Chapter 18

Sebastian

Fifty percent chanceof ever walking again.

That was what the doctors told me.

Fifty.

Fuck.

Two days after my latest brush with death, I lay in my hospital bed, flipping a quarter between my fingers. I didn't even remember where I'd gotten the coin. It had seemingly just appeared in my hand between one moment and the next.

In the chair next to the bed, Damien sat slouched against the wall, head lolling against his shoulder as he snored.

I flipped the coin in the air and caught it before it hit the bed.

Heads: I'd walk again.

Damien shifted in his sleep, grumbling as he struggled to get comfortable in his awkward position, then immediately drifted off again.

My brother had barely slept over the last several days, while I seemed to do nothing but sleep. Even at that moment, I'd only been awake for about an hour and already I felt the need to shut my eyes.

I flipped the coin again.

Tails: I'd never walk again.

We had no idea who to trust and Damien had taken over the job of guarding me himself. However, that couldn't last forever. There were too many people after us. David Russo, and the entire Mariano family by extension. The traitors within the FBI. The perpetrators of the pedophile ring. They were all tied together, and all looking to put me and my brother six feet under.

The coin flipped.

Tails: I'd never walk again.

No one had said it yet, but we would need to disappear for a while, just like we had before.

But would it even be possible with me in such a state?

What about Damien and his new relationship?

Or mine with Newt for that matter. I didn't want to give him up to go on the run for god's sake.

We could stay at the hospital for a time, but our enemies would catch us sooner or later.

On the opposite side of my hospital bed, a cot had been pulled into the room. Newt lay among the meager bedding, fast asleep. He'd gotten about as much rest as Damien, maybe less as he constantly hounded my doctors for information.

He was lucky to walk away so easily from the fight with the hospital administrator who tried to kill us. Cuts and bruises could have been much worse. The man wasn't a fighter. He'd gotten lucky, and only survived because his opponent wasn't a fighter either. If our enemies had sent a proper assassin after me that night, Newt wouldn't be alive now.

However, he was safe, and Madine Constella had been dragged off in handcuffs. She was being questioned by the FBI at that very moment. I didn't expect they would get much out of her, mostly because my opinion of the FBI was at an all time low, but it was a start.

Coin flip.

Heads: I'd walk again.

With the beeping of so many machines, and the noise of the hospital right outside my door, the room was never completely quiet. So, I didn't notice Newt waking up until his beautiful blue eyes were staring at me.

"Sebastian? You're awake. How are you? Do you need anything?"

The coin pressed into my palm, somehow still cool despite how much I'd been handling it.

"I should be asking you that. At this point, people have tried to kill you as many times as they've tried to kill me. How are you doing?"

My voice cracked like old paint—a combined symptom of smoke inhalation and having a breathing tube shoved down my throat during surgery—but Newt still smiled like it was the best sound he ever heard.

"I'm alive." He shrugged as he sat on the edge of my bed. "And mostly uninjured. So, all in all, I can't complain."

He checked over my leg, making sure it was still hanging properly in its traction.

I'd seen the x-rays. While I'd been unconscious, doctors had opened up my leg and installed a bunch of pins to try and piece the limb back together. I couldn't remember how many pins, exactly, but the image made it look like my leg was more metal than bone.

I flipped the coin.

Tails: I'd never walk again.

"You should complain."

Newt froze in the middle of reading through my medical chart for the dozenth time.

"What?"

"You should complain. You should be furious at me for getting you involved in this. You shouldn't be here. If you left, then maybe they wouldn't—"

A finger pressed against my lips, silencing me. Newt snatched the coin from my hand, which I had been nervously flipping.

"Don't finish that sentence. You're about to suggest that we break up because it'll be safer for me, aren't you? I am furious. At this whole situation. Of course I am. But the people I'm mad at are the ones trying to kill us. Not you."

I tried to argue, but Newt's finger pressed firmer against my lips.

"Let me ask you this. If we claim to end our relationship and no longer have anything to do with each other, do you really think this ‘Mafia Boss' guy will just believe that? He'll just leave me alone because you said so?"

