Bjorn’s tone sharpens. “Erik… I never texted you.”
A beat of silence. Thick. Heavy. “Fuck! I need to get home to Claire.”
Then Bjorn adds, “Hang on, Grace is walking in right now from her appointment; let me ask if she’s heard from her yet. Little one, come here.”
I can hear movement in the background and wait impatiently as Bjorn addresses Grace.
“Sweetheart, have you spoken to Claire today?”
There is a moment of silence, and then she speaks. “Yes, she texted me saying she was called into the clinic, and I told her I had an appointment there, so I’d try to wave hello to her. I saw Uncle Erik's company car in the parking lot, where two of his guards were present, while another guard waited in the waiting room. It’s so strange, Daddy; I never once saw Claire in the back.”
My chest constricts. Hard.
“She was supposed to be inside,” Grace says. “But… I didn’t see her at all. It was so weird, Daddy.”
Grace’s voice filters through the receiver, confused, soft, but clear.
My vision tunnels. “Something has happened,” I growl.
Bjorn inhales sharply. “Brother…” His voice cracks like splitting ice.
The world goes silent.
“FUCK!” I roar into the phone and then hang up as I hear Bjorn raising his voice on the other end.
I’m already running for the door, for the car, and for the only woman whose body, whose heart, and whose very breath are now in the hands of monsters.
And God help every soul involved because…I am coming for her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Claire
The first thing I feel is pressure, a steady and rhythmic pulling at my breasts in a deep, mechanical pulse.
That’s what wakes me. That, and the soft hum of a machine I don’t recognize. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar, fluorescent, cold, and unmoving. There’s no window. No natural light. Just an artificial glow that makes the air feel too still, too controlled.
A slow inhale tells me the following—I smell sterile linens, faint lavender disinfectant, plastic, and something sweeter, like milk.
I blink, vision grainy, and turn my head a fraction. Clear tubing snakes across my chest, disappearing into a pump beside my bed. I follow the line down and see two suction cups fitted tightly over my breasts, held in place by a rigid harness and the machine drawing milk out of me in perfect, metronome-like pulls.
My stomach twists. The last thing I remember is sitting down to get my blood drawn. The male nurse who brought me back to their clinic room had me sit on the bed. He proceeded to draw blood from me, and I started to feel dizzy. He had me lie downand had me sip on what I thought was water, and then before I knew it, everything went black.
This… This isn’t the clinic.
My body tries to move, but it doesn’t. I’m secured to the padded sides of the medical table with soft leather cuffs. My ankles too. A shudder escapes me. The door opens with a calm pneumatic sigh.
A woman steps in wearing pale green scrubs and white sneakers. Her braid swings softly at her shoulder. Her face is peaceful.
“Good afternoon, little cow,” she says.
Little cow. My pulse goes wild. “I…” My voice breaks. “Where am I?”
She approaches with the serene confidence of someone who has repeated the same speech a hundred times.
“It is Tuesday,” she says. “You’ve been sedated since yesterday when you arrived. Dr. Rhys instructed us to keep you asleep until your vitals stabilized.”
Yesterday. He took an entire day from me. My throat tightens. “I want to go home.”
