Unwanted Blood (Harper) novel Chapter 74

Chapter 74

288 Vouchers

Chapter 74

The message was from Adrian. Tonight. 8 p.m. Hospital, sixth floor, staff entrance. Don’t be late.

Below it: a visiting time and a door access code.

I read it twice. No explanation. Nothing else.

I told myself it was caution-saying less on a traced line meant less risk. Whatever he had to say, he’d say it in person.

I closed the notebook. The alternative plan could wait.

At 7:50 p.m., I came to the hospital.

The hospital was a glass-and-steel tower on the edge of the city centre, its upper floors lit like a grid against the night sky. The staff entrance was round the back-a narrow door set into a service corridor, illuminated by a single fluorescent strip.

I scanned the access code on the reader. The light turned green. The door clicked open.

Inside, the corridor was quiet. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the linoleum. I followed the signs to the elevator, pressed six, and rode up alone.

The sixth floor was quieter still. ICU was at the far end. I could see the blue glow of its entrance sign from halfway down the corridor. But between me and it was a stretch of empty hallway, lined with closed doors and vending machines. No Adrian.

I stopped at the corner near the staff lounge-the closest landmark to where he’d said to meet.

I typed: I’m here.

But there is no reply.

I frowned, and waited. One minute. Two. Three. The corridor was silent except for the faint hum of the HVAC system and the distant, mechanical beep of monitors somewhere behind the ICU doors.

After five minutes, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. The knot in my stomach tightened.

Then footsteps coming from behind me.

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I turned

Two men in hospital security uniforms were came to me.

No! Instinctively, I turned and ran.

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But one of them grabbed my arm from behind, the other clamped a hand over my mouth before I could make a sound. I struggled-kicked, twisted, drove my elbow back, but it’s useless. They were bigger and I was already off-balance.

Something sharp pressed against my neck. A prick. Cold. Then a burn spreading through my veins like ice water.

My knees buckled. The man holding me eased me down without letting go.

My vision blurred at the edges. The corridor tilted.

I woke up to the sound of dripping.

My head felt like it had been filled with wet sand. I tried to open my eyes and the light was too much. I blinked until my vision cleared enough to make out the ceiling.

I realized I was in a hospital bed.

I tried to move my arm and felt the tug of tape and plastic. An IV line, running from a bag on a stand into the back of my left hand. My body felt wrong-heavy, distant, like it belonged to someone else.

I turned my head. Slowly. Every muscle protested.

The next bed over was occupied.

Adrian.

He was on his back, eyes closed, his face pale. There was dried blood at the corner of his mouth, dark against his skin. His left arm was bandaged at the forearm, another IV line taped in place. He wasn’t moving. His chest rose and fell, shallow but steady.

I looked away from him and saw the third person in the room.

A wheelchair, positioned near the window, its back to me. The afternoon light from the blinds cut across its frame in thin horizontal stripes.

It turned slowly.

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Dylan Westbrook sat in it.

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The breathing tube was still in his nose. The portable oxygen tank sat beside him, gleaming

He looked at me. His cracked lips moved.

“Awake?” His voice was sandpaper on stone. “You slept long enough.”

I tried to sit up. My arms barely responded-they shook, weak, the muscles refusing to obey. I managed to prop myself up on one elbow before the weakness dragged me back down.

“What did you do to me?” I said. My own voice sounded distant.

“Nothing seriously.” His mouth curved. “Just something to keep you from running. You’re weak. You’ll recover.”

“You’re insane, you asshole.”

The guard standing near the door moved before I finished the word. His fist connected with my ribs-hard, sharp, the kind of blow that drove the air out of my lungs and left me gasping. I couldn’t even curl up; the IV line held me in place.

Dylan raised a hand. The guard stepped back.

“You stayed in my house for days,” Dylan said. “You should have learned how to read a room by now.”

My breathing evened out. I turned my head-first to Dylan, then to Adrian, still motionless in the

next bed.

The picture assembled itself.

Adrian hadn’t set the meeting. Dylan had. Adrian had been taken first-beaten, restrained, put in this bed-and then Dylan had used his phone, his access code, his identity to lure me here.

This entire meeting had been a trap from the very beginning.

“What did you do to him?” I asked.

Dylan’s expression darkened. “He betrayed me. He tried to put me in a position where I couldn’t defend myself.” He turned his head toward Adrian’s still form. “I should have killed him. I didn’t. That’s the only reason he’s still breathing.”

I let out a laugh. It came out bitter, sharp. “You don’t get to play the wounded father. Not after everything you’ve done to him.”

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Chapter 74

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