The finger disappeared, but before I could answer, I was startled by the sound of laughter. At some point during our conversation, Damien had woken up, and now sat with an amused grin on his face, chuckling.

"Kid's got a point, Sebastian. You're a self-sacrificing idiot for no reason."

I grumbled but couldn't argue.

Newt ran a hand over my injured leg. His fingers were so light they barely made contact.

"Well, not always for nothing. Some of your sacrifices are very... noble. But in this case, no. I'm safer with you than apart from you. And it's where I want to be anyway. So no more suggesting that I leave. All right?"

"All right," I relented. There was no point arguing when Newt and Damien were both against me. I could barely hope to win an argument against one of them. Together they were an unstoppable force.

It would have been a perfect moment to kiss Newt. A lovely blush dusted over his cheeks, making his freckles stand out. However, I could barely raise my head off the pillows. The doctors had me pumped full of so many drugs, I felt nothing. I suppose I should have been grateful. Based on the extent of my injuries, I'd be in a lot of pain without the assistance of medication, but it also made me fuzzy in the head. My body refused to cooperate.

Instead, I settled for squeezing Newt's hand. It didn't require much movement, and based on the smile on Newt's face, he understood the message.

Even if I wished he could have stayed out of all this danger, I was also glad he was staying with me.

Our moment was interrupted when the door opened and Gabe stepped into the room, accompanied by a man I'd never seen. The man was definitely a Fed. Every person who worked for the FBI carried themselves with a certain confident set to their shoulders, and a stiffness to their movements, like they were always under scrutiny.

Damien stood from his chair, brushing out the wrinkles on his clothes and trying to smooth his beard into place.

"Director Thornton. What are you doing here, sir?"

While I didn't recognize the face, the name was familiar.

Willard Thornton. The director of the FBI.

Fuck.

Had we really earned such official attention?

Surely one private investigator getting blown up didn't warrant the director of the FBI getting personally involved.

I put on the best smile I could manage when I couldn't properly feel my face.

"Director? What an honor. I'd get up and shake your hand, but I think my nurse will actually tie me to the bed if I even try."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Damien glaring at me. It was a clear message that said, "Don't be an ass".

I'd never been very good at obeying directions.

Director Thornton stared at me for a moment. His gray eyes were flat, like he didn't know what to make of my flippant tone. But then a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

"Mr. Roth. Your brother has mentioned your attitude before. I see he wasn't exaggerating."

It was my turn to shoot Damien a disgruntled look. I knew my brother maintained contact with the FBI, but when had he dealt with the director?

The FBI director took no notice of my silent conversation with Damien, or if he did, he chose to ignore it. "I'm glad to see these events haven't dampened your spirit. We're arranging protected accommodations for you as we speak. They should be ready soon so we can get you transferred."

Damien and I certainly had things to say about that, but surprisingly it was Newt who spoke up first. He shot to his feet, staring up at the director with hard blue eyes, despite being a whole head shorter than the other man.

"Sebastian can't go anywhere. It's important for his healing that he not be moved too much while the pins and stitches in his leg settle."

A sense of pride swelled in my chest as I watched Newt so fearlessly standing up to a man much bigger and more powerful than him. I shouldn't have been surprised. Newt was shy about a lot of things, but he had always been dedicated to his patients.

The director looked down at Newt, his smile still glued to his face. "Ah, the civilian nurse. Newton Clary, right? Not to worry, our people have been advised of the situation and will provide him with the care he needs."

Their people?

I didn't like the sound of that.

"Tell your people not to worry about me. I've already got a great nurse taking care of me."

Even in this tense situation, I couldn't help the softness that filled my eyes when I looked over at Newt.

In response, the director's smile grew stronger, turning his eyes into barely visible crescents. The only thing that kept the expression from looking like a snarl was the fact that his teeth weren't showing.

"I'm sure Mr. Clary has done well, but he won't be needed any longer."

"Won't be needed?" Damien stepped protectively in front of Newt. "You make it sound like he won't be coming with us."

