Page 255 of Shadowman
I swear to God, lately it feels like I’m living in a Francis Ford Coppola fever dream.
“Get the fuck off me!” an aggrieved male voice snarls amidst a mess of other shouting as we round the corner.
“You two, keep him still,” the young doctor with the black hair—I think his name is Hassan—says, crowding around a body lying on a makeshift gurney. “I’ll check for an exit wound.”
“One-forty-four over ninety-five,” Dr. Johansson says, attempting to read the man’s blood pressure while he jerks around.
“Let me go, you pricks!” the guy hollers.I still can’t see who it is…
“Shut up, bitch,” one of the guys holding him down growls. “Or we’ll leave you to bleed out.”
“I have an exit wound,” Dr. Hassan gasps. “Put pressure on this… Love, bring me the sedatives.”
I push farther into the room, eyes widening when I spot Dr. Love. He’s at their sides, as if he’s supposed to be assisting them, though he doesn’t look happy about it in the slightest.
“Hancock…?” Byron grumbles, the unease in his tone drawing my attention.
The wounded manisOfficer Hancock, dirty and tattered and bleeding from his right shoulder.
Christ, this gets better and better…
He’s clearly in pain, having apparently been shot. But that’s the least of his worries… Because now he’s in enemy territory.
Fucking hell… He’s a bloody prisoner of war.
Byron appears sufficiently disturbed, and he’s not the only one. Dr. Love brings over an IV drip and some other medical dressings while eyeing the bloke in concern, jaw straining tight. Hancock’s fearful gaze stays with his as they share a wordless sentiment that’s not difficult to read. It looks like Byron wantsto say something to Hancock, but there are too many of the Warden’s guys around.
And then the familiar clack of dress shoes straightens all of our spines. The Ivory stalks into the room, making a beeline to Officer Hancock, everyone scattering to make way for him.
“Hi, Simon,” he croons, brushing Hancock’s damp hair away from his face. “It’s been a while, darling.”
Hancock tries to jerk away from his touch, but he’s still being held down, poked and prodded by the doctors as he spits, “Fuck off, Ivory.”
Manuel Blanco sucks his teeth, shaking his head with a smugly devious smirk resting on his lips. “Now, now. Is that any way to speak to someone who’s saved your life?Multipletimes now, by my count.”
“Your men fucking shot me,” Hancock hisses.
“Yours shot first.” The Ivory shrugs casually.
Hancock winces when an IV needle is jabbed into his arm. “Sure, Han Solo. Keep telling yourself that.”
The Ivory’s grin widens, fingers still sifting through Hancock’s hair as the bloke’s lashes flutter, his eyelids drooping. “Relax, Simon. You’re back where you belong.” He leans over him as Hancock visibly loses consciousness. “And you will make a purely wonderful bargaining chip.”
The Ivory straightens, spinning away. “Johansson, Hassan, get him patched up. Oh, and make sure he’s collared, please. Can’t have this one getting away.”
On his way out of the room, he drops a hand onto my shoulder. “Wait for me in my office.” He tosses a brief, sinister glance at Dr. Love before whispering by my ear, “We have much to discuss.”
Once he’s gone, I find Byron peering at me, to which I shrug.
What could he want now? What do we have to discuss…?
Regardless, I have no desire to keep him waiting. I run my fingers along Byron’s lower back. “Are you coming?”
“He didn’t say he wanted to talk to me…” he mutters, forehead lined as his gaze lingers on Hancock’s unconscious form. “It’s fine. I’m gonna… stay with him.” He swallows visibly.
I truly despise his endless melancholy, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I’m atThe Ivory’sbeck and call. We all are.
Marching out of the room with my stomach in knots, I make my way to the stairs, on a mission I don’t understand. The door to his office is open, so I meander inside. He’s not here yet, which gives me a golden opportunity to snoop.
