of knowing how long that would last. Or whether it was even true, given the number of closed doors.
Reaching forward, her hand curled around the icy latch. She expected a lock to be engaged. When things gave way under easy pressure, her breath caught. Pushing with her shoulder, she met resistance and put more strength into it, something on the floor getting moved out of the way. But then she had to stop. Through the dense darkness that was revealed, fresh blood hit her nose like a heavy curtain, brushing into her face.
All at once, she was sucked back to eight months ago, a female she didn’t know at her apartment door in tears, the four words the stranger spoke to her not registering.
Your sister is dead.
Helania pushed harder. The interior of the storage area was pitch black, and the strobing light from the corridor behind didn’t penetrate far.
She got out her phone. Her hand trembled so badly that triggering the flashlight took a couple of tries—
The moan that came out of her mouth was that of an animal, the horror before her too great for her mind to comprehend, her senses overrun such that her vision went checkerboard and the world spun around her, out of control.
* * *
The Black Dagger Brotherhood had resources that put even Boone’s aristocratic background in the shade. Everything those warriors did and all that they had, from their facilities to their weapons, their toys to their serious gear, was top rate and state-of-the-art.
Take this mobile surgical unit, for instance. It was very impressive how the RV had been retrofitted with an OR and kitted out with all kinds of diagnostic equipment, including a portable X-ray and an ultrasound machine.
Too bad its considerable capabilities, as well as the time and talents of its master, were going to be wasted on him.
As Boone pulled his heavy body into the back treatment bay, he shook his head. “Dr. Manello, this is not necessary.”
The man in the scrubs and the white coat smiled, revealing pearly whites that had the telltale short canines of a human. He was a handsome guy, his dark hair and mahogany-brown eyes the kind of thing you’d see on an eighties medical drama. Mated to Payne, the surgeon was highly respected, and not just because he was capable of stitching up all manner of rips and tears, inside and out: In addition to all those technical skills, you had to be impressed by anything of masculine derivation who could be that close to Vishous’s sister and still retain the structural integrity of his hey-nanny-nannies.
The human closed the rear door and crossed his arms over his chest. “How about you let me decide what’s going on with that wound?”
“I’m just saying that I feel fine and—”
“Hey, can I show you something?” Dr. Manello leaned forward and tapped his white coat by the lapel. “What’s this?”
Boone focused on the cursive letters that were done in black. “Your name.”
“No, this part.”
“‘M.D.’”
“Do you have any letters with periods after your name like that? No? Well, then let’s allow the Medical Doctor to make this call. If you’re as a-okay as you say you are, you’ll be out of here in a New York minute.”
Dr. Manello’s wide smile was as open and nonjudgmental as ever. Then again, you had to imagine he’d heard it all because he didn’t just treat the trainees. He was part of the Brotherhood’s private medical team, so he had to face off at the likes of a leaking or broken Zsadist, for godsakes.
And wasn’t that enough to make your blood run cold even in theory.
“It’s only a puncture wound,” Boone groused as he stepped over to the exam table.
Hopping up, he was surprised to find that his shoulder started talking to him as he tried to get his jacket off. Pain, a well-known houseguest, had him wincing. Which sucked on a lot of levels.
“Let me help you.”
Dr. Manello was gentle and took his time with the leather-outerwear-ectomy, but Boone would rather have had the man rip the jacket off. Left without something to command his attention in a particular direction . . . the things he had sought to avoid all night came rushing into his mind, a crowd bursting through the barrier they had been up against, chaos spinning up within the confines of his skull.
“That hurt?”
Boone glanced at the doctor. “What?”
“Your breath just got tight.”
Not because of the wound. “I’m okay.”
With the jacket off, Boone looked down at himself. Blood had