Page 83 of Martyr
“What?” I finally ask.
“Sit down, Tem, your legs are about to give out.”
I glare at him, then follow the order. I lean back in the booth and take a deep breath. Then another. My pulse is fast and fluttery.
Someone nudges me deeper into the booth, and I move automatically. I don’t bother opening—I assume it’s Reese or Apollo. Either would be a welcome comfort.
“Artemis.” It’s Kade’s voice beside me. The low rumble. “Drink this.”
I squint at the table. The tall glass filled with ice and a clear liquid. It’s either liquor or water, and I don’t suppose either would taste bad at this moment. Even so, it takes a second for my limbs to move, for my arm to lift and stretch across the table. Longer still for the cold condensation to register against my fingertips.
“Hey,” Apollo says.
I glance over, but his phone is pressed to his ear.
“Yeah, we’re all clear here. Are the comms not working?” He focuses on Jace. “Might be a jammer somewhere. We didn’t notice.”
I forgot about them.I pull the earbud out and drop it on the table. I think I was a little distracted… Okay, a lot distracted.The fact that Daniel completely cut out and I didn’t realize is… concerning.
“I’ll go take a look around. Tell him to keep an eye out on the street.” Jace slides out and stands, then pauses and glances down at me.
“We should put the bodies out front,” Kade says casually.
Jace narrows his eyes.
“As a warning that it’s no longer a safe space for the Cyclopes.” Kade tips his head. “I can help with that.”
“It’s a good idea,” Apollo says, shocking the hell out of me. “Tem can stay with Saint while we do the heavy lifting.”
Reese, seated on a bar stool across from us, grimaces and hops to his feet.
In a flurry, they all leave.
I’m left holding my glass of… water? Vodka?
I pick it up and sniff it, then take a sip. Cold water coats my tongue, and I nearly groan. I chug half of it before I gain some self-control and set it down.
Sitting still is out of the question.
I check on Saint. I take his pulse again, my fingers at his wrist this time. Put my hand to his forehead. Inspect the wound at his temple. It’s stopped bleeding, which is the best case scenario.
“Okay,” I say under my breath. “Now what?”
I stare around at the VIP section. The glass walls, the U-shaped booths, the bar.
It’s actually a disaster zone. There’s blood on the floor, along with garbage, bits of glass littered everywhere. The bigger pieces are visible up against the footwell of the bar and along the walls, out of the way, but still a problem.
For fuck’s sake.
So I start cleaning. There’s a closet just outside the section, the door a hidden panel that blends quite nicely into the wall. It’s invisible when the club is open, the darkness obscuring allmy little tricks. I gather supplies and head back, starting first by sweeping everything into a pile. There are some sticky sections, probably from spilled drinks, that I ignore until I can get to the mop.
I’m on my third pass with the broom—and hopefully the last—when Saint wakes up.
I drop it and rush to his side. “You’re back with us.”
He touches his temple and frowns. “Freaking Gabriel cold-cocked me.”
“Yeah.”
