Page 147 of Cozen

A long few minutes.

He finally felt like maybe he could walk without feeling like a baby deer on new legs. He headed for the door, and was surprised to find that his usual strength was all but gone as he tried to pull the heavy oak open.

Or maybe that was just him.

Eventually, he got out.

Sargon peered down the quiet hall—he recognized the things and space staring back at him. He was downstairs in the guest rooms. She had taken him downstairs.

He blinked again.

Memories filtered in again.

“You have to go down there by yourself,” Cozen whispered.

Sargon’s mouth felt dry—words wouldn’t form when he tried to speak. Why wouldn’t she come with him?

He wanted her with him.

“There’s cameras in this hall,” she told him. “If I go further, they’ll catch me on them with you. You have to go by yourself.”

Sargon nodded.

He went.

By the time he came out of that memory, Sargon was down the hall, and coming into the grand entrance. He felt slightly better. It seemed like the longer he was awake, the more steady on his feet that he became.

Everything started to clear.

His mind.

His heart.

His voice.

“Sarg, where’s Jett?”

He glanced to the side, and found a handful of Jett’s men waiting there. They all stood around in a semi-circle like a bunch of limp pricks that couldn’t do fuck all without their boss’s say so.

Which wasn’t all that far from the truth.

“What?” Sargon asked.

“Jett—the boss. He’s not down this morning. It’s Saturday.”

“And almost noon,” another one added. “He should have been at his breakfast meeting hours ago.”

Nobody thought to go check on Jett?

Sargon didn’t even bother to ask the useless fuckers that question. Instead, he headed for the staircase that would lead into Jett’s private wings. Soon, although it felt like it took hours to climb those stairs, Sargon was just outside of Jett’s office.

The door was open.

He peered in.

Nothing looked amiss.

The desk was clean—buffed to shine. The painting behind the desk, and the safe it kept hidden, were both shut like no one had ever touched them. The wood around the painting looked like it had been buffed, too.