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“What do you know about Xylazine?” I ask.
“Xyla… that’s a horse tranq,” Jez says, shocked. “Who would give her a horse tranq?”
“You’re familiar with it?” I ask, sitting a little straighter.
There’s a brief pause, and then Jez sighs. “Yeah.”
“Do I even wanna know how or why?” Soul says from behind clenched teeth.
“Probably not.”
Soul shakes his head in disbelief, but for the first time since Mark texted me ‘911’, I feel hopeful.
“Can the effects be reversed?”
The background noise from her end of the call increases, telling me she’s finally inside the clubhouse.
“I, um… Yeah, I think so, but I’ll have to make a call to be sure,” she says. “Fort, I’m gonna need a scrambled line to call my guy. Can you make that happen?”
“Jesus, Jez,” Soul grumbles.
“Don’t ‘Jesus, Jez’ me, and open the damn door. They don’t call Xylazine ‘Zombie-Heroine’ for nothing.”
What the actual fuck?
“Why am I still sick?”
I’m propped up on several pillows against Malice’s headboard, and once again, I’ve got a damn needle stuck in my arm. Sitting next to me, Malice clasps my hand as if I’ll disappear any second. With his knuckles swollen and likely broken, according to Abyss, I’m not sure how his grip is so firm, but it’s also loving.
Mark and Cece are staring at me from the chairs positioned next to the bed, and Soul is wearing a hole in the floor with his pacing. Grim’s standing at the door like a guard at Buckingham Palace, his gaze following Soul until their president abruptly stops and faces him.
I’m still groggy, but a lot more coherent than I was when we first arrived, according to Cece.
I hate being sick!
Abyss fiddles with the IV. “You were poisoned,” he says matter-of-factly.
It takes a moment for his words to register, and when they do, my blood runs cold. “P… p… poisoned?” I stammer. My heart jackhammers in my chest, and the machine beeps wildly next to me.
“Calm down, Apple,” Abyss instructs. “We just got your heart rate back to normal. C’mon, darlin’, deep breaths… in and out.”
As tears gather in my eyes, Malice drops my hand to reposition himself against the headboard behind me and pulls me into his chest. “We’ll find out who did this, and they’ll fucking pay.”
Sobs wrack my body, and Malice engulfs me in his strong arms. I inhale his scent and close my eyes, doing my best to take deep breaths like Abyss instructed, the smell of Malice’s leather cut and minty breath overwhelming my senses.
Wrapped in his arms feels like home.
Mark stands and approaches the bedside. He perches on the corner of the mattress before laying his hand on my foot and gently squeezing.
“You scared the shit outta me,” he comments solemnly.
“I-I-I’m sorry,” I hiccup, pulling my face out of Malice’s chest.
“I’m glad you’re better, but how about you never do that again?” Mark’s eyes are bloodshot, and his mouth is turned down in a grimace.
I hate that I put that look on his face—I hate the looks on all their faces—and suddenly, my melancholy turns into anger. Who the fuck would come after me like this?
“It’s not like I wanted this to happen,” I snip.
