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The one person who knew how to find Tatiana was now dead.
And everything was my own fault.
I'd grown up not being able to trust my own parents. Taught how to betray those you loved. Struggled to survive after my whole family had been killed. And had turned down the only love ever offered to me without asking for anything in return.
And the hope of finding her again had disappeared with the sickening sound of a bullet sliding through skull and brains.
I slammed my fist over and over, blood spurting, the man's face quickly turning black and blue.
Tatiana was in danger -- if she was even still alive, and this motherfucker had just killed the one person who could tell me how to find her. I was going to kill him!
"Knight!" Dante roared, yanking me back to my senses. "Stop! We need to get information from him."
I stilled, pulling in gulping breaths as I tried to gain control over myself.
The man had brown hair and eyes, a slightly handsome face, with a thin frame--a runner's body. It clicked. He was the man with the collie, out running that night I came to see Poppy.
"Where is she?" I snarled, hitting him again.
"I can't tell you," the man sneered, spittle and blood flying. "He's not ready for you, yet."
"I'll call Torian," Dante said, pulling out his phone.
"Don't bother," I said, "I'm going to take care of this one myself. Instead, you'll need to find a new home for a dog named Colbi."
EIGHTEEN
The next morning, I awoke with a jolt, everything rushing in at once. The gunshot wound in my shoulder ached where I'd accidentally slept on it wrong. I had a tattoo of a scorpion crawling from my collar up to my neck. I was back under Manuel's control, except now, I had the most innocent creature with me.
Honey had snuggled close to me in the night, her little fingers wrapping around my palm.
It was so cute and sweet, the most intimate gesture I'd ever seen her make in the short time that I'd interacted with her.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit me. Slipping my hand from Honey's, I scrambled to get off the bed. Rolling over, I fell off it, once again. Pain ricocheted up my arm and side and the food from yesterday came lurching up my throat.
I made it to my hands and knees just in time as it spewed outward, chunks of undigested food spraying across the concrete.
When I was done, I heaved, hating the itching sensation crawling up my arms. My stomach was still burning with acid; I could feel it surging up my throat again.
I forced it down, watching as Honey's feet swung from the bed.
"You threw up." She slapped a hand over her mouth as she stared down at it. Grabbing the blankets, she pulled them up and over her head, burying herself inside them.
"Honey?" My voice was gentle, but I was freaking out inside. If someone was watching the cameras, they would be here soon.
"Yes?" She peeped her head out, her eyes wide.
"I need your help."
"You do?" She scrambled out of the bed, pulling the comforter with her. Falling to the floor, she began to try to clean up the vomit with the blanket.
"Oh," I gently placed my hand on her arm. "Not that. Don't worry about me. We need to try to escape."
"But you just threw up!" she exclaimed, gesturing disgustedly at the vomit. "You're sick."
"Look, we don't have much time. I'm sure someone will be here soon." I gently tugged on her arm, pulling her away from the mess on the floor. "This has happened before. I'm going to be okay."
I used to get like this when I was married to Manuel; my body was reacting to being near him again.
