Drake’s mind.

Gagging again, I tore my gaze away from what was left of Drake and looked at the grim mercenary beside me.

He hadn’t forewarned or forearmed me. We hadn’t spoken a word since he’d escorted me from the hospital and driven me here in the resident BMW. He’d nodded to his colleagues as he led me through the house and bowed respectfully at Mrs. Bixel as she baked apple and spice in the kitchen.

And then he’d balled his hands and waited for the man posted outside the living room doors to step aside and let us enter.

The moment I’d entered, the smell hit me, followed by the diabolical scene of a demented, mind-broken individual whose nose had a steady trickle of blood along with his ears.

Blood covered him in various stages of congealed.

Crimson and maroon, dried and wet.

Pinching my nose, I asked, “What happened? What caused him to be like this?”

The mercenary shrugged, sipping breath through his lips so he didn’t have to smell the reek. “Sinclair happened. He did something to him within his virtual reality program. He commanded us not to let his brother fall asleep. We’ve been keeping him awake ever since.”

He grimaced. “I pride myself on following orders to the letter and have never shied away from any method of extermination my clients’ request, but this...” He flinched when he looked at Drake again. “His brain is slush. He’s wearing most of it from it trickling out of his ears. His screams have kept us awake for days. I’m running out of excuses to keep the housekeeper out of here, and the smell is starting to escape this room and infect the manor.”

He turned to face me, his body braced. “I’m done keeping this madman alive. Whatever Sinclair did to him was justified and deserved, I have no doubt about that, but...keeping him alive any longer goes past cruel. It’s fucking evil.”

Shutting down my natural instincts to gag again, I forced myself to step toward Drake.

He thrashed on the couch as if Euphoria had become unbearably brutal.

Was he still locked within a fantasy?

Without sleep, I didn’t think there was an escape. Had he been forced to spend the past interminable hours enduring whatever nightmare Sully had coded? No food, no water...nothing but horror.

What sort of punishment had Sully delivered once he’d knocked me out? What had he done to his brother to leave his body resembling a voodoo-hexed corpse?

Drake was a zombie.

A real-life, breathing zombie. No mind anymore, just a bag of flesh and bones, steadily cannibalizing itself the longer it was forced to stay alive.

For a moment, I cursed Sully for what he’d done.

My stomach roiled with a different sickness, wondering all over again if my love-coloured glasses had hidden far worse traits than I wanted to see. If Sully was capable of not only delivering pain but also trapping his victim in a perpetual cycle of reliving it...what did that say about him?

Just how far was he capable of going when vengeance gave him the freedom to be the worst kind of monster?

But I’m sure he didn’t mean to keep him alive this long, right?

He hadn’t planned on dying the same night.

He probably only wanted to prolong Drake’s torture for a few hours, and then would’ve released him from his misery.

“I need your permission to kill him.”

I whipped to face the mercenary. “But Sully should be the one—”

“Sinclair might never wake up.”

I winced. A flush of horror and pure hate toward the mercenary for even suggesting such a thing, followed swiftly by painful acceptance.

That was true.

He might never wake up.

And Drake was not allowed to fall asleep.

Two brothers trapped in a hell of different makings.

I sighed, instantly regretting my inhale as I breathed in Drake’s stench. “I agree that Drake needs to be free of whatever—”

Drake suddenly screamed. A high-pitched shriek that sent nails down my spine. He jerked as if something bit him. He sobbed as if the worst pain imaginable devoured him bone by bone.

“See what I mean? Those screams are getting on all our nerves.” The mercenary shuddered. “We did what Sinclair asked but, enough is enough.”

Drake had done unspeakable things.

He’d been the reason Sully fell from a helicopter, why he was now in a coma, and why so many innocent animals were dead.

I cursed Drake’s every existence, but the mercenary was right.

Enough was enough.

Sully might not wake up for days...or he might not wake up at all.

Either way, Drake had paid his karma, and it was done.

Eyeing up the Euphoria boxes strewn on the floor, spying the abandoned sensors that enabled a user to step foot into a world that didn’t exist, I was tempted to step into Drake’s illusion to see what Sully had done.

What sort of power did Sully wield with VR to ensure Drake jerked and defecated himself, moaning and pleading in a voice that’d long since stopped making sense?

Was it smart to know the darkest parts of the man I’d given my soul to?

Or was it a decision that would break us apart?

If I entered Euphoria and saw exactly what Sully had conjured, I honestly didn’t know if I’d be able to forgive or forget.

It wasn’t the smell or the sorrow of the room. It wasn’t Drake’s patheticness or his plight. It was self-preservation. Selfishness to continue loving a man who had never lied about who he was. Who lived in black and white, who dabbled in both dark and light with no apology.

I’d always known Euphoria was the most dangerous thing Sully could create. Any drugs cooked by his lab could never compete with the terrifying potential of a virtual reality that could turn a man into a vegetable.

Ironic, perhaps?

Serendipitous that mankind was ultimately just a mindless organism if the brain could be broken.

“Miss?” the mercenary murmured. “Your decision. Are you willing to speak on Mr. Sinclair’s behalf and give me the order to kill this man?”

My nausea faded.

My exhaustion of the past few days vanished.

And I accepted that I’d just transcended from a goddess Sully had bought and fallen for into his irreproachable equal.

I hadn’t requested to share his power. I had no intention of ruling his empire with his ruthless fist, but I had been given ultimate control.

Strangers who didn’t know how Sully and I had met had accepted something I still had yet to believe.

I’m not just his anymore.

He’s mine.

And what was his belonged to me, too.

Until the moment Sully opened his eyes, I was in charge, and that was a heady, heavy crown to wear.

The mercenary never looked away from me, waiting for my decree. He watched me for my leadership, and I struggled to step into Sully’s shoes.

I had no intention of dethroning him...merely supporting him.

He’d given me his trust and his heart, and when he woke up, the decisions I made on his behalf would have to be acceptable.

I have to keep him safe.

Straightening my spine, I nodded once. “On behalf of Sullivan Sinclair, I request you kill Drake Sinclair. I believe that that was Sully’s intention all along before circumstances prevented him from doing so.”

The mercenary nodded in relief. “Thank you.” Marching to a gun resting innocuously on an ancient sideboard, he screwed on a silencer attachment and pointed at the door. “Leave, please. I’ll drive you back to the hospital once I’m done.”