no turning back

• fifty one •

gladys

Gravity pulled on my eyeballs as they studied Elijah's sleeping form. Since I'd stormed this hospital room yesterday, my eyes had only parted from the view before me to use the restroom and acknowledge the hospital staff as they checked all of the devices hooked up to him.

He looked so pallid and frail in the white hospital gown they'd put him in upon admission. The bland cream-colored sheets he nestled in only further washed out his otherwise olive complexion. I traced the knuckles of his right hand, emotion clogging my throat at the dark red rings around his wrist.

Another FBI agent who participated in the raid on the mafia's compound said he'd been chained to two opposite walls, like meat in a butcher shop freezer. His abdomen was littered with bruises, and the doctors determined he had two broken ribs. A crack split his bottom lip, among other bruises on his face that indicated he'd been struck multiple times.

I pressed a hand to my mouth to muffle the sob that swelled inside me. Placing my head on his leg, I cried quietly into his sheets. My soul ached knowing he'd been tortured and that the marks on his body likely didn't tell even half of it.

The hospital staff said he'd been unconscious since the agents found him, so they hadn't been able to run any cognitive tests on him. I would have assumed the mafia wouldn't have damaged him if they wanted him to marry Cyra, but his battered body proved otherwise. He was merely a pawn to them. A tool with which they could forward their criminal organization. My stomach twisted thinking anyone could treat a person that way, especially my husband.

Whatever his condition, I was foremost grateful he was alive. That was the only outcome that mattered to me. As long as he was alive, I could get through this. I sniffled into his arm, carelessly rubbing my wet face on his warm skin.

A palm molded to the back of my head. "Angel, baby. Why are you crying?"

I snapped up, blinking back the tears to see Elijah staring at me. "You're awake!" I cried and threw my arms around him.

He grunted as I buried my face into his chest, rubbing my back. "Your cries woke me. What's wrong?"

My body tremored while I fought off more sobs. Did he not remember? I didn't know if that would make this better or worse.

"You were taken," I said. "The Persian mafia took you."

His head tilted slightly as he tucked my hair behind my ear. "I remember. But I'm here with you now. It's all okay, no?" he asked. His eyes scanned me. "Are you all right?"

His concern arrested me to the point that I couldn't form a proper sentence. Tears slipped down my cheeks as I nodded, biting my lip to keep the sobs from escaping.

"Are you—" I paused to catch my breath and try to reclaim some composure. "Are you in pain? I should get the nurse," I said, moving to get up.

His fingers clamped around my arms, obsidian eyes somehow darkening more. "No. Stay."

Swallowing hard, I nodded again. "Okay. Whatever you want."

He licked at his cracked, busted lip, wincing. "How?" he asked, his voice weak. "How did they know where to find me?"

I stroked the back of his hand with my fingers, avoiding his gaze. "I called Ben."