KIDNAPPED BY THE AGENT | Project Callister Book One

xii. doctor blackwell

xii. DOCTOR BLACKWELL

Sunlight slipping through my cream curtains was the first thing to greet me. I try to get up from my bed, only to wince from a sudden pain that sprung from my chest.

Oh right. I got shot.

Ace sits arms crossed, slumbering, slumped against a chair in the corner. A foreign and warm feeling rose in my chest; he was waiting for me.

"How long have I been out?" I ask.

Ace rubs his eyes, adjusting to the brightness. "It's been about three days."

"Three days?

"You were hit pretty badly." Ace then brings his chair close to my bed.

The manner in which he carried himself today was different than the confident (and slightly narcissistic) air usually around him. His golden eyes momentarily flicker away from me, eclipsed by a tinge of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Octavia."

His shift in tone catches me off guard. "Why are you apologizing?"

Ace lets out a long held breath of air. He scratches the back of his neck, casually making his bicep more pronounced in his tight fitted shirt.

"I made a promise to keep you safe... and I failed."

I bite the inside of my cheek. He seemed genuine in his statement, but at the same time, the incident was something beyond both our control.

"It was an isolated incident. Besides, I can handle myself. But it's cute that you're concerned."

"Nope," Ace immediately denies, as if showing any trace of compassion will damage his masculinity. "I just don't want to have to find another recruit."

I roll my eyes.

Suddenly, Ace yanks my blanket off, leaving me feeling very exposed.

"What the shit Blackwell?" My response is visceral. I yelp and scramble for the blankets to cover myself back up.

Ace smirks at my reaction.

"Relax. I'm just going to check your wound for an infection."

I slap his arm. "Why didn't you just tell me instead of yanking my blanket?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

I roll my eyes for the second time within a minute. "Shouldn't a doctor be the one giving me a check-up?"

Ace grins knowingly, and it's the same cocky look he constantly has imprinted on his face. "I'm medically certified; went undercover as a medical student awhile back and picked up the basics."

"The only medical field you're qualified to treat in is over inflated egos."

Ace purses his lips together, unsatisfied. The room became ghost-quiet except for a small breeze along the skyline.

I examine him, unsure of whether or not he was telling the truth. Ace crosses his arms with an amused expression.

"The bullet went directly though your infraspinatus, chipping your spine of scapula, and almost rupturing your rhomboid major. If you want any chance at survival, Cupcake, I highly suggest letting me examine your injury."

Fine. So maybe Ace did know what he was talking about. But even still, I don't want him, specifically, to be my doctor.

"I really don't think that's necessary," I begin. "After all, my immune system—"

Ace interjects. "Stop being stupid. I'm very professional."

He was right. I hate it when he's right.

With a sigh, I nod. Ace retrieves some pills, a stethoscope, and alcohol wipes from a first aid kit.

"Take your shirt off," he commands.

I freeze. At first I thought Ace was just messing with me, but the expression on his face is dead serious. I slowly remove my top, leaving me begrudgingly flushed and in only a bra.

Cold, unbrearing metal runs from my sensitive scar through my veins, causing me to wince. Ace listens intently to the stethoscope.

"Your heartbeat is incredibly fast," he smirks.

"Let's just get this over with," I mumble.

Ace puts the stethoscope back into his kit.

"Now this part is going to hurt a bit. Hold on to me if you need to," he states.

Wait what—

Without warning, an alcohol pad meets my wound, shooting intolerable pain through my limbs. My instincts kick in, telling me to fight back at all costs. But Ace anticipated my reaction; he quickly pins my wrists together before I could hit him.

He rendered me unable to move in his arms. I hated this. I hated being injured, and I hated being weak.

"And there we go," Ace says, letting my wrists go. "You seem to be recovering very quickly."

I put my shirt back on. "That's good news, right?"

Ace rubs his stubble the way he always did when he was deep in thought. An unsettling feeling crept into my stomach; why wouldn't a fast recovery be good news?

"The bullet that hit you should have inebriated you for at least a week. You really shouldn't even be able to move your arm either. In fact, your scar is healing exponentially—it should be gone in the next week."

This takes me aback. "Is a fast recovery not better than a normal one?"

I was getting tired of asking the same question that Ace was clearly circumventing.

He grins, but behind his expression, I could see the slightest hint of uncertainty.

"Of course, Cupcake."

~

Lines of code flash pass my eyes as I tap into the Penthouse security system. For the last week, I've been stuck under house arrest. The Director prohibited me from going on any more missions until my arm healed.

So while my teammates have been stopping bank heists, art thievery, and assassinations, I'm stuck in this luxurious prison.

So to gain some measure of freedom, I've been slowly tampering with the security system so I could leave without getting my brains fried out or being attacked by the SWAT team.

Finally, after five hours of meticulous coding, the system is cracked.

A sudden thought approached me—I could leave.

While my teammates were on a mission, while the security system was out, while no one was in the penthouse, I could disappear from this team forever without ever looking back.

But Chase, Skye, and Xavier were all growing on me like family.

Ace especially.

Screw it. Tonight, I'm going to sneak out.

Ace: "Vote if you want me to give you a check-up."