Fourth a Lie

Grabbing the medical kit, I unzipped the case and inspected the bandages, antiseptic gear, and painkillers.

I had enough pharmaceuticals to treat myself, but I didn’t have the time.

Tossing the painkillers on the counter, I braced myself and looked up.

I dared look into the mirror and study my broken appearance.

Thanks to Eleanor, I was drained to the point of death myself. My eyes were lined, and mouth bracketed with failure. The blue of my gaze muted, and the whites of my eyes still red and raw from Drake’s lenses.

My vision operated below par, outlines still fuzzy and distance still muddy.

The first few layers of skin on my chest had been sloughed off thanks to the acid in the oil, but new flesh had covered the injury, shiny and vulnerable from the serum Campbell smeared on me. My wrists and ankles had suffered after Eleanor’s refusal to swim to Lebah, and my stitched-together leg had once again stained my bandage with rust.

And the shitty thing was? I felt so much worse than I looked.

I still had so much to do, so many fights to win, and all my body was fit for was a crematorium and century-long siesta.

I sighed.

Fuck.

For all my improvements in the lab, I hadn’t figured out how to make a reset button. A way to remove all trauma and leave the body fit and able.

Only time could do that.

Rest and nutrition.

All things I did not have.

Drake would’ve finished in Euphoria by now.

Jealousy would be free from the hallucination.

I hadn’t forgotten what I owed her, nor could I stop the worry that she might not have survived another dose of elixir. After witnessing first-hand what’d happened to Eleanor, the guilt to help Jessica was a ruthless ruler.

If Drake was on his own, I would happily send him to death with a knife to his throat. But if he had guards...well, I’ll deal with that later.

Gritting my teeth, I focused on the first-aid kit. Nothing I did would fix my rapidly fading system. Tritec still existed in my blood. It’d given me enough endurance to satisfy my elixir-drunk woman.

But now...now I felt the payment it demanded.

My body was sluggish. My mind not as crisp. My pain sharper than before.

I needed this to be over so I could attempt to avoid the rapidly encroaching end on my future. Heart attack, stroke, or coma.

Was I prepared to pay those terms? Had I earned enough time and strength to keep Eleanor safe?

The answer?

No, not yet.

I still had work to do, and I had to do it now.

Taking a handful of painkillers, I shot them back with a glass of freshwater from the tap, then took another fistful back to the bedroom. Pika flew after me, landing on the scrunched pillow next to Eleanor. She remained on her side where she’d passed out.

Her lips were parted and red from my kisses. Her cheeks pink with sex, but the rest of her remained white from exhaustion and suffocation.

She needed to sleep.

She needed to be safe.

Once again, neither of those things were available.

Pika nibbled on her hair, twittering and chirping as if he could sing her a lullaby and choreograph her dreams. My heart hurt just as much as my leg as I ducked to my haunches.

Swallowing my grunt of pain, I put the glass on the bedside table and cupped her icy cheek. Waking her up would almost be impossible, but I had to try.

I needed her help, just for a little longer. “Eleanor...take this.” Pushing the pills into her mouth, I moved until I could sit her up a little. She mumbled something and tried to slip back onto the sheets, but I poured a mouthful of water into her, holding her chin until she swallowed.

Her throat worked, slipping the tablets into her stomach.

“Good girl.” I kissed her head and let her collapse to her side again.

At least her system would have fortification while she slept. Hopefully, she’d wake with her pain dulled.

She really needed nutrition too. We both did.

We needed food and water and an island where we could be utterly alone.

But just like everything else...that would have to wait.

I swayed on my feet as I drank the rest of the water and abandoned the glass. I’d never been this tired or so useless. It would be so fucking easy to lie next to her...just for ten minutes.

To close my eyes and—

Stop it.

I shook my head, chasing away the insidious pull of sleep.

Drake.

Deal with him, then you can sleep wherever you drop.

Quickly pulling on the clothes and draping Eleanor in an oversized canary yellow shirt, I sucked in a breath.

Last night had been my awakening. Today was my atonement.

Just a little longer...

A new fever made everything ache as I bent over the bed and scooped Eleanor into my arms.

Pika squawked and, just for a second, I didn’t know if I’d have the strength to pull her up.

Fucking hell, come on!

My back tensed. My biceps clenched.

Anger at my weakness granted enough power to haul her from the sheets and into my embrace.

I wobbled.

I tripped backward.

I grunted as fresh pain from my leg ricocheted through my system.

Ignore it.

Hoisting Eleanor higher, I turned and stumbled toward the exit.

Pika chirped and chased after me with a worried huff.

He flew beside me as I carried Eleanor down the sandy pathways of an island that I no longer loved. His feathers whispered encouragement; his tiny parrot friendship keeping me awake, keeping me going, keeping me alive...for now.

* * * * *

I entered Euphoria’s playroom and slammed to a stop.

I hadn’t encountered anyone on my journey here.

Eleanor had slept soundly in my arms, Pika had fluttered beside me, and I’d focused on putting one foot in front of the other, steadily closing the distance on the final Sinclair battle.

I didn’t bother being sneaky or trying to remain hidden on my journey. Drake had made it known that I knew things he wanted and I was not to be killed.

Hurt? Yes.

Killed? No.

And in reality, I was hurt enough.

I wouldn’t prove to be too much of a risk unless someone threatened Eleanor.

Groaning with exhaustion, I jostled Eleanor higher into my arms and surveyed the aftermath carnage of Drake and Jealousy’s BDSM fantasy.

They lay in the middle of Euphoria’s bare and barren playroom. Drake lay on his back, one leg cocked and the other straight. His stomach was concave, the bullet graze and knife stab visible thanks to his bandages falling off, his cock flaccid and well-used.

Jealousy lay away from him, curled in a tiny ball as if she could become invisible. Her nakedness was white and as terrifying as Eleanor’s, decorated with bruises and handprints.

Both she and Drake were out cold.

It would be too fucking easy to stroll over, grab a sword from the prop cupboards full of cavemen furs and highland weapons, and run it straight through his heart.

What would I fucking give to have a gun stowed in this room? To have armed myself to the fucking teeth for this eventuality. Instead, I’d left the weapon concealment to my hired guards—all who’d been murdered.

A noise dragged my gaze to the left.

Shit.

Killing Drake wouldn’t be as simple with company.

My heart chugged as three men stood from their temporary resting area nestled against the wall by the bathrooms. They’d dragged the velour chairs from the guests’ waiting area and made themselves at home. The reek of cigarette smoke and evidence of midnight snacks littered my pristine villa.