Immediately my limbs grow heavy, my vision dimming as the drug kicks in. “I hate you,” I manage to whisper, and then the darkness claims me again.
Chapter 16
Julian
I hate you . . . If you love me, don’t do this . . .
As I pick up her unconscious body, Nora’s words echo in my mind, repeating over and over like a glitchy record. I know it shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. With just a couple of sentences, she somehow managed to flay me open, to break through the wall that has encased me since Maria’s death—the wall that has enabled me to keep a distance from everyone and everything except her.
She doesn’t truly hate me. I know that. She wants me. She loves me or, at the very least, thinks she does. Once all of this is over, we’re going to go back to the life we’ve had for the past couple of months, except I will feel better, more secure.
Less afraid of losing her.
If you love me, don’t do this . . .
Fuck. I don’t know why I care that she said that. I certainly don’t love her. I can’t. Love is for those who are noble and selfless, for people who still have some semblance of a heart.
That’s not me. It’s never been me. What I feel for Nora is nothing like the soft, flowery emotion depicted in all the books and movies. It’s deeper, far more visceral than that. I need her with a violence that twists my guts, with a longing that both demolishes and uplifts me. I need her like I need air, and I would do whatever it takes to keep her with me.
I would die for her, but I would never let her go.
Cradling her small, limp body in my arms, I carry her out of the bedroom to the living room. David Goldberg, our resident doctor, is already there, waiting with his medical bag and supplies on the couch. I’d asked him to stop by earlier today, so he can do the procedure as soon as possible after dinner, and I’m glad that he’s on time. I only gave Nora a quarter of the drug that was in the syringe, and I want to make sure everything is done before she wakes up.
“She’s already under?” Goldberg asks, getting up to greet us. A short, balding man in his forties, he’s one of the most talented surgeons I’ve ever met. I pay him an arm and a leg to treat minor injuries, but I consider it worth it. In my line of work, one never knows when a good doctor will come in handy.
“Yes.” I carefully put Nora down on the couch. Her left arm hangs off the edge, so I gently arrange her in a more comfortable pose, making sure that her dress covers her slim thighs. Goldberg won’t care either way—he’s far more likely to get a hard-on for me than for my wife—but I still don’t like the idea of exposing her unnecessarily, even to a man who’s openly gay.
“You know, I could’ve just numbed the area,” he says, pulling out the tools he needs. All of his movements are practiced and efficient; he’s a master at what he does. “It’s a simple procedure—nothing that requires the patient to be unconscious.”
“It’s better this way.” I don’t explain further, but I think Goldberg gets it, because he doesn’t say anything else. Instead he puts on his gloves, takes out a large syringe with a thick hypodermic needle, and approaches Nora.
I step back to give him some room.
“How many trackers would you like? One or more?” he asks, glancing in my direction.
“Three.” I’ve thought about this before, and that’s what makes the most sense to me. If she’s ever stolen, my enemies might think to look for a locator chip on her body, but they’re unlikely to look for three of them.
“Okay. I will put one in her upper arm, one in her hip, and one in her inner thigh.”
“That should work.” The trackers are tiny, about the size of a grain of rice, so Nora won’t even feel them there after a few days. I’m also planning to have her wear a special wristband as a decoy; it will have a fourth tracker in it. This way, if her abductors find the wristband tracker, they might be foolish enough to get rid of it and not look for any on her body.
“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Goldberg says and, swabbing Nora’s upper arm with a disinfecting solution, presses the needle to her skin. A small droplet of blood wells up as the needle goes in, depositing the tracker; then he disinfects the area again and tapes a small bandage over it.
The implant in her hip is next, followed by one in her inner thigh. It takes less than six minutes between the start and the end of the procedure, and Nora sleeps peacefully through it all.
“All done,” Goldberg says, pulling off his gloves and packing up his bag. “You can take off the bandages in an hour, once the bleeding stops, and put on regular Band-Aids. Those areas might be tender for a couple of days, but there shouldn't be any scarring, particularly if you keep the insertion points clean in the meantime. If anything, call me, but I don’t anticipate any problems.”
“Excellent, thank you.”
“My pleasure.” And with that, Goldberg packs up his bag and exits the room.
* * *
Nora regains consciousness around three in the morning.
I’m sleeping lightly, so I wake up as soon as she begins to stir. I know she’ll have a headache and some nausea from the drug, and I have a water bottle prepared in case she’s thirsty. I expect the side effects to be mild, since I gave her a small dose. When I took her from the park, I had to give her a lot more to make sure she stayed under for the full twenty-hour-plus trip to the island, so she should recover much faster today.