A low moan cuts through the room.
I glance over at the other slab, she’s stirring. Head rolling. Lashes fluttering. Skin slick with sweat and dried blood.
The doc shifts beside me. “Better check on her?—”
“She’s not your fucking patient,” I snap.
Still, he moves toward her like a dumb bastard.
She flinches the second his hand reaches her arm. Jerks away, weak but sharp. “Don’t touch me.”
“I’m trying to help,” he says, but she’s already curling in on herself, eyes locking onto mine.
Her gaze drops to my chest, stopping at the Sovereign brand seared into the skin above my heart. Her lips part, breathing shallows, pupils blown. Pure panic. A flush creeping up her throat.
“You’re…” she breathes, “a Sovereign.”
She scrambles upright, snatching a scalpel from the tray. “Back the fuck off!”
My jaw ticks.
“Where’s Thames?” I step forward.
Her legs hit the floor and buckle. She catches herself on the table, still gripping the blade, her wild eyes darting.
“My stuff…” Her gaze drops. Her face twists in horror. “What the hell—who took my clothes off!?”
The doc clears his throat. “I had to patch?—”
She shrieks, shoving off the table, making a break for it. Scalpel flashing in her grip.
I draw and fire.
The shot cracks the room open like thunder. She screams as the scalpel drops and she crumples, clutching her arm, blood spurting through her fingers.
“That’s for stabbing me, you little bitch.” I tap my shoulder. “Next one goes in your fucking skull.”
She’s on the floor, writhing in a growing pool of red, sobbing between clenched teeth. The doc rushes toward her like a goddamn hero. I slam my fist into the tray beside him. Metal crashes to the ground, tools scattering.
“Get the fuck BACK!” I shove him so hard he crashes into the wall, knocking a light fixture loose.
His hands fly up. “Alright, Jesus.”
“Interfere again, and I’ll fucking ventilate your skull.” My gun snaps to him before I turn it back on her. The muzzle shakes with how hard I’m gripping it. “You’ve got three seconds to tell me where Thames is or I paint this room with your brains.”
Her eyes lock on mine. She’s trembling, blood slicking her arm, pooling beneath her.
“The boy…” she gasps. “Hudson’s Law. Did he…did he make it?”
“One. Two…”
She coughs, blood smearing her lips. “Thames…ran. To the docks. Warehouse seventy-three. Another hideout…he’s got…he’s got backup there.”
The fucking docks.
I tuck the gun, step over the blood, and crouch beside her.
Her body shakes uncontrollably. But she still looks up at me. That same fucking glint of resistance. I tightly grip her jaw. My fingers dig in until the tendons in her neck flex, her skin darkening under the pressure.
