Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“The drugs make it worse, don’t they?” I observe clinically, feeling his movements grow more desperate but less coordinated. “Fighting just pushes them through your system faster.”
He’s no longer struggling, his body finally giving in, going slack in increments until finally, his knees buckle. I follow him down, maintaining pressure until I’m certain he’s unconscious.
When I release him, I roll him onto his back and check his pulse—strong despite the chokehold. Good. I don’t want him dead. Death is too simple, too clean. I want him awake, aware, forced to watch as I reclaim what he tried to take from me.
I’ll admit that I fucked up—that bringing Lilian into this made things worse—but there’s no changing what happened. All I can do is ensure he doesn’t get his hands on her ever again.
His face in unconsciousness looks younger, the hatred and rage smoothed away. We could almost be mirrors again, like when we were children.
Before the boathouse. Before I lost my brother. Before everything shattered.
My mind flashes back to me stepping up to my father’s angry demands.
“Its my fault. I did it.”
Anger reclaims me back in the present, and I slap him, my palm stinging, reminding me that this is reality, that he did this to us. His head lolls with the impact, but he doesn’t wake.
The combination of drugs and oxygen deprivation will keep him under long enough for me to get him back in that cell.
“You never did know when to stop, when to let go,” I tell his unconscious form, hauling him up by his arms.
His dead weight is substantial, but rage and determination give me the strength I need to drag him across the warehouse and into his cell. His heels leave trails in the water still pooled on the concrete, marking our path like bread crumbs.
I’ll need to clean that up. Secure everything again.
Fix what he broke.
Like always.
The cell door stands open, water still dripping from the sprinklers inside. I haul him over the threshold, dropping him with less care than I might show a sack of garbage. His head thunks against the concrete, adding another injury he’ll feel when he wakes up.
He deserves it. He deserves everything he’s going to get.
I move efficiently, muscle memory taking over as I secure him—ankle cuffs first, then wrists, connected by chains to the reinforced bolt I installed in the floor months ago. More restraints than before. No chance for escape this time.
I register the change in his breathing as I work, consciousness returning by degrees. I increase my pace, finishing the restraints before retrieving a syringe from the hidden compartment in the corridor. The clear liquid inside will keep him docile for hours—long enough for me to repair the security breach and to attend to Lilian and any injuries she might have.
The needle slides into his neck with practiced ease. His eyelids flutter as the sedative enters his bloodstream, a flicker of rage visible before the drugs pull him under again.
“Sleep well, Brother,” I murmur, checking the restraints one final time. “We’ll continue our discussion when you wake up.”
I step back, surveying my work with satisfaction. He’s secured more thoroughly than before, the chains allowing only minimal movement. Just enough to prevent muscle atrophy, but not enough to work on another escape.
Contained. Controlled. Mine once more.
The damage is easy to spot once I know what to look for—a ragged hole in the wall behind where the bed had been positioned, wires exposed and crossed to trigger the alarm system. Clever, if desperate. I underestimated his engineering knowledge, a mistake I won’t repeat. Water still pools on the floor, making repair work messier but not impossible.
I retrieve tools from my workshop upstairs, returning with a reinforced metal panel, screws, and an electric drill. The repair needs to be thorough and impossible to breach again without heavy equipment.
I position the panel over the hole, noting the blood on the concrete edges where his fingers tore at the surface. Another layer to our matched determination—his to escape, mine to contain. The drill whines as I secure the panel with heavy-duty screws, driving them deep into the concrete until the metal sits flush against the wall.
Once satisfied with the repair, I run my fingers along the edges, testing for any weakness. Nothing. Even knowing exactly where the breach was, I can barely detect it now.
I step back, surveying the cell one final time. Aries remains unconscious, chest rising and falling in the rhythm of drug-induced sleep. The chains glint in the harsh fluorescent light, a visual reminder of who holds the power now.
Satisfied, I close and lock the door, resetting all security protocols before heading back to where I left Lilian. She hasn’t moved, still curled into herself on the wet floor, vulnerable in her unconsciousness. The sight hits differently now, triggering something protective rather than possessive. Something that feels dangerously close to caring.