The bastard was out cold, sprawled on the ground with blood pooling from his mouth. I didn’t give him a second glance as I rushed to Delilah.
She was still slumped in the wheelchair, her body unnaturally still, her hands limp against the armrests.
"Caine?" I called sharply, moving toward him next. He was tied to a separate chair, his head hanging forward like a lifeless doll. But when I got closer, he let out a weak groan.
At least he was conscious.
I pulled my knife from my boot and sliced through his restraints first, catching him by the arm as he nearly toppled over. He was barely holding himself up, but when I grabbed his shoulder, he blinked up at me, his face battered, swollen, and covered in dried blood.
"Are you good?" I asked.
Caine gave a dry chuckle. "Depends on your defin
