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“A doctor we know. Make sure it’s safe for me to drive her home.”
“We’ll go with you,” Lancelot said.
“Like hell you will. I’m dropping your asses off at the nearest rental car place. From there, you can go to the airport and fly the fuck away from us…from her.”
“It’s too dangerous for you to be alone,” Lancelot replied.
“My sister was plenty safe before you two showed up. You can go to hell in a handbasket for all I care.”
Sylvia shifted in Hugo’s arms.
“Shut up, both of you,” Hugo snarled. “We’re going with her to the doctor. We are not leaving her. Not until we are sure she’s safe.”
An hour later, a still-groggy Sylvia—now wearing scrubs, sporting a temporary cast of molded plastic and Ace bandages on her right hand and small sutures on several cuts—was loaded into the front seat of Oscar’s truck. They laid the seat back as far as it would go, put ice packs on her swollen knee and ankle, and then covered her up with a blanket. Oscar set a timer on his watch so they’d know when to pull over and take the ice packs off.
The doctor had given Sylvia something for the pain so they could splint her fingers. She wasn’t making much sense. She kept calling her brother Langston, but the other man didn’t seem worried. Perhaps it was his middle name.
Hugo and Lancelot got into the backseat of the truck. They’d worn Oscar down, and the young man had finally agreed they would all return to Charleston together, and once they were there, they would take Sylvia to the Trinity Masters’ safe house—though Lancelot hadn’t called it that.
Hugo buckled his seat belt and looked at Lancelot. When he spoke, he used French, and a hushed tone, hoping Lancelot’s skills with the language were good enough for them to converse. “We have to tell her the truth.”
“We can’t.”
“She almost died.”
Lancelot’s French really was lousy, but Hugo could figure out his meaning just the same. “No merde.” No shit. “Je saute dans l’eau.” Hugo assumed he meant he’d jumped in the water. “Pas de capture Alicia. Encore.” He was upset he’d failed to capture Alicia again. “Eric botter mon cul.”
Hugo wasn’t sure he agreed with the last. Eric would be angry, but he wouldn’t kick Lancelot’s ass for doing his duty. “You’re a knight,” Hugo pointed out. “Of course you saved Sylvia. That was more important. He’ll understand.”
Lancelot’s cheek twitched as he clenched his teeth. Oscar gave them both a funny look as he backed out of the parking spot outside the small private medical facility.
This mission was never going to be easy. Hugo hadn’t even been sure it would be a success, but he hadn’t expected to make such a mess of it. So far, all they’d managed to do during this mission was fuck up Sylvia’s life, and now, by revealing themselves, they’d also let Alicia know they were hunting her. Surprise had been one of their assets. Hugo had feared that capturing Alicia would be a difficult task, but this morning’s actions might have made it impossible.
And yet, he wouldn’t change what they’d done. If Lancelot were called to task, Hugo would stand by the knight’s side and defend him, even if he was currently angry with the man.
“We’re telling her,” Hugo murmured one more time before looking out the window at the passing scenery. He didn’t care if Lancelot agreed. Contrary to every single thing he’d done since landing in America, he knew what was right and what was wrong.
It was time to make things right.
“Fine,” Lancelot whispered.
Hugo glanced back at his friend and saw the knight gently stroking a sleeping Sylvia’s hair. Lancelot wasn’t as unmoved by her as he seemed.
Hugo recalled his own possessive grip on her at the ocean.
Confession or not, this wasn’t going to end well for any of them.
Chapter Sixteen
Sylvia fought to hold her eyes open. Everything kept happening in tiny, disconnected scenes. Pain. Cold. Water. Darkness. The sensation of drowning. One time she looked up to see her brother carrying her. The next time, she woke to find herself in a bed in a room she’d never seen before. She heard several men speaking in murmured voices, but she couldn’t see them. As her eyes drifted shut, a door opened and closed.
When Sylvia was finally able to pull herself out of the haze that had kept her in a pleasant fog, she did so with a jerk as everything that had happened with Alicia crashed in on her at once.
“Ah!”
“Shh.” A firm hand on her shoulder pressed her back to the bed. “You’re okay, Sylvie.”
She fought to focus her gaze, though the mere sound of Lancelot’s voice calmed her. She was vaguely aware of a throbbing pain in her hand and she recalled the car door slamming on it.
