Alright, I have a huge favor to ask of you peoples.

My cousin is a songwriter and is entered in a contest. He's made it to round 2, the semi finals and in order to continue on, he needs votes. So, I'm going to ask all of you to please go and vote for him and his song.

I'll be posting the link in my bio and on my Instagram, so please please please go vote for him. You can vote once day every day until the round is over. If you don't vote, whatever that's your choice and if you only vote once that's your choice too, but I'd love to see him win, so I'm going to apologize now because I will be continuing to ask you guys every now and again. Not everyday, I promise. Cause I know that would just bee super annoying.

Sorry, but it would be awesome if he won. So . . . I'm not that sorry.

Anyway his name is Jonathan Olivares and the song is called Don't.

And thank you in advance for anyone who actually goes and votes.

Now, on to the chapter, Enjoy!

The seat is horribly uncomfortable, but I don't make any move to get up. Never mind the fact that I haven't had any decent sleep in the past eight days or meals for that matter. There were only two things that would get me to the leave this horrible chair; restroom breaks and then when the doctors asked me to leave the room. Otherwise, my stubborn self was sitting in this chair and not leaving.

Damien had been in here with me for a while, cursing Ryder out and talking about what a complete idiot he is. He was also making mention to putting in a request for a new partner because Ryder was, and I quote, "going to give him a heart attack."

The only time he's left the room was to put in a call to the FBI, and Ryder's father had come immediately. Ryder's stepmother and mother showed up later. After that, Damien stayed out in the hallway, still nearby, but giving Ryder's family the opportunity to be with him.

They had been coming in and out of the hospital room and while I'm sure they are all wondering why I'm still sticking around, none of them have said anything and no one has tried to get me to leave.

So, here I sit, watching Ryder's pale face for any sign of him waking up. Listening to the beeping of the heart monitor and feeling immensely guilty. None of this would have happened if it weren't for me.

The surgery had gone well and they'd been able to stitch him up without any complications. Mostly that was because the bullet had gone straight through, so they didn't have to dig anything out of his chest. But he'd lost a lot of blood and it was still undetermined when he'd wake up. If he'd wake up.

Ryder's parents had gone out in the hallway to speak to the doctor but were now filing back in, so I decided to follow Damien example for the first time in the past few days.

I quietly got up and crept out of the room, leaving them alone with Ryder. I wanted to stay, but I knew his parents also wanted to be alone with him.

Besides, I was dead on my feet and in need of some coffee.

I nod to Damien as he leans against the wall across from Ryder's room and he nods back. I continue on down the hall in search of the nearest coffee station. Never mind that the coffee tasted horrible, I wanted-no-needed­ to stay awake. I'm not going to be caught sleeping if there's anything news involving Ryder.

Though I admit, as the days have passed, I'm not feeling very optimistic. And trying my hardest not to calculate the probability of him making it through this.

Besides the gunshot wound-sorry-wounds (but I will deny every day that it was me who shot him in the leg) he suffered from a pretty bad head wound and tore through the stitches in his side.

Quinn wasn't happy about that.

Something about the both of us ruining her work.

I stop in front of the coffee station, letting out a defeated sigh as I reach for a cup and find myself thinking of Ryder.

I'm so focused on him, I don't pay attention when the cup starts overflowing until the hot liquid hits my hand. I let out a string of curses and drop the cup instinctively. I let out more curses as the cup spills everywhere.

"Just my luck," I mutter as I grab a wad of napkins and get down the floor, trying my best to clean up the spill.

"I'd offer to help but . . ."

My head shoots up and I stare at the girl standing a few feet away from me. Blonde hair covering half her face, big brown eyes, and wearing a sweatshirt and leggings. She smiles brightly and walks over.

It's only as she gets closer that I realize what exactly what she meant by her words.

Her right arm is in a sling strapped to her body.

I frown. "You weren't wearing that when you confronted Volkov." Now that I actually think it over, I realize she was only ever using one hand to deal with him. Never did she actually use her right. She'd kept her arm pinned to her side the entire time.

How had I not noticed?

Sarah continues to smile. "Volkov didn't need to see any weakness from me." She shakes her head. "I didn't need him seeing his handy work."

I pale at her words and feel sick. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing that can't heal," She dismisses quickly with a wave of her hand

I stare at her before I quickly finish cleaning up the spilled coffee.

I get back to my feet, throw out the napkins and stand in front of her. I want to hug her, but I don't want to cause her any pain. I have no idea what exactly is wrong with her. "I thought you were dead," I finally tell her. My breath catches in my throat at the thought.

