Chapter 3

"Dispose of it, Doctor," Vicky said to Dr. Albright, her voice flat, dismissing my pain and the harvested skin with a wave of her hand. Julian' s whim was law.

Dr. Albright, clearly uncomfortable, nodded silently and had a nurse take the sample away.

My arm burned. My head throbbed. For nothing.

I woke up later in a recovery room, the local anesthetic wearing off.

Vicky was there, looking at her phone.

"Feeling better, Ethan?" she asked, without looking up.

"Just peachy," I said, the sarcasm thick. "Glad I could be of service. Or, not, as it turns out."

She finally looked at me, a slight frown. My tone was new. The resignation was still there, but it was edged with something harder.

"Don't be difficult, Ethan."

She opened her purse and took out a thick envelope. "For your trouble."

She tossed it onto the bed. Cash. A lot of it.

I took it. I' d need it.

My phone, which one of the guards had retrieved, buzzed. A message from Olivia.

Thinking of you. Austin is waiting. Let me know when you book your flight.

I quickly hid the screen as Vicky glanced over.

"Who was that?"

"No one," I said.

I needed water. My throat was dry.

I pushed myself up, wincing.

The door to Julian' s recovery room was ajar.

I glanced in as I passed, looking for a water cooler.

Vicky was in there, cooing over Julian, dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth. He was milking his minor injury for all it was worth.

She leaned down and kissed him, a long, lingering kiss.

A wave of nausea hit me, stronger than the pain. It wasn't jealousy. It was profound disgust.

I found a water fountain and drank deeply.

When I returned, Vicky was waiting for me, arms crossed. Julian stood beside her, smirking.

"Were you spying on us, Ethan?" Vicky accused, her voice cold. Julian had obviously told her he' d seen me.

"I was getting water," I said, weary.

"Whatever," she dismissed. "Julian remembered your promise. About the Purple Heart."

My heart sank. I' d hoped they' d forgotten.

"He found an exact replica online. From a collector in Montana. You need to go get it."

Montana? Now?

"Vicky, I just had skin taken off my arm, and my head..."

"Don't be a baby, Ethan. It's a simple errand. A private jet is waiting. You leave in an hour."

She wanted me out of the way. So she and Julian could play house without my inconvenient presence.

"And Ethan," she added, a cruel glint in her eyes, "the collector is elderly and lives at the top of a mountain. No elevator. You'll show your sincerity by taking the stairs. On your knees."

Julian snickered.

This was a new level of torment.

My arm was bandaged, my head was still tender.

But I saw the resolve in her eyes. There was no arguing.

The thought of Olivia, of Austin, was the only thing that kept me from screaming.

I nodded, defeated.

Two of her guards escorted me from the clinic directly to a private airfield.

The journey to Montana was a blur of pain and humiliation.

The collector, a frail old man, looked at me with pity as I knelt on his porch, having crawled up the hundred stone steps.

He handed me the small, velvet box containing the replacement medal.

As I tried to stand, my legs gave out. I collapsed.

The last thing I remembered was the cold stone against my cheek.