Read Online Dark Sacrifice by Angie Sandro - Free Book Online Page B

reminder of how lost I am.
    The blond nurse who enters the room with Bessie restrains my free arm and shouts for the jail guard standing duty outside. Her words filter into my brain, a rush of sounds but no meaning. Only her agitated tone cuts through the fear that consumes my mind and body—a pressing weight that smothers me with each step Mala takes toward the door. She’s the only thing holding me together, and she’s leaving.
    My throat closes. I’m suffocating.
    Nobody acknowledges me.
    Mala, I’m dying. If I don’t say it louder, she’ll leave. Meaningless, guttural mewls pass my lips. I’ve forgotten how to speak. How pathetic… I jerk my arm again. Can’t she hear me screaming?
    Bessie pulls on Mala’s arm when she half turns back in my direction. I grip the sheet, trying to sit up. The nurse slaps a hand to my shoulder and shoves me back onto the bed. A curse flies to the tip of my tongue but falls back down my clogged throat.
    Bessie whispers in Mala’s ear.
    What is she saying?
    Disgust darkens the detective’s eyes when she glances over Mala’s shoulder. She knows exactly what she’s doing—separating us one slow step, one hateful word at a time. She wraps her arm around Mala’s back and steers her out of range of my peripheral vision. I turn my head to compensate for my blind left eye, and Mala reappears like a magical creature—as beautiful and fragile as one of the porcelain statues decorating the shelves in her living room, yet strong enough that she hasn’t broken no matter how many times I’ve dropped her.
    Whenever I see Mala, my heart tries to cut its way out of my chest. Such an idiot. I deserve to die.
    Failure burns. I couldn’t protect her when she needed me the most. I did nothing when she got shot but fall to the ground and cry until Dad carried me away. The whole time, Mala fought alone to survive. She never would’ve been in danger if I hadn’t been a selfish prick and begged her to help find Lainey’s murderer.
    Don’t call for her to come back. Be a man, not a pussy. I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from breaking my own promise. Blood trickles down my throat, and nausea causes my stomach to buck. The vision in my right eye dims then blacks out, mimicking my left. Panic forces me upright with a gasp. The light turns on again. I pant for air. Hands press on my shoulders, forcing me back into the bed. I rock my head from side to side. The guard appears, standing on my left, and the nurse on my right side.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with me?” I beg for an answer.
    Do they hear this time?
    I reach for the nurse’s hand but misjudge the distance.
    The nurse takes my wrist instead and checks the IV line inserted into a vein. “He’s having a panic attack,” she says.
    The prison guard’s garlic-tainted breath blows in my face. “Maybe we should leave the handcuff on until the meds take effect.”
    â€œYou gave me drugs?” But I just woke up. I try to focus on the woman’s blurry face. She bobs in and out of my line of sight like I’m standing on the deck of a ship. Dizziness makes me want to beg her to stand still. My stomach clenches again, a reminder that I haven’t eaten solid food in two days. Acid burns my throat, and I cough.
    The nurse pops into view again. At least at first I think it’s the same woman, and then details sharpen. Her features have changed. Long, tangled black hair curls across her dirt-stained, blue scrubs. She would be beautiful if the vision didn’t show the decay eating the flesh off of her frame. Her icy fingers trace the angled planes of my cheekbone. The skin burns, then turns numb. I breathe out a cloud of frosted air and blink rapidly, trying to focus on her wavering form. Shadows coil around the edge of her body—an aura of darkness, weaving patterns over her skin.
    I close my eye, breathing