Page 149 of Cozen

Silas let out a hard breath. “He was drugged, then?”

“Quaaludes by the looks of it—genuine Quaaludes, too, not the fake kind they sell on the streets.”

Dash’s hands tightened around the rails on the side of his father’s bed. “So, people take drugs all the fucking time. Why—”

“Your father has a weak heart,” the doctor murmured. “It couldn’t handle the stress this caused on his system, and thus, the heart attack he was suffering from this morning.”

“So … I don’t understand,” Dash mumbled.

“He’s dying, you stupid fuck,” Silas snarled.

“I know that!”

“Then quit—”

A sudden explosion of beeps and flashing monitors interrupted the Griffin brother’s argument. The doctor didn’t wait around before he moved into action by running to the door, and shouting for the nurses.

“Code Blue! Code Blue!”

Sargon stayed where he was—pressed against the wall, and entirely out of the way. He didn’t need to be getting into this mess, and his time here was nearly over.

Nurses rushed past him.

One had a crash cart.

They filed orderly—yet still quite quickly—without panic into the hospital room, and shoved the Griffin brothers aside. By this point, the doctor had already climbed on top of Jett to begin chest compressions.

Apparently, the man’s heart was giving out.

Even if he did live through this—the flat line on the screen said he wouldn’t—the Do Not Resuscitate form Silas wanted to sign earlier promised the man would be dead before the evening.

Sargon knew it.

The doctor already said Jett’s heart was too weak. Without intervention, it was going to keep failing.

Sargon stayed.

He watched.

He waited.

It took thirty minutes before the doctor called it.

Time of death: June 8th, 2013 at 6:32 PM.

Sargon left the hospital without a look back. He no longer had a boss to answer to, and he was ready to go home.

“We are now boarding first class passengers of flight …”

Sargon glanced up from the ring he was spinning around on the leather cord hanging from his neck. Standing from the seat, he grabbed his jacket off the back and headed for the gate’s check-in desk.

He stood behind a line of another ten or so first class passengers. The attendant chatted with each one as she scanned their tickets, and smiled all the while.

One step closer …

Sargon was up next, and already pulling the ticket from his pocket before handing it over to the woman with her hair in a bun. Blue eyes, blonde hair, and peach and cream skin. She was pretty, but she was not Cozen.

No one could ever be Cozen to Sargon.