She nods. "That's what Volkov wanted you to think. I don't know who the girl was, the one he killed, but he used her body to make you believe he'd actually killed me."

"Then where have you been all this time?" I ask her.

She shrugs and looks around the hallway with curious eyes. "Healing," She replies vaguely. I notice she fidgets and tugs at the collar of her sweatshirt.

That's when I see the white bandages on her neck. That's also when she brushes her hair back from her face and I see that the bandages go up to her cheek. All on her right side. And as I look closer, I can see that her right hand is wrapped in bandages as well. If I had to take a guess, I'd say her whole arm and shoulder are too, but I can't tell because of her sweatshirt.

It was dark in that building, the night she killed Volkov and I was never able to see her clearly enough. She had stayed in the shadows.

"Don't look at me like that," She suddenly says. I wasn't even aware I was making a face but I can guess what it looked like.

"Like what?" I ask her.

She grimaces. "Like you're sorry for me. Like you blame yourself." She shrugs. "Like I'm broken. Like you pity me."

She scrunches up her nose and glares off at a spot over my shoulder. "I'm getting enough of that from the nurses. I keep overhearing them saying, stuff like 'Oh it's such a shame. She was so beautiful. She could have been a model.'" She rolls her eyes and lets out a snort. "Could you imagine me as a model?" She asks and then laughs.

I've only heard one part of her entire speech. "Nurses? You've been here? At the hospital?" I question.

She grimaces again. "Only because John brought me here."

I stare at her in bewilderment. "John brought you here? He never said anything to me."

She gives me a flat look. "I know. I told him to tell you, but he didn't." She shakes her head. "I went to him when I finally managed to get away from Volkov. He insisted my wounds were too bad for him to take care of and that I had to come here." She rolls her eyes again and then looks down at her arm in the sling. "I still have to have a few more surgeries. And I would have called you, but you know I don't own a cellphone."

I feel physically sick just thinking about what Volkov could possibly have done to her. More than that, I feel it's entirely my fault. If she'd never been seen with me, this would never have happened.

It's like she can sense my train of thoughts because she smiles at me. "It's not your fault. None of it," She says softly. She shrugs. "And I really should have thanked him before I killed him."

It's official. She's lost her mind.

"I'm sorry," I reply. "what? You should have thanked him? For what?!"

She laughs at my disbelief before pointing to the bandages on her neck. "No more tattoo," She says. I don't know if I should be horrified or relieved for her. "No more gang affiliation," She continues.

I see her smile and I know I can't show her how horrified I feel for her, so I don't. I decide to change the subject because if this conversation continues I'm going to lose it.

But I do have to say this. "Thank you Sarah, for what you did for me. For saving me and Ryder."

She shakes her head. "If I had done this for you, I would have done it a long time ago. No." She shakes her head again. "This was for me."

She runs her free had through her hair. "As I told Volkov, I'm a neutral party. I'm not a good guy, I'm not a bad guy, but I can play either side when I want to. But piss me off and I'll be against you." She smiles. "I'm a selfish bitch," She say then laughs. "That's purely the reasoning behind my killing him."

"So, what are you going to do now?" I ask her.

"I think," She starts. "I'm going to take your suggestion."

I give her a look of confusion. She gives me a small smile.

"I'm going to figure out where I come from. I'm going to track down my family." She holds up her hand to silence me when I open my mouth to speak. "No, I don't want your help. This something I have to do on my own."

I close my mouth. I can understand that.

"You're not going anywhere until you've healed," Another voice speaks up.

Sarah lets out a groan and turns to face John.

"You can't keep me here," She tells him.

He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. "Want to bet?"

She stands tall. "Yeah, I do."

John shrugs. "Fine," He says as he closes the distance between them. He claps his hand down on her right shoulder and digs his fingers in, hard.

Sarah screams and stumbles away from him, her eyes filling with tears. "Bastard," She growls out between clenched teeth. She makes a move like she's going to hold her shoulder but thinks better of it at the last second and just lets her arm drop.

John just stares down at her. "Yeah, I know." He brushes past her. "And until you can actually take me down, you're not leaving this hospital. Technically, you should still be in the clean room."

My eyes widen at his words. "Clean room? Why should you be in a clean room?"

Sarah glares at John. "He's over exaggerating," She says. She turns to me. "And I'm not going to tell you because you're just going to beat yourself up over it again and again."

"Let her," John says. He looks at me. "He burned her." I feel like I can't breathe.

