I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to think of something else. But I couldn’t shake the feeling this was an important phone call. Did someone track Victor to this property and figure out what we’d done?
What we’d covered up?
Finally, Henry ended the call, but didn’t immediately return to the kitchen. He simply stared out the windows.
I slid off the barstool and moved toward him, touching a hand to his bicep. “Henry. What is it?”
He spun to face me, a myriad of emotions washing over his expression. Then he pulled my body into his.
“He’s alive,” he stated, his voice thick.
“Who?” I met his gaze, panic racing through me at the idea of Victor being alive.
But it was impossible. I stabbed him. Watched the life drain from his eyes. Stared at the puddle of blood surrounding him.
“Blake.” He exhaled what I could only describe as a breath of relief. “Blake’s alive.”
Chapter Six
Henry
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I hurried through the maze of hospital corridors, searching for the correct room number.
The flight from Atlanta to Fort Lauderdale had only been a couple of hours, but my mind hadn’t quieted for even a second. All I could think about was how I’d never thought to call area hospitals on the off-chance Blake might have survived that explosion.
I’d seen it with my own eyes. Saw the night sky light up with the force of the fire. I’d assumed there was no way he’d survive it.
Then again, if anyone could survive something like this, it was Blake. He had a talent for slipping through death’s fingers. It was practically a hobby at this point.
Or a game to see how many times he could tempt death and win.
Which was why I should have done some digging. Scoured police reports and hacked hospital records. But I hadn’t.
Ariana attempted to comfort me during the flight, reminding me I’d been a bit pre-occupied over the past twenty-four hours, first with getting to her before Victor did, then disposing of Victor’s body and making sure all traces of him were erased from my house.
Not to mention the possibility Sarah might still be alive.
But it didn’t help. It only made the guilt fester even more.
Finally, I reached the room number I was given and burst inside, not bothering to knock.
The room was dimmer than the hallway, the blinds only partially drawn, letting in thin strips of the fading Florida sunlight. I moved toward where Blake lay propped up in the hospital bed, my feet moving in time with the steady beep from one of the machines.
Bandages wrapped his head, covering one ear. Bruises bloomed across his cheekbone and jaw in dark purples and blues, countless gashes marring his forehead and arms. I was certain there were probably even more I couldn’t see.
I scanned his frame, barely recognizing him. If it weren’t for the familiar tattoos snaking down his arms, I’d wonder if this was the same man who’d become one of my most trusted confidants, especially over the past several months.
I’d only ever seen him in black suits. Immaculate. Polished.
Invincible.
With the things I knew he was capable of, you’d have to be.
But seeing him in a hospital gown, covered with cuts and bruises made him look…human.
As if sensing my presence, his eyes fluttered open and met mine.
“Hey,” I said, the word coming out rougher than I intended.
