Fifth a Fury (Goddess Isles, #5) Read online

  Sitting straight, I swiped at my tears and spoke with renewed vigour. I had a purpose now. A goal. I could do something. Something that might benefit Sully and reverse the horror that he might have brain damage or be gone. “Sully had a heart attack. He’s currently in a hospital in Geneva. I don’t know the name or the address. All I know is, he needs to go home. I need your help, Dr Campbell. Can you arrange medical transport to get him back to his islands? Can you speak to the doctors in charge here and find out if it’s safe to move him?”

  A long pause before he asked, “Travel over that distance is not advised for patients who have suffered such traumatic events. I did warn him that Tritec-87 would demand pain in the end.” He cleared his throat. “But you said hospital not morgue, so he’s still alive?”

  “Yes, but he’s—”

  “Put him on the phone. I’ll discuss the pros and cons—”

  “He’s not awake.” I buried my hand in my unwashed hair. “He hasn’t moved since he collapsed three days ago.” My voice wavered, and once again, I had a terrible premonition. A foreboding worriment that filled my heart with truth.

  He won’t heal here.

  He’ll die here.

  “You need to do whatever it takes to get him back home. I’m not asking.”

  Dr Campbell cleared his throat again. “If we move him while he’s unstable, you run the risk of losing him.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s in good hands in Geneva. I know the head of paediatrics. The hospital is well funded and not afraid of progress.”

  “I agree they’ve been great, and they brought Sully back when he crashed the second time, but...this isn’t his home, Dr Campbell. Call me stupid and that a hunch is lunacy when faced with logistics of such a request, but I’m telling you...he needs to be back on his island. He needs to hear Nirvana. He needs Pika.” I rubbed my eyes, doing my best not to sound crazy or strung out. “He needs a reason to fight. He needs to remember who he is, before it’s too late.”

  He stayed silent for so long, I feared the call had dropped out.

  Finally, he muttered, “I won’t say he deserves this as he’s paid for his crimes, but this is the last favour I can do. After this, I’m officially retiring.”

  “You’ll need to care for him if he goes home.”

  “You trust me to do that? After what I caused?”

  “I know your intentions were in the right place.” I sucked in a breath. “I...I already forgive you, because without you, Sully would’ve died days ago. You saved his life, more than once, and I will always be grateful, but I’m asking you to save him one last time.”

  “Your forgiveness means a lot to me, Eleanor. I won’t lie that I’ll carry the guilt over Serigala for the rest of my life.” He cleared his throat. “But can I ask you a question? It will help with my decision.”

  I clutched Sully’s hand. “Fine. What is it?”

  “You know what he’s done and what he’s capable of. You’ve changed him, there is no doubt about that, and what Drake did...well, no one—no matter what they’ve done—should have to endure such things. But...do you think the world would be a better place without—”

  “Stop.” I swallowed back my temper, speaking from my heart. “I give you my word, Dr Campbell, that the man you’ve served is no longer the same tyrant. He cares, Doctor...about all life now, not just his creatures.”

  “In that case, leave it with me.” He sucked in a breath, preparing to fight for a man he’d almost destroyed. “I’ll call the team caring for him. I’ll be in touch.”

  He hung up.

  Shaking slightly, I placed the cell phone back on the small cabinet beside Sully’s pillow. I squeezed his fingers, treating him as if he could hear every word instead of being utterly unreachable. “We’re going home, Sully. You’ll feel the humidity again and be away from people, and everything will be okay, you’ll see.”

  Bowing my head over his hand, I did something I’d never done.

  I prayed to a higher power because if Sully had somehow tapped into such a magic with his prior perversions, then perhaps I could use it to bring him back.

  And maybe, just maybe, he would keep me an honest woman and prove to Dr Campbell that he had changed. That he would rethink his business of using the girls’ lust for his gain. He might even dabble with what I’d asked before Serigala blew up.

  He might let them go.

  The door swung open just as I scrambled for a prayer.

  I looked up, expecting to see another nurse checking Sully’s vitals and nodding encouragingly, even while her eyes swam with uncertainty. Instead, the mercenary who’d helped me administer CPR and brought Sully back to life stood on the threshold.

  He didn’t enter.

  His slicked-back hair shone from the harsh overhead lights, revealing deeper-set wrinkles of a man inching through his fifties. He bowed slightly in my direction, his attention skipping from Sully to me.

  He sighed and scratched his goatee. “Still no improvement then?”

  I sat taller, extracting my hand from Sully’s, doing my best to be resilient and strong. “Not yet but the doctors are hopeful.”

