Yet, here he was, abandoning his sister in order to help another save her brothers.
It wasn’t easy, but he showed me more loyalty and strength than I’d ever seen. Gone was the cocky joker who summoned women with one smirk. Gone was the slight player who’d worked hard but somehow managed to indulge in life with a silver spoon.
As he disappeared with a black-dressed Jaz in his arms, he grew from boy to man, and I’d wanted to run after him and thank him for saving Jethro—for once again putting my happiness above his own and doing what I bade.
It’d taken all my control not to follow. To clutch the handles of Jasmine’s chair and wheel it in the opposite direction.
They’re coming for you, Jethro.
They’ll save you.
It killed me that I wouldn’t be there. That I wouldn’t be the one coaxing him to liveliness, rescuing him from pain. But, at the same time, that right belonged to Jaz. Jethro had sacrificed his life to save hers—it was only fair she did the same.
Then again, she’d dragged my brother into her plotting. There was no telling her plans—whatever they were—would be executed without a hitch. No saying they would be safe.
If Cut found out, Jaz would be punished, Jethro and Kes killed for real, and Vaughn repeatedly beaten. I had no doubt they would destroy him until he begged for death.
And all for what? For the unfortunate curse of being my blood.
Stop thinking about it.
I glared at the wheelchair, lurking in the shadows by the door. It looked so sad, so empty without its owner. The metal machine grieved for its occupant, no longer wanting to provide a purpose without her.
Dawn lurked on the horizon.
Pink swirls and purple splashes slowly pushed aside midnight black.
For the fiftieth time, I looked at the clock.
6:37 a.m.
I’d returned to my room at ten past twelve. Over six hours ago.
Where were they?
What had they been doing?
Are you still alive, Jethro?
Are you safe?
I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t relaxed. How could I when they were out there, sneaking beneath sleeping cameras and saving men who in Cut’s mind were dead?
The dresser was back across the door, firmly wedged and protective. But that didn’t stop my growing panic as each hour traded night for day and the chance of getting caught increased.
“What do you mean Jasmine’s missing? No, she isn’t. She’s here…in the bathroom. And no, you cannot see her.”
I groaned, pacing at the end of my bed. That would fail. If she were in the bathroom, she’d need her chair to move around.
“She’s taking a nap; I don’t want to disturb her.”
All Cut would have to do was bang on the door and ‘wake her up’ to realize there was no nap to disturb.
“God, this isn’t going to work.”
Please, hurry!
The last of moonlight turned to sunlight, glinting off the silver rims of Jasmine’s chair. I had the strangest feeling of not being alone. As if the inanimate object was somehow alive, as if it had a presence in the room—the ghost of Jaz, leaving her impression with me even while she ran escapades with my brother.
What are you doing?
Has it gone to plan?
How much longer will you be?
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I hated being left behind, left to worry and fret and create insane theories on what’d happened without me.
I would’ve given anything to be with them.
He’s not dead.
He’s alive!
Joy effervesced.
I held a hand against my chest, forcing the happy bubbles to disperse. It was too soon to celebrate. Too soon to believe he was safe. In some awful way, I didn’t want to jinx it by believing in the best when the worst might still happen.
Time continued onward, turning my fear into depression.
What if Jasmine underestimated her plan to save them? What if they’d waited too long? What if? What if? What if?