"John!" Sarah shouts.

John ignores her and keeps his focus on me. "Took a blowtorch to her hand then just kept going up from there."

Now I really can't breathe.

Sarah gets in John's face. "How is this helping anything?!"

John shrugs, unfazed by her. "It's making me feel better."

Sarah continues to glare at him. "Why are you here? You told me your wife was flying back from her conference today and you were going to meet her at the airport."

John just stares blankly at her instead of answering. He turns and starts walking down the hallway, toward Ryder's room.

"Where are you going?" Sarah asks him.

"Unfinished business," He replied vaguely.

The way Ryder told me he tracked me down echoes through my head. Long story, that ends with me threatening a hitman.

I immediately run in front of him, blocking his way. "If you're here to kill Ryder, I won't let you."

John looks down at me and just looks flat out bored. "Can I show you something?" He asks.

He doesn't wait for me to respond. He puts his hands on my arms and then practically throws me into the wall, away from him.

I groan and my body protests as I try to get back to my feet.

John stands in front of me. "If I wanted to kill him, you couldn't stop me," He says.

"I trust that means you're not going to be trying anything," A new voice speaks up. A voice I haven't heard in a while.

He walks down the hallway toward us, one hand in his front pocket, one hand on the gun clipped to his hip. His curly blonde hair falls slightly in his face and his blue eyes watch John cautiously.

He's a friend, one I haven't seen for a while. Not since I was thrown into Ryder's care. I was helping him and several others before all this went down, but I never expected he'd show up here.

See he's the kind of friend with government clearance. The kind of government clearance that comes from being part of a secret agency. He's specially trained and essentially has a license to kill. If anyone could take on John, it'd be an agent (or Sarah) like him.

"Cause if not, we're going to have a problem," Devin says.

John stares at him, debating whether or not he really wants to get into it with him.

My personal opinion is no. Somehow, I don't think John wants to hear it.

"What are you doing here?" I ask Devin.

Devin just shoots me a smile and then waves. "I'm just the driver," He says.

John turns around to check Sarah and then swears.

Why? Well, because she's gone. Disappeared exactly like she did after she killed Volkov. Like she was never there.

"I swear," John mutters. He shakes his head. "I need to go find her before she does something stupid," He says. He looks to me. "And even though I wasn't the one to kill Volkov, I'm keeping the money. Consider it your bribe to me so that I don't go kill your boy toy anytime soon. Though if he makes any more threats against me in the future, I'll end him."

John walks off, disappearing down the hall.

I turn to Devin. "Been a while," I say, for lack of anything else to say.

He nods. "Yeah, we've been a little busy."

It's silent in the hallway as we walk back to Ryder's room. Neither of us say anything. No sound at all except for the occasional chatter from nurses down the hall and our footsteps.

No one's in the room when we get in there. Just Ryder.

I walk up to the side of his bed and take his hand gently in mine.

"He'll be fine," Devin says.

I turn to him. "How can you be so sure?"

Devin smiles. "As I said, I'm just the driver," He shrugs. "but I brought some incentive along with me."

The beeping of the heart monitor is the only thing audible as I try to figure out what he means.

Maybe that's why I hear it right away.

Clicking.

The clicking of heels as the person walks into the room. The sound is deafening in the otherwise quiet room. I turn to look at the person who's walked in.

My attention goes straight to her hair which is dyed a dark vibrant purple with black and bright neon orange streaks throughout. She's wearing an orange shirt with a jack-o-lantern face on it, and a dark but vibrant purple skirt. Never mind that it's not even close to Halloween. Her high-heeled shoes match her skirt. Without the heels, she'd actually be rather short. She's also wearing a pair of mirrored sunglasses over her eyes and carrying a giant milkshake in her hands. She slurps loudly at her milkshake as she stares at Ryder.

She turns her attention briefly to me before going back to Ryder. "I know you're really worried about him," She says, her tone even and not giving anything away. "and somewhere deep, deep down in my blackened heart there's a minuscule speck of concern for the idiot."

She slurps up more of her milkshake. "But, I'm warning you now not to get too happy or attached to him when he wakes up." She tilts her head as she watches him. "Because the second he wakes up, I'm going to kill him."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise as she turns back towards me, her free hand removing the sunglasses from her face and I stare at the familiar emerald green eyes.

Green eyes filled with a familiar kind of devilish mischief.

Green eyes exactly like her brother's.

Enjoy!

And please please go vote for my cousin. Thank you so much!