  When they aren’t side-eyeing each other with concerns they refuse to verbalize.

  “Shit.” He stepped into the room, throwing a look behind him. He looked sketchy and on edge. For a man who’d made a career out of killing for a pay packet, it made sense for him to look at everyone as his enemy, but there was something else too...

  I stood, my knees locking me in place. “Is something wrong?”

  He licked his lips, a wry smile tilting them. “Well, my employer is currently playing roulette with death so that’s enough but...” He lowered his voice, stepping closer to me.

  I met him in the middle of the room, goosebumps covering me under my baggy hoodie. “What is it?”

  “We have a...situation. Back at the manor house. Sinclair gave me strict instructions before he, eh, passed out, but I can’t keep doing what he requested. I’m unsure of how to deal with the situation going forward.”

  “What sort of situation?”

  He scoffed almost with disbelief. “Something I’ve never dealt with before, and one that has become rather pressing.” He glanced at Sully again. “Is he aware of any stimulus? If I asked him a question, could he respond and give direction?”

  I shook my head. “You can try, but so far, he’s shown no reaction when I talk or touch him.”

  He nodded with frustration. “In that case...” His eyes scanned me, growing darker with decision. “You. You’ll have to help me. You have to come back to the manor with me. There’s something you need to see.”

  “Me?” I stepped back. “What are you talking about?”

  The mercenary closed the distance between us, lowering his tone once again until only a murmur sounded. “You are his voice now. It’s your decision. Whatever you decide, I will take as his command, and I’ll have served out our agreement.” He took my hand, tugging me toward the door. “It can’t wait anymore.”

  I struggled to get free. “I can’t leave him. What if he wakes up or...”

  Dies.

  What if he crashes when I’m not here?

  “I give you my word that I’ll have you back within an hour.”

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Pulling me harder, he gritted his teeth. “You’ll see.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I WAS AWARE OF being...aware.

  Past that, I had no idea.

  I knew I was a sentient being.

  I hadn’t quite died, yet I hadn’t figured out how to live.

  I was in limbo.

  Suspension.

  In bondage.

  I had no way to shout.

  No way to wake.

  No way to force my fate to go one way or the other.

  All I had was a tether.

  A glowing, fragile string binding me to someone I couldn’t see.

  A string that hummed with a voice I
fell instantly in love with.

  A thread that filled me with warmth and want.

  While that thread connected me to my destiny, I was content.

  I could rest, heal, accept.

  But when the string snuffed out.

  When there was no touch, no hum, no light.

  I floundered.

  I was lonely.

  I was afraid.

  I missed her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “OH GOD, I’M GOING to be sick.”

  I clamped both hands over my mouth.

  The stench in the room.

  Sewer and decay. Sourness and sweat.

  All laced with the rancidness of rot—emitting from a man who’d almost raped me, tortured his brother, and did his best to steal everything I ever cared for.

  Drake.

  Not that the mumbling, bumbling mess before me could be Drake.

  Can it?

  I gagged as I studied him.

  In three days, his body had sunken to a frail skeleton, his flesh almost mummified on his bones. He lay on his side on the same couch he’d tied my ankle to. Putrid tracks of shit and urine stained the embroidered silk and dripped upon the floor. A huge puddle of spit glued his cheek to the material while his eyes alternated between being wide open and in horrendous agony before squeezing shut and scrunching up his entire face in excruciation.

  This wasn’t a man to be afraid of but a creature who yanked utmost pity from my heart.

  Sully’s temper had finally overflowed. The volcano I’d sensed inside him—the rivers of unforgivable lava—had let loose, and I stood looking at the aftermath. The hardened magma, the cracked destruction, the decimation of cities and minds.

  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.”

  I shivered and looked at the exit.

  It would be wise to leave.

  Smart not to have a graphic murder blatant in my mind.

  But I needed to know for sure that Drake was no longer breathing. I needed it for my own peace of mind, and to be able to look Sully in the eyes when he woke.

  I needed to be able to vow that Drake could never hurt us again. That I’d witnessed his extermination.

  Sully needed that.

  He needed to claim his trust back from the brother who had stolen it.

  Shaking my head, I crossed my arms and locked my gaze on Drake.

  He twitched and gasped, more drool covering his cheek. The astringent whiff of urine tainted the air as he wet himself.

  “I’ll watch.”

  “No. I must insist—”

  “I’ll. Watch.” I didn’t take my eyes off Drake. “Do it.”

  The mercenary huffed and paused for a moment. “Seeing death can affect people in different ways.”