“You’re in pieces, Sinclair. Your ankle is fractured, and from what I can feel, at least three metatarsals. You can’t walk. Not with the harpoon hole and—”

I snatched him around the throat, squeezing mercilessly. “Give me another dose of Tritec.”

His eyes flared as his hands wrapped around my wrist, doing his best to get free. “No way.” He gagged as I squeezed harder. “You’ll...die.”

I let him go, shoving him away from me. “Get me the syringe. Don’t make me ask again.”

He coughed and stood, his stare saying everything. “You’re not asking now.”

“You’re right. Get it.”

“You take it and you’re a dead man.”

“I’m a dead man if I don’t.” My fists tightened into boulders. “I’m not leaving her with him. I’m done.”

“Send someone else. You’re in no condition—”

“Tritec, Doctor. Otherwise, I will rip out your goddamn throat. I still owe you for what you caused. You’re a traitor. Your denial is only cementing my need to punish you.”

“Christ, Sinclair.” He backed away. “I told you why I did what—”

“I don’t have fucking time for this!” I tried to stand and howled like an enraged bear. “The needle. Now!”

He tripped and scurried away.

It wasn’t just the police afraid of me.

He was afraid of me.

Everyone was afraid of what they’d salvaged from the sea.

Good.

I no longer wanted to be a man, bound with weakness and feeble, breakable bones.

I wanted to be the creature in the dark, the fable no one uttered, the Grim Reaper swiping the sickle himself.

Fisting the steel frame of the bed, I gritted my teeth and hauled myself upright. Seemed at least one leg remained workable from my dismount out of a flying machine. The other...it would bow to my vengeance or I’d remove it. I was done with deadweight holding me back.

Pika descended on my shoulder, his tweets and panic sounding manic in my ear as he nibbled and head butted my throat.

Campbell took his fucking time raiding the cupboard.

Each minute was a minute that Eleanor was in Drake’s possession.

Each minute he could touch her, hurt her, rape her.

“The syringe!” I held out my hand, sickly sweat pouring down my temples, mixing with sea and sins. “Now.”

He shook his head as his hands continued to rifle through the boxes. “Reconsider, Sinclair. You’ve already had a dose. You don’t know when that will cease working. It might cause cardiac arrest, a stroke, a coma—”

“I’m aware of the risks.” I hopped toward him, spying a pair of crutches resting against the wall. “The needle and a crutch, then you’re free to tend to Jealousy.”

“It goes against my Hippocratic Oath, Sullivan. If I give you another dose, you. Will. Die.”

“And if you don’t give me another dose, you will die.” I cocked my head. “And as much as I want your blood to flow, I need you alive to keep Jess alive.” Fury tried to suck me back, to delete the pain making my head swim, to pull me away from living and return to just watching.

It was calmer that way.

Distant and remote and focused.

I fought its pull.

I needed one last weapon before I allowed myself to succumb completely.

I snapped my fingers, jolting Campbell into action. “Last chance.”

“Jesus Christ.” Finding the right box, he pulled it free, ignoring the yellow and red warning sticker. A label coloured with dangerous pigments to alert the user of how risky its contents were. Warnings of death and serious complications.

The drug was another form of elixir with irreversible side effects. A tonic and stimulant—a brew that had the power to disable pain and enable the user to do what was necessary before they succumbed.

I didn’t care about the price.

I didn’t worry about the future.

All that mattered was her.

In Drake’s hands.

Too far for me to protect her.

Facing a future of pain and horror and—

“Fucking do it, Jim.”

“For God’s sake.” Campbell grabbed a crutch on his way past, handing it to me and placing the box of potentially lethal injections on the bed. Selecting one, he unwrapped it, uncapped it, tapped out any air, and tore open an alcohol swab from his pocket.

Pika fluttered to the bed, squeaking grimly, his beady black eyes intelligent enough to understand something dangerous was happening. Something he didn’t like.

Campbell’s jaw clenched. His hand lowered. “If I administer this, the percentage of you surviving are—”

“I know the math.” I held out my arm. “Do it.”

“What if it’s not enough to get her back? To win?”

“It will be. I’ll make sure of it.”

“She won’t be happy if you save her only to die a few hours later.”

“She doesn’t have a choice in the matter.” I narrowed my eyes. “Once she’s safe and Drake is dead, nothing else matters anymore.”

“Love matters, Sullivan. Love can change you. It’s already changed—”

“Love is dead if I delay any longer!” I hoisted my arm higher, ignoring my chugging heart and the quiet whisper of sanity. I could be buying Eleanor’s life with my own.

And I would take that trade.

Because I refused to go back to the man I’d been.

I hated who I was.

No existence was possible for me unless Eleanor was in my world.

That was the point of a sacrifice. It wasn’t noble. It wasn’t heroic.

It was selfish.

Just like every other emotion a human being could conjure.

I would die because I was selfish and couldn’t bear to live in a world without her.

Campbell sighed and swiped the swab over my bicep. With steady hands from a lifetime of being a doctor, he punctured my skin, pressed the plunger, and shot the golden contents into my bloodstream.

The second the needle had emptied, he tossed it into a biohazard bin and raked both hands through his hair. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here anymore.”

“Go back and keep Jess alive.” Using the crutch, I hopped across his surgery to the phone resting on the wall. A landline. Archaic in this day and age but technology I was grateful for.

Dialling a number I knew by heart, I waited until it connected with my hangar in Jakarta. The second Ametung answered, I growled, “Hire twenty mercenaries who aren’t afraid of getting their hands dirty. Use Quietus—their details are still on file.”

Pika tried to bite the cord, dangling upside down with his usual antics. I needed to console him. To offer some sort of commiseration that I was still his, even if every part of me was cloaked in rage.

But if I let empathy enter my soul in my current predicament...it wouldn’t just be my broken bones destroying me.

Eleanor...

“Anything else?” Ametung asked.

“Prepare the jet. Get the crew ready. I’m on my way.”

“Consider it done.”

I hung up.

I marched outside even as Cal’s voice followed me from his bed in the recovery ward. “Hey, sir. Sully!”