Chapter 21 · Bring Her to the Cage

Ryan's legs were moving before his brain caught up. Down the service stairs. Through the loading bay where the air still smelled like burnt metal and someone else's blood. His neural port was screaming the same three words on loop: Bring her. Cage. Tonight.

He slammed through the clinic's back entrance hard enough to crack the doorframe.

Natasha was at her workstation, elbow-deep in some poor bastard's shoulder socket. She didn't even look up. "Kash. You're early. This one bleeds out in four minutes so either sit down or get useful."

"What did you put in me?"

Her hands kept moving. Staple gun. Sealant spray. The guy on the table was out cold, drooling onto the vinyl. "We've been over this. Cooling protocol. Keeps your rig from cooking your brain every time you—"

"Bullshit." Ryan crossed the room in three steps. His right hand was twitching. Little sparks jumping knuckle to knuckle. "I sent myself an order. My own account. I didn't write it."

That got her attention. She set the stapler down, wiped her gloves on her pants, and finally looked at him. Her face was calm. Too calm. "What kind of order?"

"Bring you to the cage.