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My heart pounds faster, as if it’s trying to pour more strength into my words, to bolster them somehow. But it’s true, isn’t it? The fact that we don’t know what happened between when I blacked out and when I woke up means that maybe, somehow, he’s still alive somewhere.
Maybe he was wearing a vest.
Maybe his wounds weren’t that bad.
But then why would he leave? If he was well enough to walk on his own, why would he just leave me unconscious on the ground next to a dead body?
A sudden vivid memory comes to mind: Marcus, walking into the bedroom at the safe house and asking me if things were okay between us. That was right before we left to head to a new, supposedly safer, location. I can picture every detail of him in my mind’s eye, and he wasn’t wearing a vest.
No, the bullets pierced his body.
I felt the blood.
I’m still covered in it.
Ryland doesn’t answer. His head is still bowed, as if he can’t physically lift it. His fingers curl into fists again, the heels of his hands pressing against the wall.
My chest aches. I want to slip off the table to go to him, to wrap my arms around him and rest my forehead against his back. To let my breath fall into sync with his as I let him know that he’s not alone.
But I’m pretty sure he feels the same way I did earlier. That it would hurt him more than help him to be touched tenderly right now.
I hate that he’s like that.
I hate that I’m like that.
A long moment passes before Theo speaks up. “You’re right. He could still be alive.” His voice is more subdued than I think I’ve ever heard it, as he steps closer to the exam table, resting his hand over mine. “We don’t know. And until we do, we’ll keep looking for him. We’ll keep searching.”
My fingers release their death grip on the table’s edge and interlace with Theo’s. “Okay.”
We’ll keep looking for him. We’ll keep searching.
Without meaning to, without even knowing he’s done it, Theo just echoed a promise I’ve been telling myself for years. I’ve spent more hours than I can count trying to dig up information on my little brother, searching relentlessly with nothing more to go on than an old picture and a story from a girl I knew in foster care.
Now there are two men I’m searching for.
Two men I’m desperate to find.
And I don’t have any idea if either of them are still alive.
Chapter 4
A couple minutes later, Doctor Adelman walks back into the room. He barely glances at the pieces of Ryland’s phone or the hole in the wall, and I wonder how fucking much they pay this guy to keep him from asking any questions.
It must be a lot.
“All right, Ayla.” He hands me a small slip of paper with the prescription scribbled on it. “Take it easy for the next few days, and if you notice any changes at all, any blurred vision or changes in speech, have one of these guys bring you back to see me, okay?”
I nod automatically, releasing Theo’s hand so I can take the prescription. Doctor Adelman hasn’t even given my amputated arm a second glance, I realize. I wonder if it’s because he’s a doctor and is used to stuff like this, or because the rest of me is such a shit-show it distracts the eye.
Ryland steps away from the wall, his spine going rigidly strai
ght again. He glances at the hole his fist made. The plaster is torn through in a rough circular shape and a few red smears mar the wall around the hole. He must’ve split his knuckles open.
He doesn’t apologize or say anything else to Doctor Adelman, and the bearded man doesn’t seem to expect it. Instead, the doctor opens the door and gestures for us to follow him, leading us back out the way we came. When we step into the alley, it occurs to me that we’re stranded without a ride. Dominic is long gone—thank fuck—and there’s no way in hell we can hail a cab with me looking like this.
The guys don’t look much better, honestly. Theo’s front is stained with blood from when he hugged me, and both of them have dirt, scrapes, and more streaked blood on various parts of their bodies.
But as we step out onto the street, Ryland doesn’t even hesitate. Keeping me sandwiched between him and Theo, he steers me toward a slate-gray car I don’t recognize.
