Bitty patted the tissue on her knee. “I didn’t love my father.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“And sometimes I got frustrated that my mother didn’t leave him.”

“How could you not have?”

Bitty took a deep breath and exhaled long and slow. “Is that all right? Is all this . . . all right?”

Mary leaned and took both the girl’s hands. “It is one hundred percent, absolutely, positively okay. I promise.”

“You would tell me if it wasn’t?”

Mary’s eyes didn’t waver. “I swear on the life of my husband. And what’s more? I completely understand where you’re coming from. I get it, Bitty. I totally get it.”

Assail had no clue where they were. As Vishous drove the BMW like a bat out of hell through the streets of Caldwell, and then out into farmland, Assail paid little attention to what they were passing by. All he cared about was measuring the breathing of the slave.

“Stay with me,” he whispered.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had reached out and taken the male’s cold hand. Rubbing it between his palms, he tried to will some of his body heat, his life force, into what lay so motionless beside him.

God, he hated those chains.

When he finally looked up out of the windows—because he was losing his mind with worry and wondering why the trip was taking so long—he frowned. All around, a fog had rolled in—or rather, visibility had decreased as if there were a mist in the air, even though the telltale pale cloudiness was absent from the landscape.

“You’re going to be safe here,” Assail heard himself say as they came up to the first of the training center’s gates. “They shall endeavor to care for you here.”

After all the stop and go, they arrived at the last leg of the trip, a descent that took them underground. And then they were in a parking structure as fortified and large as any in the municipality of Caldwell.

Vishous pulled directly up to a steel door. “I’ve called ahead.”

Assail frowned, wondering when the Brother had gotten on the phone. He hadn’t noticed. “How do we get him—”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. That portal burst open, and a gurney appeared along with the female called Doc Jane and another Brother pushing it forth. Assail recognized the fighter—it was the stocky one with the odd, human name. Also known as the Dhestroyer.

The healer already had blood on her loose blue shirt.

As Vishous bolted out from behind the wheel, he talked as he ran about and opened the rear door. “Male, unknown age. Unknown vitals. Malnourished. Unknown psychological and physical trauma.”

Assail stumbled to his feet and raced around to help extricate the male who was shaking with fear once again. “Let me!” he barked. “He does not know you!”

Although in truth, the slave knew Assail no better. He did, however, have the advantage of having extricated the imprisoned.

“Here now,” he said to the male. “I shan’t leave you.”

Assail reached in and picked the slave up, pivoting and laying him out upon the gurney. Immediately, the healer further covered his nakedness, and the dignity that afforded the patient made Assail have to blink quickly a number of times.

“Hi, my name is Jane,” the healer said, staring directly into those terrified eyes. “I’m going to take care of you. No one is going to hurt you here. You’re safe, and we’re not going to let any harm come to you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The slave looked at Assail in a panic.

“It’s okay,” Assail said. “They are good people.”

“What’s your name?” the healer was saying as she put her stethoscope into her ears. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“M-m-markcus.”

“Markcus. That’s a good name.” She smiled. “I’d like to listen to your heart, if that’s okay? And I’d like to run an IV into your arm so we can get some fluids into you. Would that be all right?”

Markcus looked at Assail again.

“It’s all right,” Assail said. “They’re going to make you feel better. I promise.”

Things moved so fast after that. An IV was started, assessments were made, and then they were on the move, entering the sophisticated facility with its medical rooms and its provisions—and all sorts of people.

Indeed, the entire Brotherhood seemed to be milling about.

The chains got everyone’s attention, the whole of the variable crowd in the corridor turning toward the sound of clinking as the healer rushed them along and those links of metal skipped on the floor.

“What the hell?” someone said.

“Oh, God . . .” came another voice.

The fighters split down the middle, parting to let them through. Except for one member of the Brotherhood.

It was the Brother Zsadist. And as he saw the male on the gurney, he turned so white that it was as if he had died suddenly even as he remained standing in the center of the wide hallway.

The Brother Phury stepped up to him and spoke in a low tone. Then he hesitantly touched his brother on the arm.

“Let them pass,” Phury said. “Let them take care of him.”

When Z finally moved aside, Assail followed along as they ended up in an examination room with a large chandelier in the center, and glass-fronted cabinets all around the edges.

Vishous held him back to the periphery. “Let them work. And tell me what the fuck happened?”

Assail was aware that his lips began to move and he was speaking, but he had no clue what he was saying.

Something must have made sense—and been accurate—because Vishous said, “I swear, she deserves to die if she did this.”

Doc Jane turned to Vishous. “Can you help with these chains?”

“On it.”

Vishous stepped forward, removing the black leather glove on his hand. Reaching out, he clasped one of the lengths—and a brilliant glow gathered in his palm, heating the links, disintegrating them such that the weight fell free to the floor with a clank.

Assail rubbed his face as the Brother went around to each of the four points, releasing so much of the weight. The bands around the wrists and ankles stayed in place, but at least the heavy links were off.

When Vishous came back over, Assail said in a low tone, “Is he going to live?”

The Brother shook his head. “I have no idea.”

Qhuinn stood in the corner of the operating room, his eyes locked on Layla as Manny performed yet another internal exam on her, the male ducked in between her spread thighs, a sheet covering what was going on to preserve her privacy.

“It’s too soon . . .” Qhuinn shook head and tried to keep his voice down. “It’s too soon—this isn’t supposed to be happening now. Why is this—it’s not supposed to be happening. Jesus, this is too early. What the fuck—the ultrasound said it was okay.”

Not happening, his brain insisted. This had to be some kind of a dream.

Yup, any minute, he was going to wake up and find Blay next to him in their bedroom—and he was going to take that deep, relieved breath you got to suck in when you realized that the bogeyman who’d been terrorizing you was in fact nothing but a figment of your imagination. Or maybe a backed-up chili dog.

“Wake up,” he muttered. “Wake up now. Wake the fuck up. . . .”

Blay was, in fact, beside him. But they were not horizontal, and they sure as fuck were not back up at the big house in their suite of rooms. His male was, however, supporting the shit out of him: the only thing keeping him standing was Blay’s strong arm was around his waist.

Manny retracted his hand from under the sheet and snapped off his bright blue glove. Then he got up and motioned for Qhuinn and Blay to come over to the bedside.

The fact that Layla was still conscious was testimony to how strong a female she was, but oh, God, she was pale. And there was so much blood, filling the pan under her bottom, scenting the air like a stain in the oxygen molecules themselves.