Shadows of Recovery (Everhart Family #3)

Chapter 12

Twelve

S ophie’s world had become a never-ending nightmare, and every step she took with Damon Whitlock felt like a descent into hell. He dragged her down the hospital corridors, his grip ironclad around her ponytail. Two of his men flanked them, their eyes as cold and hard as his.

The destination was the pharmacy, a secured area now perverted into another arena of terror. As they approached the gated area, the sweet pharmacist, Gene Moynihan, looked up and smiled warmly at Sophie. "Dr. Blackwell’s new rules mean I don’t get to see you as much anymore," he said, his voice full of genuine affection.

Despite the situation, Sophie felt a brief flicker of warmth and familiarity. She couldn’t help but smile in return. It was a mistake.

Damon noticed the exchange, and his face twisted in rage. Without a moment’s hesitation, he lifted the gun that was pressed into Sophie’s back and fired. The sound of the gunshot echoed through the corridor, and Gene’s head snapped back as the bullet tore through his skull. Blood and brain matter splattered across Sophie, the warm spray hitting her face and clothes.

“No!” Sophie screamed, the horror of the moment overwhelming her. She surged forward, instinctively trying to reach Gene or to run—she didn’t know which. Her mind was a blur of shock and grief.

Damon’s grip tightened, his anger now a palpable force. He yanked her back with brutal strength and slammed her head into the metal gate of the pharmacy. Pain exploded in Sophie’s skull, her vision going dark around the edges. Her legs buckled, her body no longer able to support her.

"Don’t get any ideas," Damon snarled, his voice a vicious hiss in her ear. "You’re mine. Don’t forget that."

Sophie’s world swam in and out of focus. She tried to stay conscious, to fight against the encroaching darkness, but it was too strong. The last thing she saw was Damon’s cold, emotionless eyes before her vision blacked out completely.

* * *

Brad stood at the command center, every nerve on edge. The news from inside the hospital was growing direr by the minute. He had been coordinating with Ethan, the police chief, Charlotte, and the rest of the team, trying to find any leverage, any way to bring this nightmare to an end. The phone rang, breaking his train of thought. It was Damon.

"Brad," Damon’s voice was taunting, "I’ve just eliminated another obstacle. Your sweet pharmacist is no more. And your precious doctor? She’s learning her place."

Brad’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone. His voice remained calm, steady, and unwavering, a deliberate contrast to Damon’s. "Damon, listen to me. What you’ve done doesn’t change the outcome. The more harm you cause, the less room you leave for yourself. But it’s not too late to turn this around. No one else needs to get hurt. We can still work this out, find a way for you to walk out of here alive. Let’s talk about what you really want, Damon. We’re here to listen, but the violence has to stop."

Damon laughed, a sound devoid of any humanity. "No, Brad. I’m in control here. And you’ll play by my rules if you want to see any of these people alive."

Brad took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. "What do you want, Damon? Let’s talk."

Damon’s tone shifted, becoming more sinister. "I want you to pull back. Give us a clear path out of here, and maybe—just maybe, I’ll let some of these people live."

"We can’t let you walk away," Brad said, trying to keep Damon engaged. "But we can negotiate terms for a safe surrender. No one else needs to die."

"Negotiate?" Damon scoffed. "You’re in no position to negotiate, Brad. I’ll call you when I’m ready to give my next instruction."

The line went dead, and a wave of frustration and helplessness washed over him. Brad turned to Alex, who had been listening in. "We need to find a way to get inside without triggering him. He’s beyond reasoning."

Alex nodded, his expression grim. "We’re running out of time. If Damon keeps escalating, there won’t be anyone left to save."

Charlotte approached them, her face etched with worry and determination. "If he’s beyond reasoning, you may need to breach. We can’t let Sophie or anyone else become another victim."

Brad looked up at them. “I’m trying to bide some time. The National Guard is en route with a field hospital. And I’m waiting for another contingent from Stanley and Sully. To take the hospital, it has to be fast. Plus, I need to hear from Ethan’s team and Indian Affairs.”