Watching my brother protect my boyfriend without a moment's hesitation should have brought a whole slew of warm emotions. Damien hadn't approved of most of my previous partners, mostly because I'd focused on quick hookups rather than actually dating. So, his easy acceptance of Newt was refreshing.

Unfortunately, it was tainted by the current situation.

The director's smile never wavered. "Witness protection is a means of preserving individuals that are important to an investigation. Mr. Clary will be sent home, and the two of you will be brought into our custody."

With one hand on Newt's shoulder, Damien shuffled him as far away from the director as the small room allowed. "That's not a good idea. We suspect the explosion at the apartment was an inside job. There's a traitor in your department, just like there was when Sebastian and I went into witness protection the first time. Gabe, tell him. You agreed with me when we talked about it earlier."

Until that moment, Gabe had stood like a quiet sentinel at the director's back, watching the exchange with sharp eyes. However, when Damien called out to him, his gaze locked onto the floor. His stance and posture never changed. His body may as well have been carved from marble, but the effort he put into avoiding eye contact spoke volumes.

"I do agree that it was likely an inside job."

His voice was even more stoic than usual. After living in the same apartment for weeks, we'd spent enough time together to no longer be strangers. While I still didn't know much about Gabe, we had at least been on casually good terms. Yet, it may as well have been my first meeting with the man, for he was even more rigid than usual.

After that one sentence, he fell silent and refused to say anymore.

"Yes, Agent Long has told me about the moments before the explosion. Tell me, Damien Roth, why did you insist on your brother going upstairs to the apartment while you stayed downstairs in the office? It's quite fortunate for you. Your brother nearly died, yet you walk away without a scratch."

"I—" Damien stuttered. Damien never stuttered except for extreme circumstances.

This definitely qualified as extreme.

Despite all the pain meds I was on, a headache formed behind my eyes anyway.

We should have seen this coming.

Someone planting an explosive in an apartment under the FBI's watch was too obvious to be ignored.

Either the FBI had to admit that they had a mole amongst their staff, or they had to find a patsy to take the fall.

If we weren't careful, they could make my brother that patsy.

Damien was stunned into silence, but I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "Typical Fed assholes. I'm not surprised. Although, Gabe, I was actually starting to trust you. Guess I was wrong."

Gabe still didn't look at anyone or show any emotion at all. He was a statue in the shape of a man.

We could do nothing as the FBI barreled ahead with their plans to essentially kidnap us for their witness protection program. Damien couldn't even argue for fear of being framed as a criminal. And I...

Well, I was useless.

If only I could walk, or at least stand up. We could have tried making a run for it like we did before. Damien and I had protected ourselves from David Russo's goons and corrupt FBI moles in the past. We could do it again.

But not with me in such a condition. Injured and bedridden, I was an anchor keeping my brother chained to the FBI's will.

For a moment, I considered suggesting that Damien should make a run for it without me, but I knew he'd never go for that idea.

If the situation were reversed, I wouldn't either.

Director Thornton made his excuses and left the room, leaving Gabe in charge of our relocation. I was transferred to a portable bed that could be wheeled out of the hospital, along with all the supplies and medication I would need.

My brother and I said nothing and just glared at Gabe silently as he directed other FBI agents to get the transport vehicles ready.

Newt, however, did continue to protest until Gabe relented and let him accompany us on the way out.

"To say goodbye," he claimed.

We made a glum parade, with Gabe leading the way, several FBI agents flanking us on either side, and Newt pushing my bed down the hospital hall.

I'd found another coin and flipped it over and over.

Heads: I'd walk again.

Tails: I'd never walk again.

I wanted to throw that bit of metal at Gabe's head, but doubted I'd be able to move my arm enough. Being transferred to a more portable bed, then wheeled down the hall, was testing the limits of my pain meds. Everything hurt and even small movements were difficult.

"You're a real fucker, you know that," I spat at the back of Gabe's head.

He didn't even bother to turn around and look at me. "You can think what you like about me, but you'll be grateful for our protection when you get out of this alive."

I laughed so hard I feared I'd snapped another rib.

"Survive? You think we're surviving this? You're serving us up for Russo's people to kill at their leisure. This is a death march to the guillotine."

