“Yeah, I figured. Malcolm doesn’t exactly publish his findings.”
They both turn to me with brows drawn.
Right. Yeah. That.
“Okay, so…” I grimace and reach up to rub the back of my neck. “Before we do this, there’s something you both should probably know.”
Harrison’s eyes narrow suspiciously while Lane’s spine straightens.
“My last name…” I take a deep breath, then let it out in a gust. “It’s not Beal like I told you. It’s…Bellrose.”
There’s silence for only a few seconds before Lane blurts out, “Holy shit.”
I wince.
“Cason Bellrose?” Lane stares at me like he just found out the true identity of some masked superhero. Too bad I’m pretty sure today is going to be my villain origin story. “Your father founded Bellrose Institute.”
“He and my uncle, yeah. Malcolm runs it now.”
“An inferior lab,” Harrison says smoothly, not even looking offended, as if he’s just stating a fact.
I cross my arms and scowl, feeling defensive. Not of Malcolm, of course. But the Institute is still my father’s legacy. “You have us in neuroscience. In every other branch of bioscience, we’re ahead. But congratulations on your superiority complex.”
“Thank you.”
His proud smile makes me roll my eyes. “What a fucking ego.”
“And yet,” Lane cuts in, “you’re still letting him kill you.”
“I never claimed to make good choices.”
Lane laughs as we both walk over to the bed in the center of the room. “We have that in common. Abduction too, apparently. I guess this is a bonding experience.”
“Yeah, well,” I mutter, hopping onto the edge of the thinmattress, “I’ve been kidnapped twice.”
“Seriously? Me too. But…” His cheeks flush. “Once was just for fun.”
I slowly turn my head to look between him and Harrison. The latter is smirking wickedly at Lane, whose face has turned an even brighter shade of red.
“Freaks.”
Without taking his gaze off his husband, Harrison says, “We prefer sick fucks.”
“Awesome. So happy I chose the two of you to kill me.”
“Why did you?” Harrison asks, joining us with an IV needle in his hands, which my gaze lands on and gets stuck. “I can imagine your uncle wouldn’t want to helpkillyou, but could you not share any of this with him? Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining about getting to murder a Bellrose.”
I roll my eyes again. “It’s a long story. If you bring me back, I’ll tell you.”
He grins. “Deal. Now shirt off. Lie down.”
I hesitate but only for a second. Then I reach for the hem of my shirt, tugging it up and over my head. The cool air hits my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms. I scoot back on the bed and lie down, the surface colder than I expected, the kind of cold that seeps in fast.
Harrison wipes my arm with an alcohol pad before sliding the needle into my skin and taping it in place. Meanwhile, Lane moves on my other side, already focused, already different, less joking and more clinical. He presses adhesive pads to my chest, adjusts wires, checks monitors.
“Try to stay still,” he says.
“About to berealstill soon,” I joke even as my breathing stutters, my chest heaving.
