Page 79 of Aftershock
Even when a strange notion creeps in, like now, I shove it aside.
Steven needs me.
Especially now. His heart rate is too fast. Oxygen is dipping. Blood pressure’s dangerously low.
He’s crashing.
“He was conscious on scene,” the medic continues. “Lost it en route. We can’t get him to stabilize.”
My phone disappears into my pocket. My body goes on autopilot, already moving with them and shoving my hands into gloves.
Samantha and Becket appear at my side. Other nurses and another doctor too.
After I rattle off command after command, someone goes to call for an ultrasound. Another preps blood.
Then I ask Austin, “How long since the injury?”
“Unknown.” His jaw tics. “The dad said Steven didn’t answer his calls, so he came back from work, and there he was, slumped at the bottom of the staircase of their penthouse. That he must’ve fallen.”
Bull-fucking-shit. This kid didn’t fall.
There’s blood matted in his hair, trailing down his neck. His goddamn eye is getting more swollen by the second.
He was beaten up. Brutalized.
And so wasshe.
A memory demands my attention despite it being the absolute worst timing.
Seven years ago.
Middle of the night.
A fifteen-year-old girl who was so small. Bleeding. Broken.
The bump on her nose.
The fear in her eyes as she went in and out of consciousness.
“I got an A-minus on my math quiz. Disappointment.”
My lungs push against my ribs.
Rage burns hot.
Hotter.
Hottest.
“Where’s Mom?”
The panic in her eyes. The relief when I assured her that her mother wouldn’t come anywhere near her.
Everything clicks into place in a blinding instant.
Lilith Rayne.
Daughter of Renata Rayne, one of my first test subjects.
