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“We aren’t saying that you can’t come,” Mark says as he gently places his hands on her shoulders.

She whips around to face him. “I don’t know why this is even a conversation. I’m going with you.”

Raising his hands, he steps back in obvious, albeit hesitant surrender.

“All right. All right. I’m sorry. It’s just…well, we didn’t want…”

Taking a few quick steps toward Mark, she closes the distance between them. Her nose nearly grazes his sternum, before she lifts her chin. Her eyes narrow as she takes a sharp breath.

“Didn’t want what?” she says in a mocking tone.

Mark steps around her and moves to the pantry door.

“Come on,” he says over his shoulder, leading her down to the collection room.

Conceding defeat, I follow. My thoughts flood with visions of Patience. By the time we reach the armory, the only thing on my mind is getting to Patience as quickly as possible. Elitza’s eyes widen as she steps over to the wall holding the assortment of blades. With her arms behind her back, she leans in to take a closer look at a set of silver daggers.

My eyes track to Mark with a flicker of amusement. Nodding, he smiles back.

“You can use those if you want.”

Elitza looks at me with a light smile.

“Thank you,” she says, taking one of the daggers off the wall.

Mark practically beams with pride as I make my way across the room, stocking the bags with the essentials and a few smaller pieces of equipment and weapons. Once everything is prepared, I nod to him. Elitza trails us, though her eyes scrutinize every wall. No doubt looking for a weakness to exploit.

Mark stands by the door to the pantry. The rigidness of his spine mirrors the tension he has over Elitza joining us. I don’t blame him; I’d share his sentiment if the roles were reversed. She hits the top of the stairs, casting a smile to Mark as she passes him. He closes the door behind her, letting out a sigh. His gaze narrows on Elitza.

In a flash, he launches at her from behind, and I cringe when I see the glint of cuffs in his hands. Elitza throws her head back, which Mark blocks at the last second.

“You fucking prick,” she seethes though clenched teeth.

Catching her punch, he slaps the cuff around her wrist. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he drags her toward the kitchen island. On an audible click, the free cuff locks in place around the towel bar of the kitchen island. Her leg whips out in a high kick, making contact across Mark’s jaw. His hands fly up to his face as he stumbles to the ground.

While I don’t relish leaving her sister tied up, I appreciate the fact that at least Mark will have his head in the game. One less thing I have to worry about if shit goes sideways. Shaking my head, I move around them toward the door. Mark follows me closely.

“You fucking prick,” she repeats in a low whisper.

Mark pushes past me with hurt in his eyes. We get in the car without a single word, both trapped in our own hell.

36

Metal scraping across the floor amplifies the ringing in my ears as I pry my eyes open with sandpaper-like roughness. It takes some force to break apart the dried blood sealing my lashes together on my right eye, but it finally pops free. Bright lights act to snow my vision, making details impossible.

Relaxing my eyes to let them focus, general shapes start to form through the fog. Large pillars to my left shine like towering flames against the darkness of the room. The sting in my shoulders has my eyes tracking up to the bindings around my wrists. Judging by the numbness in my arms, I’ve been strung up for some time. On a blink, I refocus, the white blobs giving way to large statues that seemingly glow. Light reflecting off the figures is so bright it sends waves of pain through my skull. Dropping my eyes to the floor in reflex, I swallow but my tongue feels like cotton in my mouth. The metal post confining me is anchored into the dark glassy floor. The metal cuffs binding my ankles cut into my skin.

I recognize the floor. I’m still in the conservatory. That’s nice at least. I looked for this man everywhere and he was next to me the entire time. The thought of that sinks like a weight in my stomach. Stupid. So stupid.

As if hearing my thoughts, Lennox enters the room, rapping his fingers along a large metal vat against the wall. His lips tug into a smile as his fingers flick a switch on the vat.

“Ah, you’re awake. Finally. I was worried I hit you too hard. It would have ruined all my fun.” His hand falls on a small cart, which he begins pulling along behind him.

“Oh well, I would hate to ruin your fun.”

I take in the assortment of surgical tools glinting in the light in the cart. Grabbing my face with brutal force, he pulls my face closer to his. Without his cheerful mask, I recognize the coldness behind his eyes.

“You’ve been quite the menace. San Francisco. Now this wretched city. I let you be to do your work. Yet, you repeatedly interfere with mine.”