Chapter 575
Chapter 575:
Liam looked up.
Lucian Graves stood on the catwalk above, looking down like a god judging an insect. He was alive. Scarred, limping, but alive.
“I thought you were dead,” Liam said, his voice flat. “The fall from the lighthouse… the storm p>
“Gravity is a suggestion when you pay the right people,” Lucian sneered, descending the stairs with a heavy limp. “My extraction team was in the water before I even hit the surface. A scuba rig, a waiting submarine… Money buys resurrection, Liam p>
“Why are you here?” Liam asked, watching two armed guards keep their rifles trained on his chest.
“Because I have nothing left,” Liam said, standing up. He swayed, selling the hangover and the genuine physical agony of his recovering heart. “Skye took my company. Alistair took my dignity. I want them dead p>
Lucian stopped a foot away. He studied Liam’s face, looking for the lie. Liam held the gaze, channeling every ounce of self-loathing he had felt for the last five years into a mask of pure hatred.
“You want revenge,” Lucian mused.
“I want to watch them burn,” Liam corrected. He pulled his phone out. “Check the news. I crashed their party. I humiliated myself. I am the pariah of Haven City. I have nowhere else to go p>
Lucian smiled. It was a terrifying expression that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Preston told me you made quite a scene,” Lucian said. “Distracted them nicely while my little gift was delivered p>
Liam’s heart skipped a beat.
“Gift p>
“What gift?” Liam asked, keeping his voice bored.
“A cocktail,” Lucian laughed. “A new variation. The antidote Dr. Aris synthesized for the old batch won’t work on this one. It bonds to the nervous system differently p>
Liam’s blood ran cold. The “Tick. Tock.” hadn’t been a warning about an attack. It was a timer on Skye’s life.
“She drank it?” Liam asked.
𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘦ո𝘴о𝗋𝘦d 𝘀t𝘰𝗋𝗂𝗲𝘴 o𝗻 𝖻𝖾.𝘤𝘰𝘮
“Bottoms up,” Lucian smirked. “She’ll start feeling the withdrawal symptoms about now. By tomorrow, she’ll be begging for death p>
Liam forced a laugh. It scratched his throat. “Good. I hope she suffers p>
“Oh, she will,” Lucian promised. “Welcome to the team, Liam. But don’t get comfortable. You’re just cannon fodder until I say otherwise p>
Back at the Thorne Estate, Alistair was holding Skye’s hand.
She was convulsing on the bed. Her fingernails were turning a deep, bruised purple, the hallmark of oxygen deprivation caused by neurotoxins.
Alistair looked at the purple stain spreading under her nails. He recognized it. He had seen it in the files Skye had stolen from Beatrice.
Blue Velvet. But worse.
“Get the car,” Alistair said to Felix, his voice devoid of humanity. “We’re going to war p>
The medical wing of the Thorne Estate was a sterile white box, usually reserved for treating gunshot wounds and lacerations from corporate warfare. Now, it was a death watch.
Skye lay on the bio-bed, hooked up to machines that beeped in a frantic, syncopated rhythm. Her skin burned to the touch, yet she shivered violently.