Page 52 of The Masked King

“Enzo?” A woman’s voice. It feels like cold water trickling through the cracks in my swollen brain, soothing and painful all at once. “Jesus, fuck, what the hell happened to you?”

My teeth are chattering. I’m vaguely aware of curling up into a ball, with my fists under my chin, of my face being cleaned with a damp cloth, of something cold and wet being placed on my forehead with a dry fluffy towel under my head.

“Open your mouth, Enzo.” I do as I’m told with no idea why I’m being told to do it, or who is taking control.

Cold water trickles between my lips, and I turn towards it greedily.

“Slowly or you’ll be sick again.”

She raises my head a little and holds a glass to my mouth. The water is cold, tracing a winding stream through the raging desert heat of my body as it goes down. My hand trembles violently as I try to hold it myself.

“I’ve got it, Enzo, let me help.”

The water is already taking effect, hydrating me slowly, punching through the migraine and dulling the drumbeats inside my head enough for me to open my eyes.

“Bianca?” My voice is cracked like centuries-old parchment.

“I’m here.” She waits for me to drain the glass before setting it aside. “Do you think you can stand?”

“…got to…” I can’t comprehend what or why exactly, but I can’t stay here because there’s something I need to do.

Gripping my sister’s hand tightly and leaning against the bathroom wall for support, I stand on trembling legs, panting while my brain cells play catch-up.

“At least you kept your boxers on.” Bianca tries to inject some light into her tone.

It doesn’t quite land.

“How did I… get here?”

Frown lines crease her forehead. “You don’t remember?” She must realize I’m incapable of shaking my head or saying something witty because she doesn’t wait for me to answer. “You were in bed when I got back. I tried talking to you from the doorway, but you were sleeping like the dead.”

“Where were you?” I croak.

“Reveling with the Bratva.”

The Bratva.

It’s like a flame being held to the bottom of a firework. It catches fire, spreading slowly towards the main event with vivid flashbacks of the night before. Nyx, her voice belonging to someone else, the real Nyx showing up and removing my mask, whispering in my ear to go with her. My pulse picks up when I recall the wrong Nyx being hurt, how she felt in my arms, the shock traveling through me before the door opened.

“They have Nyx.”

Bianca studies me intently like she isn’t sure if I’m her brother or an alien version teleported into my apartment from outer space. “Enzo, there won’t be a third time, you realize that.”

“I can’t walk away now.”

“Okay.” She takes my hand and guides me away from the wall, supporting my tentative steps across the cold floor on my bare feet, until I’m facing the mirror. “Like what you see?”

I hardly recognize myself. My skin looks gray, my eyes are sunken and bloodshot, with puffy circles beneath them, blood is still caked around my nostrils, and my lips are blue.

“I…” The fuckers weren’t messing around this time, but if this is what they did to me, I’m frightened for Nyx. For them both. “They were here.”

They were here in my apartment, and this revelation is what I needed to jolt me out of my electric-shock induced stupor. I let go of Bianca’s hand, hobble to the shower, and turn it on. They want me to play, bring it on. I won’t stop until I find Nyx, and then I’ll show them what happens when they mess with a Sabatelli.

“You can’t be serious?” Bianca is still staring at me.

“Deadly serious.” Every part of my body is sore, but I force my eyebrows upwards as I prepare to remove my boxers.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Bianca mutters as she turns around and leaves the room.