CHAPTER 64
The sanctuary they found was not one of the Organization’s usual sterile safe houses, but a cheap, transient motel twelve miles north of the estate, chosen by Ryle in a panicked tactical deviation. The room reeked faintly of stale smoke and disinfectant, the fluorescent ceiling light humming relentlessly.
Ryle was sprawled awkwardly on the motel's worn bed, his torso bare. The white cotton of the sheet was already aggressively absorbing the blood from his left shoulder.
He was pale, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles stood out like steel cables. He had lost too much blood, and the adrenaline was rapidly dissipating, leaving behind only raw, debilitating pain.
“We need to get you to the hospital.” Lauren spoke as she panted.
“I can’t…” Ryle groaned in pain as he felt
