Chapter 1007
The gurney turned a sharp corner into a room that looked like a library converted into a field hospital. Bookshelves lined the walls, but the center was dominated by medical equipment and sterile drapes.
They transferred her onto the operating table. The movement sent a bolt of white-hot agony through her shoulder. Skye gasped, arching her back.
“Hold her down,” the old voice commanded.
A face leaned over her. It wasn’t Preston. It was an older man, dressed in a vintage three-piece suit that looked like it belonged in the 1920s. He had silver hair slicked back and eyes that were terrifyingly similar to Liam’s—but where Liam’s were stormy, this man’s were dead, like a shark’s.
Bastian Kensington. Liam’s father. The man who was supposed to be dead. The man who had faked a car crash five years ago to pursue the dark arts of the Ouroboros.
“Welcome to the family reunion, Skye,” Bastian said, smiling without warmth. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves with a snap. “I hear you’ve been busy destroying my inheritance.”
𝘐n𝗍𝗲𝗇ѕ𝗲 𝘳𝗈𝗺𝖺n𝖼e о𝗻 𝗀𝖺lո𝗼𝗏e𝗹ѕ.𝗰𝗈𝘮
“Go to hell,” Skye rasped.
“Later,” Bastian said. He looked at Liam. “Stand there and watch, boy. See what happens when you defy me.”
“Where is the doctor?” Liam demanded, straining against his restraints. “You’re not a surgeon!”
“I was cutting open cadavers before you were born, Liam,” Bastian said, picking up a scalpel. “Besides, our guest surgeon is indisposed.”
The door opened. Two guards dragged a man in. He had a black hood over his head. They shoved him toward the table and ripped the hood off—Ethan Vance.
Ethan blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light. He saw Skye on the table, covered in blood. He saw the wound. His professional mask slammed into place instantly, though his hands were bound.
“We found this rat waiting at the trailhead with an extraction van,” one of the guards sneered, holstering his weapon. “Thought he could wait for his friends.”
Ethan ignored the guard. He analyzed Skye’s condition, his voice devoid of emotion. “Gunshot wound. Left clavicle. Possible arterial nick. You’ll need to clamp the subclavian artery before extraction.”
Bastian nodded to the guards. “Strap him to the chair. He can advise. If he tries to break free, shoot the girl.”
Ethan didn’t fight. He sat, his eyes locked on the surgical field, his mind shifting into the cold, analytical mode of a killer who knew anatomy better than most doctors.
“Angle the light,” Ethan instructed sharply. “You’re going to miss the fragment.”
Bastian actually listened. He adjusted the light.
The surgery was a nightmare of localized pain and pressure. They didn’t have general anesthesia, only local blocks. Skye felt the tugging, the scraping of metal on bone. She bit her lip until she tasted copper.
Through the haze, she watched Liam. He never looked away. He stood at the foot of the table, his eyes locked on her face, mirroring every wince she made. He looked terrified. Not for himself, but for her.
Why? He had pinned Alistair. He had been dragged here just like her.
.
.