The nurse studies me for a moment. Sees something in my face that makes her nod. "Waiting room is down the hall. Doctor will update you when we know more."
The doors swing shut, and I'm left with fluorescent lights, Luc's blood still warm on my jeans, and the one thing I've never been good at—waiting.
10
LUC
LaCroix Petroleum's executive floor is empty this late. Julien's phone pinged here—Simone's office specifically. The signal's still active, which means either he's waiting or he wants to be found.
I'm betting on the second option.
I move down the corridor, weapon drawn, clearing corners. Executive suite doors, conference rooms, all dark. Simone's office is at the end. Door slightly ajar. Light spilling through.
This is where he wants me to go. Where he's set the trap.
I key my comm. "Remy, I'm at Simone's office. Signal active. Moving in."
Static.
Signal's jammed. He brought the gear to do it.
Smart play: pull back, wait for numbers. But if this goes sideways, if he's planning something for the upcoming board meeting?—
Fuck that.
I approach from an angle, weapon tracking. Push the door open wider with my boot. Office comes into view—desk, windows overlooking the city, chairs arranged for meetings.
Julien steps out from behind the desk. Two armed men flank him.
I don't hesitate. Acquire target. Fire. The first man drops.
Pivot to the second?—
Something hits my chest. Not a bullet. Barbed dart. Wires trailing back to Julien's hand.
Taser.
My nervous system detonates. Every muscle locks. The gun falls from my hand. My legs give out and I'm going down, nothing I can do to stop it.
I hit the floor hard. Shoulder. Hip. Head bouncing off expensive carpet that does nothing to cushion the impact. White flash behind my eyes.
Can't move. Can't breathe. Just feel my body refuse every command.
Julien's face appears above me. Too close. Pupils blown wide. Manic energy vibrating off him.
"Finally." His voice cracks. "Finally you feel it. What it's like when control is just a fucking lie you tell yourself."
I try to speak. My jaw won't respond. The taser aftershocks are still firing through every nerve.
He's dragging me through back corridors. My shoulders scrape against the concrete. Can't resist. Can't push back. Every muscle is useless.
He drops me. My skull cracks against the floor. The pain lances through, bright and brutal, but my body won't answer it.
"You think you're protecting her." Julien's pulling zip ties from his pocket. "You think putting her in your house, giving her commands, makes you any different than me. But you don't see it. She's still performing. Still choosing when to submit, when to pull back, when to stop the scene."
He secures my wrists. Plastic bites into my skin. I try to pull against it—test it, find weakness—but my hands are still numb, fingers refusing commands.
Ankles next. He's methodical. Efficient. Like he's done this before.
