Chapter 79 Dorian’s Anger
Veyra waited. She did not smile. She did not even relax.
"Say it clearly," she said.
Xander sighed. "I will leave Clare Clark and her daughter alone. I will stop forcing women to marry me. I will find a wife the proper way. Or not at all." He paused. "Are you satisfied?"
"Almost."
She reached into her bag. She pulled out a pen and a small notepad. She wrote down her phone number. She tore off the page and held it out to him.
"This is my number. Send me your mother’s medical records. All of them. Test results. Doctor’s notes. History of her treatment."
Xander took the paper. He stared at it.
"I will forward everything to Dr. Harrison," Veyra said. "He will review them. And if he agrees to treat her, he will contact you directly. Through proper channels. With an appointment."
"An appointment," Xander repeated. His voice was thick.
"Yes. You will wait your turn. You will follow the rules. You will not barge into his clinic. You will not threaten his staff. You will be a normal patient, just like everyone else."
Xander looked at the paper in his hand. Then he looked at Veyra.
"You’re really going to help my mother?"
"I’m going to try. The rest is up to Dr. Harrison."
He nodded slowly. He tucked the paper into his pocket.
Veyra turned to leave.
"Wait," Xander said.
She looked back.
"You’re interesting," he said. "Very interesting."
She said nothing.
Xander looked at his men. Then he lashed out. His fist connected with the nearest thug’s shoulder. The man stumbled back, eyes wide.
"That’s for not protecting me from humiliation," Xander growled. Then he looked back at Veyra. "Percy Thorne is going to regret falling out with you."
Veyra blinked. "Percy Thorne?"
"You don’t know who that is?" Xander smiled. It was a strange smile. Almost impressed. "You will. He’s not the forgiving type."
He turned and climbed into his car. The thugs scrambled after him. Doors slammed. The engine roared.
The black sedan pulled away.
Veyra stood alone on the sidewalk, her heart pounding, her mind racing.
Percy Thorne.
She had never heard that name before but she filed it away for later.
She walked quickly toward the east gate.
Leon Wei and the other bodyguards were already running toward her. Their faces were pale. Their hands were on their weapons.
"Mrs. Thorne!" Leon reached her first. His eyes swept over her, checking for injuries. "Are you all right? We saw the gun. We were about to—"
"I’m fine." Her voice was steady. "He didn’t hurt me."
Leon’s jaw was tight. "I should have been closer. I should have—"
"You followed my signal. You stayed back when I told you to. That was the right call." She touched his arm. "Thank you for trusting me."
Leon looked at her for a moment. Then he nodded.
"You’re not hurt?"
"A little shaken. But fine."
He opened the car door for her. She climbed inside.
Her phone rang before the door closed.
Clare Clark.
Veyra answered. "Clare?"
"Mrs. Thorne!" Clare’s voice was high. Anxious. "Are you okay? I heard from someone that Xander Hale was at the restaurant. Did he cause trouble? Did he hurt you?"
Veyra smiled. "I’m fine, Clare. He didn’t hurt me."
"Are you sure? I can come to you. I can—"
"I’m sure." Veyra leaned back against the seat. "In fact, I have good news."
"What news?"
"Xander Hale will not bother you or your daughter again. He agreed to leave you alone. Permanently."
The line was silent for a moment.
Then Clare’s voice came back. Small. Disbelieving. "He agreed?"
"He agreed. You don’t have to hide anymore. You can go back to your shop. Reopen the pizzeria. Live your life."
Clare started to cry.
Veyra’s throat tightened. "Clare—"
"I don’t know how to thank you," Clare said. "You saved my daughter. You saved me. You saved everything."
"You saved Lily first. I was just returning the favor."
Clare laughed through her tears. "When you come back, I’ll make you the biggest pizza you’ve ever seen. Free. For life."
Veyra laughed too. "I’ll hold you to that."
She hung up.
The car pulled away from the curb.
*******
The armory was cold.
Veyra had been there for two hours. Her clothes were damp with sweat. Her muscles ached. Her eyes were tired but she did not stop.
The Nightblade lay on the table in pieces. She assembled it. Disassembled it. Assembled it again.
Her fingers moved faster now. Almost automatic. The hours of practice had paid off.
But her hands were raw.
The skin on her palms was red. Abraded. Tiny blisters had formed along her fingers, and some had burst. The exposed skin was pink and tender.
She ignored the pain.
Again. Disassemble. The slide. The barrel. The spring.
Again. Assemble. The spring. The barrel. The slide.
Click.
She set the gun down.
Her hands were throbbing.
She walked to the bathroom. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
She turned on the tap. Cold water rushed out. She held her hands under the stream.
The water stung.
She bit her lip. She did not cry out.
She watched the water run over her raw palms. Tiny threads of blood swirled down the drain. She had not noticed the bleeding. She had been too focused.
She turned off the tap. She dried her hands on a towel. The fabric was rough against her wounds.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
Her face was pale. Her eyes were red. Her hair was a mess. But she felt strong. She walked back into the armory and she saw that the door was open and that Dorian was standing there.
He was wearing a dark suit. His tie was loosened. His hair was slightly disheveled. His gray eyes were fixed on her hands.
"Veyra," he said.
His voice was low. Serious.
She stopped. "Dorian. I didn’t hear you come in."
He walked toward her. His steps were slow. Deliberate.
He stopped in front of her. He reached out. He took her wrists. His grip was gentle but firm.
He turned her hands over. He looked at her palms. At the raw, red skin. At the burst blisters. At the tiny cuts.
His jaw tightened.
"What have you done to yourself?" he asked.