she home yet?
Balling my hands, I jerked against the handcuffs. I needed to check. To ensure her safety all while mine hung in Drake’s psychotic whims.
“I wouldn’t keep moving so much if I were you. Your body underwent extreme trauma.”
My head shot sideways, my gaze seeking the shadows.
Pure hate flared as Dr Jim fucking Campbell moved from the gloom toward me. He wore his usual cargo shorts and polo—a doctor enjoying his retirement instead of a highly paid surgeon.
I snarled, jumping to conclusions but instinctually knowing they were right.
Dr Campbell wasn’t a prisoner of my brother.
He didn’t jump when a guard entered.
He didn’t cower as he came closer.
He moved with the acceptance of a man who’d become a goddamn traitor.
“You.” I lay at his feet, chained and caged like a criminal. “You’re the snitch.” The handcuffs chewed into my wrists as I fought to wring his neck. “I should’ve fucking guessed.”
He waited for my initial fury to pass, narrowing his eyes as I flushed with yet more sweat and slumped with hotter agony. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he did his best to plaster professional coolness on his face, all while guilt glowed in his watery eyes.
“Hated me that much, huh?” I bared my teeth. “Seemed even your obscene salary couldn’t buy your loyalty.”
He cleared his throat, rocking on the balls of his feet. “I don’t hate you, Mr. Sinclair.”
“You’re fired.”
He nodded with a grim smile. “I understand. However, you might want me to stay on for a few more days…for your own sake.”
“I’ll kill you the moment I get out of here.” I rattled the handcuffs again, gritting my teeth against the metallic twang and the steady throb in my leg. The pain receptors over my entire body fought for recognition. Contusions glowed on my chest from fists. A small hematoma had formed around my left knee, courtesy of a kick, and blood spread in an ever-extending rose beneath the bandage around my leg.
My threat was fucking laughable.
Even if I wasn’t imprisoned and trapped, I doubted I’d be a successful killer.
Dr Campbell pointed at my minced leg. “I removed the spear, sterilised the injury, checked that your thigh bone hasn’t been compromised, stitched up muscle and flesh, and administered a strong round of antibiotics. Your system is robust from your active lifestyle and healthy diet. However, you’re still fighting a fever caused by the infection from seawater and unsanitary metal.” He swallowed, slipping into his medical role. “A wound such as the one you sustained can turn fatal if not carefully tended. I also suggest you restrict moving due to the swelling on your knee, bruised ribs, and possible concussion. You need to rest given that your…accommodations are not ideal. I did try to suggest you would recover faster in a bed, but Drake was insistent.”