"They can try," Damien growled under his breath. "We'll see how many of their people I take down along the way."

He gripped something inside his pocket, and I knew he had a knife hidden within the lining of his coat, which he'd managed to sneak past hospital security. A single knife wouldn't fend off the entire FBI or Russo's henchmen, but we could at least make killing us a little harder for them.

At the end of the hall, we reached a set of elevators. There was limited space inside, especially with my transport bed. So, Gabe ushered Damien, Newt, and I through the doors and instructed the other FBI agents to meet us at the Level 1 parking deck.

There was a slight bump as my bed rolled over the threshold of the elevator. I flinched as the jolt sent pain shooting up my leg, and the coin slipped from my fingers. I heard it hit the floor but didn't see where it landed.

Heads or Tails?

I'd never know.

Newt was a flurry of activity, checking over the contraption strapped to my leg, and making sure all of my bandages and stitches were still in place. He tried to insist again that I shouldn't be moved, but Gabe ignored him and hit the button on the elevator panel.

The doors closed, sealing us inside the confined space. Once we were alone, Gabe sighed.

"We'll have to move fast. It won't take long for them to realize we're on the wrong floor." His hand landed gently on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, but we can't slow down for your comfort. You'll just have to endure it for a bit."

Confused, I looked to Damien to see if he knew what Gabe was talking about. However, Damien was busy staring intently at the elevator button panel.

The button for the Level 3 parking deck was lit up. The hospital had three different parking decks, each one accessed by a different floor. Gabe had ordered the other FBI agents to the first parking deck, but that wasn't where we were headed.

The door chimed and opened before I could fully process what this meant.

"Come on," Gabe rushed us out of the elevator. "Move. We don't have long."

Newt and Damien together wheeled my bed off the elevator as fast as they dared. Every bump and jostle aggravated my wounds and had my nervous system lighting up like a malfunctioning Christmas tree.

I grit my teeth and dug my fingers into the sheets to try and ignore it.

The moment we stepped off the elevator, the sound of a honking horn greeted us. A large RV idled in the middle of the parking deck, and a familiar face waved at us from behind the wheel.

"Frankie?" Newt gaped as my bed was wheeled up next to the RV.

"Hey," Frankie waved again. "Come on. Get in. We're going... literally anywhere but here."

The RV had been chosen with care. Its side opened up into a handicap accessible lift. Usually intended for wheelchairs, it was large enough to lift my bed inside the RV with minimal jostling.

It was a big RV and would have been considered spacious if it weren't trying to contain my wheeled bed along with four other grown men. There was just enough seating for everyone, so long as Frankie stayed behind the wheel.

As soon as everyone was inside, Frankie put the RV into drive and started maneuvering it through the maze of the parking deck.

"Do you know how to drive this thing?" I asked as he came precariously close to hitting one of the parking deck's support columns.

"My parents had an RV. They taught me how to drive it, but that was a long time ago and theirs wasn't as big as this. Don't worry, though. I've got it handled."

Though there were a few close calls, we did manage to make it out of the parking deck. Once we were driving smoothly down the road, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Newt was still checking over my injuries, but I didn't hurt so much now that my bed was stationary. Instead, I turned my attention to Damien and Gabe, who sat across from each other at the RV's bench table.

"Why are you helping us?" Damien asked Gabe, the scowl still etched on his face. "You just defied your director's orders. You'll lose your job over this."

Gabe leaned forward until his elbows rested on the table. It was an odd sight. I hadn't realized the man's spine could bend enough to slouch.

"Because you're right," he said. "Until we know who the mole inside our agency is, taking you into witness protection is basically the same as handing you over to be executed. Also, you're not the only one who wants to see the David Russo taken out."

He gestured down at the table, where a laptop and stacks of folders sat. It seemed to be a copy of all the info we'd managed to find about David Russo and the Mariano family, the missing children, and the pedophile ring.

"We've got a tangled web to unwind here."

Gabe pulled out his glasses from the inner pocket of his jacket and perched them on his nose.

"So, let's get to work."