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Soren rounds the bed, grasping my arm and yanking me from the mattress. His grip is vice-like as he flips me around to face him and snarls, “And if you want to live, I suggest you find a cure for what ails her within the timeframe given.”
“If she dies, you have no heir,” I counter, refusing to be intimidated. “And if I die, you have no supply of diamonds.”
He tightens his jaw, annoyance flashing in his gaze as he lets me go. “Then you treat her during the day until she is better, and at night you make diamonds.”
I nod, not caring that leaves zero time for me to rest. My need to take care of this woman, to heal her, overrides my own well-being. I can take naps when she’s sleeping. I can do this.
“I’ll need some ingredients. Arnica, camphor, alcohol, echinacea…”
My voice trails off as he holds up his hand and jerks his chin towards a notepad and pen lying on the side table next to the bed.
“Make a list. I will send one of my men to get everything you require,” he says.
“And that’s possible? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“It’s possible,” he says, refusing to elaborate further. “I will also send a man to help get her back to her cell.”
“No,” I reply.
“No?”
“She needs a proper bed, fresh air, somewhere to get clean, and a toilet rather than a bucket to shit in,” I bite out.
Glaring at me, I expect him to refuse my request, but to my surprise, he nods sharply.
“Fine,” he replies, then he turns on his heel and strides from the room.
Alone with the woman, I take a deep breath, feeling the swell of rage cling to my throat and crawl down my spine as I examine her battered and bruised body that’s barely strong enough to carry a fragile life. My anger rises with each bump and bruise that I find, with every burn and cut, hoping desperately that she will survive to see justice served.
“My name’s Cyn,” I say softly, feeling her forehead with the back of my hand.
My jaw clenches at her hot but clammy skin, and in that moment when her eyes blink open and she stares up at me, I make a silent vow to protect her and her unborn child, even if it means risking my own life.
“I’m here to help.”
A sob rises from her throat as her arms tighten around her belly. Everything about her is so fragile, so worn down, and yet still she lives. Somehow her unborn child clings to life with everything it has.
“My baby,” she whispers.
“I will do everything I can to keep you and your baby safe. I promise,” I say, stroking her hair, hoping that they return soon with what I need so that I can try to help this woman. Tears pool in the crook of her eye, spilling over the bridge of her nose as she twists her head to face me.
“I want him dead,” she whispers, the tiniest hint of fight lighting up her deep blue eyes. “I want to kill him.”
“Then I’ll make sure that I get you better so that you can,” I reply fiercely, meaning every word.
5
Lorcan
Carrick’s head drops between his shoulders as he sits on the edge of the bed and stares at the floor, Arden standing in front of him. Seeing them like this, so broken like this… Fuck, it hurts.
Ever since Cyn was taken we’ve been orbiting around each other, each of us lost to our own guilt. Busy calling in debts in our attempt to find Cyn, we haven’t talked about what happened that night, or how we feel. We’ve been on autopilot, hoping, fucking praying, we get to her soon.
And now here we are.
“Lock the door,” Arden orders without taking his eyes off Carrick.
I see the stress that he holds in his shoulders, and it’s as heavy as the weight Carrick feels right now, asIfeel. None of us are handling it well, Carrick was just the first of us to let his mask slip. Fucking ironic given our company.
