Michael Ridding by S.T. Hoover

Author:S.T. Hoover
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: S.T. Hoover
Published: 2017-07-20T04:00:00+00:00

32

The doctor woke Michael the following morning and told him he could go home, but not without reminding him to stay in bed and take it easy. If he was feeling better within the week, he could then resume his day-to-day activities. If not, they could look into other options.

Aron picked Michael up as soon as he had gotten the call. The Pantera pulled up, freshly cleaned and waxed, as Michael lifted himself out of the wheelchair and onto his limp legs. Aron—his arm no longer in the sling, just as Michael had predicted—and a nurse helped him into the passenger's seat, although Aron was obviously struggling. After taking the driver's seat, Aron wasted no time getting them out of there.

“How's the arm?” Michael asked, noticing it lay limply at Aron’s side while he drove with his right hand.

“Useless,” he replied. “For now, at least.”

Michael was tempted to ask Aron if he was sure he could drive, but he didn't want to risk offending his friend, since neither of them liked being physically held back. He chose to trust Aron’s judgment, instead, even after several close calls on the short drive home.

Michael hadn't fallen asleep until four AM, and it showed: The beginnings of a beard were forming on his face, and darkness ringed his already tired-looking eyes. He needed time to recover.

More time than David had given.

He only had forty-eight hours to secure Benedict. He wanted to call David back and demand more time to think it over. He wanted to be in a better state of mind before confronting Benedict, but he knew David wouldn’t budge. He’d get hostile at the fact that Michael was even asking.

He was a slave to David's will, and he didn't like it. But what if what David said was true, and DenCom and Benedict were actually in the wrong? He would be hard-pressed to believe that he was still one of the “good guys” if even half David’s story proved to be true. Even after all David and his brothers had done, was it possible that the terrorists were the lesser of two evils?

The prospect alone made him feel sick.

Michael couldn't process the matter. These people had tried to kill him—twice. And both times, in their failure, they had taken innocent lives.

He wasn't so innocent. Given that David’s story was true, at best, Michael was guilty by association; at worst, he was Benedict’s oblivious puppet. He almost wanted to be punished if it turned out that their work had created monsters like David and his father.

If it was true, he was done living a lie. He didn't care how much money he made. If his work contributed to the death and pain that Benedict supposedly brought about...

Michael was done.

He couldn't take it anymore.

If Benedict visited tonight, he didn't know what he would do.

But he would have to do something.

He was tired. Tired of Benedict's secrecy, tired of living DenCom’s lie, and tired of looking over his shoulder.

And he wanted Benedict to know that.

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