Chapter 5
The next morning, Richard sat by my bedside, holding a steaming bowl of soup.
He blew on a spoonful to cool it, then brought it to my lips.
His whole expression was almost dripping with tenderness.
"Good girl, there is medicine in this soup to boost your blood and vitality. Have a few more sips," he said softly.
As I fixed my eyes on his face, a wave of nausea twisted in my gut.
The memory of last night's shadows in the study and that S-Class Donor file in the safe haunted me, refusing to let go.
I opened my mouth, feeling nothing, and forced myself to swallow the thick, medicinal porridge.
The bitter scent of herbs assaulted my senses, chilling me all the way down to my stomach.
"That's right. You're still weak, and your numbers won't improve," Richard said.
He set the bowl down and absently brushed a stray lock of hair from my temple.
His tone was indulgent, but so cold that it sent a chill down my spine. "I've scheduled the therapy team for this afternoon. The whole process is arranged. Don't think about slacking off."
I lowered my eyes, forcing myself to bury every emotion deep inside.
He wasn't really nursing me back to health.
He was carefully tending to a donor so I'd be ready to be cut open whenever he needed.
The therapist walked in.
I pushed the half-eaten bowl away.
The porcelain bowl crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces.
I gripped the edge of the bed, retching hard over the trash can.
My back muscles jerked and twitched on their own.
I threw up all sour bile, burning my throat.
Richard's brows furrowed, his voice carrying a hint of irritation. "Emily?"
I gripped the sheets so tightly, my nails dug deep into my palms. "I want to go downstairs for some air. It's suffocating in here."
He watched me for a few seconds. "Go ahead, but don't wander off. I'll be keeping an eye on you from the surveillance room."
He leaned in and kissed my forehead.
His touch was cold and almost suffocatingly intimate.
I pushed myself up on shaky legs and walked out of the bedroom.
Downstairs, by the tree-lined path, a black SUV was parked with its engine off.
I pulled open the door and slipped into the back seat.
Andrew was in the driver's seat; he turned to face me.
I pulled out the flash drive from my pocket, still wrapped in the fingerprint patch. "This has all the records of Sterling Holdings' illegal extraction of live donor data and Sophie's original medical records."
Andrew took the flash drive. "If this leaks, Sterling Holdings is done for in this world. But Richard won't sit back and let it happen. You're in for a rough ride," she said.
"As long as I can bring him down, I don't care about anything else," I said.
I pushed open the car door and headed straight back inside.
As soon as I stepped into the hospital lobby, a tall figure stepped right into my path. "Where have you been?"
He strode over and seized my wrist. "Sophie's having organ rejection. Her vitals are crashing.
"The doctor says we need fresh blood for a cross-match, right now. "Emily, if you keep refusing to cooperate with your therapy, you're playing games with her life."
I stared at the veins popping on his forehead, letting out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. "So her life counts, but mine's used for her?"
I shot my right hand up.
Locking eyes with his shocked expression, I grabbed the needle jammed into the back of my left hand.
With a fierce yank, I tore it out.
The sharp needle and tube ripped free, dragging at my skin.
Blood spattered, tiny crimson drops landing on his spotless white shirt. "Is that what you want? My blood?"
I locked eyes with him and took a step closer. "Go on, and take it now. Drain every last drop and give it all to her.
"Richard, why don't you kill me now? Save yourself the effort of putting on this act every day."
Richard froze, rooted to the spot. "Emily, are you crazy?"
A nurse rushed over, crying out as she pressed down hard on my hand to stop the blood from gushing out.
In the chaos, I looked past the crowd and caught a glimpse of the observation window at the end of the hallway.
Sophie was sitting in her wheelchair, watching me through the glass.
A slow, victorious smile crept across her pale, bloodless face.