Leo lay perfectly still, his eyes squeezed shut, but his skin crawled as he heard the clinking of medical tools.
"Bring the syringe," Sloane whispered.
"The syringe?" Damon's voice was annoyed. "Sloane, you know the fastest way to get that blood is a blade. Why are we playing doctor?"
"Because," Sloane replied, her voice cold and practical, "I don't want to hurt him. If I kill him now, I'll just have the stress of finding another 'Innocent' next time the moon is right. Leo is quiet, he's local, and he trusts me. He's the perfect long-term resource."
Leo felt a sharp, stinging prick in his arm.
Every fiber of his being wanted to scream, to jump up, to fight—he hated needles more than anything. But he remembered Marcus. He remembered the blood on Jax. He stayed silent, tears leaking from the corners of his closed eyes.
He felt the heavy pull of the syringe as it filled with his life. He felt a wave of coldness spread through his arm, followed by a lightheaded, floating sensation.
"Done," Sloane said. As she turned to leave, she stopped. Her eyes drifted to the window, which was still slightly cracked open. A small, knowing smile played on her lips. She didn't say a word; she just closed the door and locked it from the outside.
Leo waited until the footsteps faded. He scrambled out of bed, his head spinning wildly. "I have to go... I have to get out..."
He dragged the tied-up bedsheets from under the bed. With trembling hands, he threw the knot out the window and began to climb over the sill. But the blood loss was hitting him hard. The world began to tilt.
Suddenly, the door lock clicked. Sloane was back.
Leo froze, half-in and half-out of the window. He turned his head, trying to think of a lie, an excuse, anything. "Sloane, I... I was just—"
But he couldn't finish. The room began to go black at the edges. His knees buckled, and his grip on the windowsill slipped. Before he hit the floor, the last thing he saw was Sloane standing in the doorway, looking at him with a mix of pity and dark satisfaction.
He collapsed into a dead faint
*********
Leo's head throbbed as the darkness pulled away. His vision was blurry, but as it cleared, he realized he wasn't in his bedroom. He was in the basement, the air cold and smelling of iron.
He tried to move his hands, but they were pinned behind him. He was tied to the wooden chair. Standing in a semi-circle in front of him were the five of them, looking like a nightmare version of a "cool" hang-out.
Leo blinked, his eyes landing on Damon first. "Why are you shirtless?" he croaked, his voice dry.
Jax, the tall Black American, let out a frustrated huff. "Come on! Is that really the first question you're gonna ask? You're tied to a chair in a basement, man!"
Leo's gaze shifted to Jax, taking in the dark, wet stains on his chest. "Why is your shirt covered in blood?"
"Because they won't give me a damn cloth to change!" Jax snapped, throwing his hands up. "I've been asking for twenty minutes!"
"That is not even an answer," Leo muttered, his head spinning.
"That's enough questions already," Sloane interrupted. She stepped forward, her expression unreadable. She looked down at Leo, then glanced at Hana. "Hana, bring the cookie. Feed him."
Hana reached into a jar on the table—the same table where the ancient book sat—and pulled out a chocolate chip cookie.
"I'm okay," Leo said, turning his face away. "I don't want it."
"You fainted, Leo," Sloane said, her voice dropping into that firm, babysitter tone that brooked no argument. "It means your sugar level is low. You're going to eat it so you don't pass out again."
"But I—"
"COO-KIE," Sloane said, emphasizing each syllable like she was talking to a stubborn toddler.
Leo went silent. He realized he had no choice. Hana stepped in close and pressed the cookie against his lips. Leo opened his mouth and took a bite, chewing slowly while the five killers watched him eat as if it were the most normal thing in the world.