“Don’t waste my fucking time!” I roar. “Who was here? Did anyone come to my room? Did you see anything?”
She shifts uncomfortably, her arms crossing over her chest as her gaze darts around the room, avoiding mine. “There... there was a guy earlier,” she finally stammers. “A doctor, I think. He had some men with him. They asked about your room.”
The words hit me like a gut punch, and my stomach twists into a sickening knot. My breathing quickens, my hands curling into fists so tight my nails dig into my palms.
“A fucking doctor?” I echo. “What did he look like?”
She hesitates, her eyes flicking toward the back room as if she’s debating running, but I step closer, towering over her, and the look of my fury pins her in place.
“Tall,” she finally mumbles. “Older. Grey hair. Polite. White shirt and black pants, but... something about him felt off. He smiled too much. It was... creepy.”
“Where did they go?” I demand sharply.
“I don’t know!” she pleads, stepping back, her hands raised in defence. “They didn’t say much. Just left—maybe two hours ago! There was a white van—”
“A white van?” I echo.
“Yes! One of those medical ones. Like the kind hospitals use to carry supplies.”
My mind spins, images flashing in my head. White van. Medical. Dr fucking Moss.
Her words pound through me, each detail pulling the noose tighter around my throat. My teeth grind together as my eyes squeeze shut.
They took her.
Without another word, I spin on my heel and storm out the office, heading straight for the motel room. The door slams shut behind me, and I waste no time. I limp into the bathroom and lean heavily against the sink, my reflection glaring back at me in the cracked mirror.
Blood stains my leg, the wound throbbing, each pulse a grim reminder of how fucking useless I am like this. Gritting my teeth, I grab the medical kit from under the sink and yank it open.
With no hesitation, I dig into the wound, my hands shaking but steady enough to extract the bullet. A low growl of pain rips from my throat, but I grit through it, tossing the bloody slug into the sink. I press a clean towel against the hole, wrapping it tightly before securing it with a makeshift bandage.
As I work, my thoughts race. Why Sacred Heights? Why her?
Is it a trap? Or is it something else? What the fuck would they want with Raven? My mind hurts with questions, each one twisting the knife deeper inside me. But none of it matters. Trap or fucking not, I’m going in. My little kitten needs me.
When the wound is secure, I stagger to my feet, stripping off my bloodstained clothes. I clean myself up as best I can before slipping into fresh jeans and a black hoodie. The weight of what I have to do settles on me like a heavy coat, but it sharpens my focus.
Now I’ve got to break inside an institution that held me prisoner for fifteen years… But how?
Before I leave, I scoop up Midnight, holding her against my chest. She meows softly, her tiny body warm against mine, and I bury my face in her black fur for a moment.
“I’ll bring Mommy home,” I whisper, scratching under her chin. “Where she belongs. I promise.”
Her orange eyes stare up at me as if she understands, her soft purr vibrating against my chest. I set her down gently, making sure there’s plenty of water and food for her. My fingers linger on her head, stroking her one last time before I stand.
I take a slow glance around the room, my fists clenching before squaring my shoulders and stepping outside, shutting the door behind me.
Time to bring her back. Or die fucking trying.
Chapter Twenty-One
Raven
In a haze, my body feels weightless as I’m hoisted from the cold, hard table. My head flops forward and the scratchy fabric of a patient gown is pulled over me. The rough hands of two female nurses tug and yank, uncaring to my limp form.
“Please…” The word barely escapes my cracked lips, a whisper so faint I barely hear it myself.
But they ignore me. No response, no hesitation. Their hands just continue to shove and pull on me like I’m a lifeless doll.
