Chapter 20
Lucas Whitmore groped through the darkness. His fingertips brushed against icy walls still reeking of antiseptic. This private ward had been his prison for thirty-seven days.
Victoria Montgomery's revenge proved crueler than imagined. Three daily blood draws left his arms studded with needle marks. IV drips maintained only the barest flicker of life. The worst was the automated phlebotomy machine—triggering whenever his blood volume showed any recovery.
"How much blood does Ethan Sinclair need?" he'd once rasped at a nurse. Silence answered him, followed by another needle piercing his vein.
Tonight's surveillance system glitched for three minutes. Lucas gnawed through his wrist restraints with his teeth. The IV tore free, scattering blood droplets like rubies. He didn't pause to stanch the flow, bare feet slapping against frigid tiles.
The hospital's rear alarm had long since failed. When Lucas crashed through the iron gate, night wind carried the scent of freedom. He staggered into the darkness, unaware of the black Maybach parked nearby—where Victoria sipped Bordeaux while watching his escape.
"The prey has fled its cage," she murmured into her phone, lips curling. "Your turn now, Miss Reynolds."
Neon lights painted Sophia Reynolds' face in fractured colors. She polished a whiskey glass with mechanical precision, her prosthetic eye glinting unnaturally. Three months ago, violence had stolen both her sight and her standing in Stanford's elite circles.
The phone's vibration nearly shattered the tumbler in her grip.
"Victoria?" Sophia's voice dripped frost. "You dare contact me?"
The clink of wine meeting crystal echoed through the receiver. "Room 1608, The Rosewood Hotel." Victoria's tone oozed honeyed venom. "Your tormentor is coming to you."
Lucas' vision swam as he flagged down a taxi. He never noticed the driver's black gloves. "Hospital..." The word dissolved into unconsciousness.
He awoke spread-eagled on a bed. Sophia straddled his waist, tears leaking from her hollowed socket.
"Remember this?" She raised a glass ashtray crusted with old blood. "You smashed my eye with it."
Duct tape muffled Lucas' screams. When Sophia lifted her nightgown, he recoiled at his own name tattooed across her abdomen.
"Victoria was right." She slit the tape with a fruit knife. "The sweetest revenge is making you dance like a puppet too."
Blood trickled from Lucas' mouth. As Sophia leaned closer, he headbutted her nose with a sickening crunch. Glass shattered as he wrenched free from the ropes.
"You think you can run?" Sophia laughed through crimson streams. "This whole floor belongs to the Montgomerys!"
Lucas froze at the door. Through the peephole, two black-suited guards exhaled cigarette smoke. Sophia embraced him from behind, her voice suddenly saccharine.
"Join me." She licked blood from his neck. "I know Victoria's safe combination..."