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I wish I could say the pain leaves with it, but it doesn’t. My entire arm throbs in the most uncomfortable way. “Fuck,” I mumble, bringing my joint back to my lips with my other hand.
I crack open my eyes as I inhale. Tears blur my vision, but when I look down, I can still see enough. Blood oozes from the cut on my upper arm, all the way down to my wrist, and pools in a small puddle on the wooden floor.
It’s almost transfixing in a way. The crimson color, the low drip, drip, drip from each new drop hitting the puddle, but as Hatcher moves off me, my mind catches up.
This is blood.
Without warning, I lean over and hurl. Luckily my stomach is empty, so nothing comes out, but the pangs it sends through my midsection don’t help the queasy feeling.
“Get her some water, Hatch.” Hatcher nods and disappears into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, but it needed to come out,” Cyrus continues, looking back at me.
I shake my head. “I know. It’s okay. I just need to get away from that.” I point to the blood on the floor.
I never thought blood bothered me, but then again, I’ve never seen so much of it before in my life. I’m not sure if it’s the actual sight or the smell, but regardless, I don’t want to stay by it long enough to figure it out.
Cyrus nods, then grabs one of the shirts from the emptied contents of the duffel bag and wraps it around my arm. Once it’s secured tightly, he helps me stand and walks me to his room.
I drop onto the edge of the bed and take a deep breath through my nose. As Hatcher walks in, I reach for the glass in his hand before he can even make it to me. When he hands it to me, the cold condensation sends a shiver down my spine. I guzzle it greedily, not even realizing how thirsty I was. Maybe it was the dry heaving, or maybe it’s the weed.
“Tell us what happened,” Hatcher says as I gulp the last of the water down.
I take another deep breath, willing the emotions I’ve bottled up to stay sealed. “My father—” I cringe. “—hired Ghost to kill my mother. He also informed me Alexander—the man I’ve always known as Dad—isn’t my dad after all. William, our butler, is though.” It takes everything in me not to laugh because it sounds so bizarre saying it out loud. This can’t be real life.
Their eyes snap to each other, then back to me. “That’s why he offered you a job?” Cyrus asks.
I shrug. “He said he can give me answers, but I don’t need them. I intend to get everything I need from Alexander. He has a lot of explaining to do at this point. All the information Ghost gave me does is provide leverage.”
“Fuck,” Hatcher comments as he shakes his head. “That’s a lot to unload.”
Cyrus narrows his eyes at him before looking back at me. “Are you okay?”
I tip my head. “What do you think? I was just told my mother didn’t actually die birthing me, and the man who hates me isn’t even my father, and I have no idea why he didn’t tell me. Would you be okay?”
“I—” he starts, but I stop him.
“Look, right now isn’t the time to dwell on shit. I can ask him all the questions I want when we go see him.” I stand from the bed. The world tilts and makes my balance wobbly, but I correct myself quickly.
“What do you mean go see him?” Cyrus asks.
“Ghost wants his money. How do you expect me to get it?”
Hatcher lays his hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. “She’s right, but this doesn’t feel right.”
“It’s because it isn’t. It’s a fucking setup,” Cyrus bites back, shaking away from Hatcher’s touch.
“Then what do you suggest we do?” I ask, crossing my arms over my stomach.
“We need a hacker. Someone who is able to bypass the shit Ghost has in place.” Hatcher starts thinking out loud.
I bite my lip and debate on even voicing my thoughts, but it seems they know no one. If they did, I’m sure they’d be here by now. Right? “I know someone.”
I hate to even think about dragging Bradley into something like this again, but we’re out of options. Cyrus’s contacts only include other hitmen, it seems.
“Will they be worth it?” Hatcher asks, staring at me down the bridge of his nose.
“He’s already helped a friend out of some shit before. I’m sure he won’t mind as long as I’m the one who asks,” I reply, already hating the idea.
“If he can track where Ghost is while you talk to your dad—”
