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“Do you?”
“I do.”
“Then do it.”
“It is not that simple.”
“Do I have to be a blood match or something?”
“Yes. And her blood type is very rare.”
“Test me. I could be a match. We can’t know for sure.”
“That isn’t my main concern. I know your history, Remington—the drug abuse. I’m confident to do the surgery, but what I won’t do is put in an organ that is likely to cause severe complications, which would result in two deaths.”
“But she deserves to live.”
And I’d do anything to make that happen…even die.
“What about the organ trade?” I turned to Ollie, desperately pleading with him. “There could be someone.”
“I have no authority over that sector, you know that.”
“Can’t you make a call?” I asked, not even second-guessing myself. He was already on the traitor radar.
Ollie’s head dipped, dark lashes hiding his eyes as he spoke. “The girls there are still alive, Remi. Do you want that on your conscience?”
“I’m fucking desperate.” Desperate enough to have an innocent girl murdered so mine could live? Yes, I was that desperate.
But Cat would never forgive me.
And I wouldn’t forgive myself.
Why the fuck did I have to pierce Rothbart’s heart? With my luck, the fucker was a match.
“I wouldn’t perform surgery with an unwilling participant.” Novaletti’s robotic voice interrupted, pulling all eyes to him. Mine had questions, unsure of what he said because of the ringing in my ear.
Feebee, again, repeated for him, but she looked almost pained by the words. Novaletti had a sympathetic stare, but it was on her, not me.
I let stress get the better of me and told him, “You work for me. If I find a donor, you’ll do the fucking surgery, even if I have to hold a fucking gun to your head.”
“You’ll have to blow my head off. Because I won’t.”
My fists tightened at my side, and I saw myself moving towards him, gripping him by the throat, and before I knew it, I was actually fucking doing it.
Everyone was screaming, Feebee almost hysterical in her chair, panicking as my grip tightened. Ollie’s huge hands tried to drag me away, but it was Novaletti himself who broke the connection with a fist to my chest that reminded me of the pain there as he sent me flying.
I straightened, and in the background of my view, Ollie stood between Novaletti and me like a barrier.
More words flooded from the speaker. “I am not your enemy, Remington. I will help you in the right circumstances. We need to find someone willing or someone—.”
“And how the fuck are we supposed to do that?” I cut him off and didn’t wait for his answer because he didn’t fucking have one.
I stormed from the room, then the building, breaking shit on my way out because that was all I could do to stop me from turning around and hammering my fist into the good doctor’s nose.
It was hard to remind myself he was right, when I needed him to just agree to anything I fucking said.
Jumping back in Ollie’s car, where Cat’s natural scent still lingered, I stared into the backseat where we’d sat together through the rearview mirror and broke apart.
