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“How do I know he’s still alive?” she asked.

Kingsley glanced at his watch. Shrugging, he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a tablet. “He’s been there for about an hour or so. Plenty of time for them to do some preliminary stuff and have a chart on him.” He typed on the tablet and held it out to her. “You should be able to hack into their records.”

When she just glared at him, he chuckled and said, “Oops. Hard to do that without fingers.”

He retrieved a small remote control from his pocket and pressed a button. Her right arm was instantly released.

“I’m sure you can find what you need with just one hand.”

She didn’t waste time responding. She noted on the website that the hospital was located in Mystique, California. She had no idea where that was and would worry about that later. For now, she needed to know what was happening with Sean.

Within minutes, she had access to patient records and found Sean’s file. He was listed as John Doe, which was no surprise. Even if Sean was conscious, he wouldn’t give his real name. She reviewed the initial evaluation, and her heart cried out in both joy and sorrow—joy because he was still alive, but sorrow because of the awful extent of his injuries.

Three broken fingers on his right hand, two broken on his left, a broken nose, and two cracked ribs were almost inconsequential compared to the rest of his injuries. Not only did Sean have a concussion and a bruised kidney, but the admitting doctor had noted that his right leg might need to be amputated just above his knee. An orthopedic surgeon had been called in, so for now, it was a wait-and-see situation while massive antibiotics were pumped into his system to fight off infection and the possible onset of gangrene.

He was currently in surgery to repair as much damage as they could to his leg. That was all she was able to get until someone made an update to the file.

She wanted to cry and scream. She wanted to fling the tablet at the smug-faced sociopath sitting a few feet away from her. She did neither. Kingsley would relish that kind of reaction from her. She instead, again, played the long game and said calmly, “He’s in surgery. I’ll need access later to check on him.”

“We’ll see,” Kingsley said.

She couldn’t let him get away with that. “Until I see that his surgery was successful and that he’s going to recover, I won’t be doing anything for you.”

For several long seconds, he didn’t respond. He searched her expression, which she made sure remained resolute. Finally, he said, “Our agreement was for me to get him medical care.”

“Is this really the hill you want to die on, Kingsley?”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Interesting phrasing, but you’re right. I’m sure we’ll have numerous opportunities for future vigorous debates.” He raised his gaze to someone over her shoulder. “Take her back to her room.” Returning his attention to her, he gave her a smile unlike any she’d seen from him before. It was not only condescending, but it held an odd kind of smugness that was worrying. “I’ll give you the rest of the day to come to terms with our agreement. Dinner is at seven. Tomorrow, we’ll begin our work.”

Everything she had to say had been said, and she felt as though a thousand years had passed since she’d been returned to this room. Sean, the love of her life, had been tortured by these monsters. He was now in surgery, fighting for his life. And she could do nothing other than continue on the course she had set for herself.

Colton blew out a frustrated sigh as he watched Smith wheel Serena out of the room. He wasn’t one to dwell on regrets, as they were pointless and unproductive. He wasn’t going to do that now, but he would admit to a small amount of anxiety. Sean Donavan had to die. His reasons were not out of malice or hatred, but practicality. There was even a part of him that actually admired the man. He had withstood more than Colton had ever thought possible. That was one of the biggest reasons he had been so open with the man. When he’d realized he’d never get anything out of Donavan, he’d used him as a sounding board. He had never planned for the man to survive, and he had certainly never planned to set him free.

It would be easier if Donavan died on the operating table, but simply hoping for that to happen would be detrimental. Arrangements needed to be made now for Sean Donavan to die in the hospital.

Of course, that couldn’t happen before Serena received confirmation that he’d survived surgery. Colton had promised her that, and she wouldn’t cooperate without that assurance.

He would play her game for as long as it suited him, but he was quite close to his limit. He ran the show around here—not his guests.

Swiping the tablet on, he used an app that had recorded Serena’s keystrokes to access Sean’s medical chart. He smiled slightly as he reviewed Donavan’s injuries. Even though he’d been present for the interrogations and had authorized every single mark on the man’s body, he realized the results were even more extensive than he’d thought.

He grunted in satisfaction as he read the details about Donavan’s leg, and a wave of pride surged through him. Colton couldn’t help but root for the antibiotics and surgery not to be enough to save the leg. Perhaps that was petty of him, but he’d love to see Donavan’s reaction when he regained consciousness and discovered a part of his body had been amputated.

Turning to the business at hand, he punched a series of numbers on his phone and waited.

“Identification number,” a man said.

Colton rapidly spit out the series of numbers. Now that he was about to place the order, his adrenaline was surging. The high of having this kind of power and control was almost overwhelming.

“State your request,” the voice continued.

“Termination. Level three. Within thirty-six hours.”

“Level three” meant the death needed to look like natural causes. Considering Donavan’s injuries, making his death appear natural should be easy. Not getting caught would be the hardest part of the job. But his employers had the most talented and experienced assassins in the world at their beck and call, day and night. He was covered in that regard, though using their resources had a downside.

“One million,” the voice responded.

That was the downside. Colton had the money, of course, but it was frustrating to have to pay for something he could have easily done himself. He had his own kill team that, in most circumstances, could take care of the problem. However, stealth was vital for this particular kill. And while his team was excellent at fulfilling his requests, their finesse left something to be desired.