Page 124 of Devil's Iris
Well, I’m not going to go down without a fight.
“She’s on IV. Should I add it there? Or inject directly into her veins?” Another pause. “Right, right. Sorry.”
I close my eyes and force my breathing to stay even, my body perfectly still, as she draws near. Her shadow drapes overmy face, followed by the faintest tug at my IV line—gentle enough not to wake a truly sleeping patient.
Like hell.
My eyes snap open and I grab the woman’s wrist in a crushing grip. A syringe tumbles from her fingers, clattering to the floor as she jerks back with a strangled gasp. Our eyes meet, and I spot the earpiece immediately.
“Turn off the earpiece,” I growl, and her eyes widen comically as it registers to her that I’m awake. “Right. Fucking. Now.”
She remains frozen, and sweat slicks down my back the longer our stare-down drags on. I don’t know how many people she has waiting as backup or how many people are tuned into that earpiece. I need as few witnesses as possible to whatever’s about to happen inside this ward.
My free hand slips under my pillow, fingers closing around the scalpel I stole from a doctor’s instrument tray yesterday. In one fluid motion, I press the sharp edge against the fragile skin of her inner wrist, right where a doctor would usually check for a pulse.
“Right here is the radial artery. One deep slice and you’ll bleed out before whoever’s listening can reach you.” I let the blade bite just enough to draw a bead of blood. “Turn off the fucking device right now. I’m not kidding.”
She gulps and raises a trembling hand to comply. “Good. Now toss it towards the door.”
As soon as the earpiece skitters across the floor, I sit up fast—too fast—wincing when the room tilts sickeningly around me. Shit.
Without missing a beat, I drag her down onto the bed and move the scalpel to her throat. “Who the hell are you? What was that in the syringe? Who sent you?”
“I’m not at liberty to tell you?—”
I press harder, breaking skin until blood wells against the blade. “Stop. Moving. That. Hand.”
Her fingers had been creeping towards her hip—no doubt where she’s hiding a weapon.
“Do that again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.” My voice is dark and deadly, every fiber of my being radiating the threat even as another wave of dizziness hits me. Damn it. I’m still a little drugged.
Immediately, both hands shoot up in surrender, but her mouth stays stubbornly shut.
If she was sent by Stacey, someone in the FBI, or any random contractor, she wouldn’t be able to tell me anything. She’s probably being used just like I was, and will remain silent to the point of death to protect whoever is being held against her.
“Take out your handcuffs. Now,” I bluster, hoping she’s an agent. If she is, she’ll have them on her. “With one hand,” I add sharply when she starts lowering both towards her waist. “No funny business, or you’ll be painting these sheets red.”
“I know that,” she snaps, sounding annoyed. “You think I want to die here?”
With one hand, she unhooks a pair of handcuffs from her belt and passes them to me. I snatch them quickly with my free hand, keeping the scalpel steady at her throat. “You’re going to kill me,” she whimpers when I accidentally press deeper, drawing more blood.
“You’ll survive,” I say dryly. “Now strip. Lose the scrub top.”
Once she shrugs out of the top, I cuff her to the bed’s short headboard and yank out the needle in my vein, slapping my hand over the puncture to stop the bleeding. She watches me with murderous eyes as I slip out of the flimsy hospital gown with the gaping back and into her scrubs.
My gaze falls on the holster on her upper thigh, and without hesitating, I take the pistol out, earning myself a string of creative curses.
“No hard feelings, right?” I say with a smirk that makes her snarl.
“Fuck you.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m into men. Good luck with that, though.” I giggle at my own joke, even though it’s not remotely funny. Were my words slurring? Shit, I need to get out of here. Fast.
If even Rafael's security isn’t enough to protect me from my enemies—whoever the hell they are—it means I’m no longer safe here. Without really expecting a reply, I ask, “Who sent you?” while tugging on her sneakers. They’re tight, but they’ll do.
She narrows her eyes but stays mute. Tucking her gun into the small of my back, I turn to the cart she wheeled in. What are the odds she’ll start screaming and create a ruckus as soon as I’m out of here? Pretty damn high.
So I crouch to the floor, searching for the syringe she dropped earlier. It takes an agonizing minute of crawling on hands and knees to find it, my vision becoming increasingly cloudy. Shit. They definitely gave me a sedative earlier. I’m going to pass out soon. I need to get the hell out of here before that happens.
