Page 54 of The Ashes of Summer

"Yes."

She hesitates.

"And you trust her?"

"Yes." The answer leaves my mouth before I've even thought about it.

She opens her mouth like she's about to ask something else.

"Don't."

Her lips press together, and after a beat, she nods.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Tamara looking at me. It's only for a second, but the surprise is there all the same, flickering across her face before she schools it into something unreadable.

Before anyone can say another word, the piece of shit on the bed lets out a low sound from somewhere deep in his chest. Every muscle in my body goes taut as my attention snaps to the bed.

"... Sss..." His face tightens against the pillow, brows drawing together as though whatever he's seeing is happening somewhere far beyond the hospital room. "... Summer..."

Something inside me tears loose. The rush of rage is so sudden, so complete, that it blots everything else out. The monitors disappear. The voices disappear. All I can hear is the blood pounding through my ears as my hand closes around the first solid object within reach. Cold steel. The kidney dish comes off the tray before I even realize I've picked it up. I can already feel the impact reverberating up my arm. Hear the crack of metal against bone. See the blood spreading across the white pillowcase as I bring it down again. And again. And again.

"Jacob."

The sound of my name cuts clean through the violence flooding my head.

I blink.

Adelaide's hand has settled lightly against my shoulder, barely enough pressure to register, but enough to stop me tipping over whatever edge I'd been standing on.

"We need the information," she says quietly. "Remember?”

I look at her. The fury loosens its grip, leaving room for something else. Not calm. Not comfort. Clarity. The reminder of why that bastard is still breathing. A muscle flexes in my jaw. I lower the tray onto the cart with a crash loud enough to make everyone flinch.

"Let me try," Adelaide says.

She steps forward cautiously, reaching for the man's hand with the same care she'd probably use around a frightened animal.

"Hey," she says, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Wake up."

Constance snorts. One look at her tells me she's already decided that's a waste of time. She strides past Adelaide without hesitation and plants a slap across his face hard enough to send his head rolling across the pillow.

"Wake up, motherfucker."

Against every expectation, the corner of my mouth betrays me. For the first time tonight, I almost laugh.

"Stop," Tamara says, taking a step forward. "He's a patient. You can't⁠—"

Constance rounds on her so quickly the movement steals the rest of the sentence from Tamara's mouth.

"Unless your best friend has been kidnapped by a murdering, sex-trafficking piece of shit and one of his cronies is lying in front of you, don't tell me what I can and can't do."

Tamara opens her mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it again. Honestly… Fair enough.

I step closer to the bed slowly, wanting my face to be the first thing this bastard sees when he properly wakes up. My knuckles press hard into his sternum right over the bruised center of his chest hard enough to grind straight through bone. Hard enough to remind him exactly who the fuck beat him half to death.

He yelps violently and his eyes fly open immediately. Disoriented. Panicked.

Then they land on me. Recognition floods his face instantly, and fear follows right behind it.