* * *

Sophie regained consciousness slowly, the pain in her head throbbing with every heartbeat. Her vision blurred as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The metallic taste of blood lingered in her mouth, and her body felt like it had been through a grinder. Before she could gather her thoughts, rough hands lifted her, and Damon dragged her like a ragdoll.

She saw the lifeless body of Gene Moynihan being pulled by Damon’s men, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. The horror of his death was a vivid memory, and the sight of his body made her stomach churn. Damon’s grip on her was a vise, and she could barely keep her feet under her as he moved with determined strides toward the front of the hospital.

Damon and his men reached the front door. With a cruel smirk, he gestured for his men to toss Gene’s body outside. The corpse landed heavily on the pavement, a gruesome reminder of the escalating violence. Damon tightened his grip on Sophie, holding her up like a puppet. Her eyes swam, her head still spinning from the earlier blow.

"Pull back the perimeter!" Damon shouted, his voice ringing out. "Or she dies next!"

* * *

Brad had stepped from the command center and stood feet from the doors, dressed in tactical gear. He watched in horror as Sophie was paraded like a marionette, her movements uncoordinated and her expression dazed. He knew Damon was serious and that any misstep could result in more bloodshed. His mind raced as he tried to find a way to defuse the situation without giving Damon complete control.

"Brad," Alex said, his voice low, “we need to act carefully. He’s using Sophie as a shield. Any aggressive move could get her killed."

Brad clenched his jaw, his eyes never leaving Sophie. He grabbed the radio and issued the command, "All, pull back the perimeter twenty feet. Hold positions, but do not engage. I repeat, do not engage."

The officers and tactical teams reluctantly complied, moving back but keeping a close watch on the hospital entrance. Damon’s triumphant laugh echoed through the air as he saw the police retreat.

"That’s more like it!" Damon called out. "Now we can have a proper conversation."

Brad picked up the phone, dialing the emergency room line again so he wouldn’t have to yell. It rang a few times before Damon answered, still holding Sophie close. He was grateful the ER provided wireless phones to all the hospital’s doctors and nurses.

"I see you’re willing to cooperate,” Damon said. “Good. Now, here’s what’s going to happen."

Brad forced himself to stay calm, but every muscle in his body tensed with anger. "We’re listening, Damon. What do you want?"

"I want a clear path out of here," Damon demanded. "A vehicle ready at the front entrance—no tricks. You give me that, and I’ll consider letting some of these people go."

Brad needed to buy time, to find a way to save Sophie and the other hostages without giving Damon a free pass. "We can arrange that, Damon. But we need to ensure the safety of the hostages first. Release some of them as a show of good faith."

Damon’s spewed, "You’re not in a position to negotiate. Do as I say, or the pretty doctor here won’t make it."

Sophie, despite the pain and terror, managed to lift her head slightly. Her eyes met Brad’s in the distance, and in that brief moment, he saw the plea for help and the strength that still flickered within her. It was enough to steel his resolve.

"Alright, Damon," Brad said, his voice steady. "We’ll get the vehicle. But you need to keep the hostages safe. Any harm to them, and this deal is off."

Damon grinned, a predatory look in his eyes. "Smart move, Brad. You have one hour. Don’t keep me waiting."

The line went dead, and Brad turned to his team, his mind already working on the next steps. "Get a vehicle prepped. We need to make it look convincing."

Brad’s tactical team leader moved to follow the orders. Charlotte and Alex stood nearby, their faces determined. "We need to be ready for anything," Brad said, meeting their eyes. "We’re not letting Damon get away, but we’re doing this smart. No unnecessary risks."

Olivia joined the group, her usually composed demeanor strained as she gritted her teeth. She took a deep breath before she began, her voice low but steady. "I’ve been digging into Damon’s background, trying to piece together his movements and connections. Apparently, he likes to leave the relative safety of the sovereign tribal territory from time to time. He goes into nearby towns, hitting the clubs, picking up prostitutes, and luring other women. It’s a pattern—he thrives on the thrill, the risk. He’s careful, but not careful enough. That’s how I was able to track him.”

Brad frowned, leaning forward as he processed what Olivia was saying. “So he’s been moving in and out of the territory. That’s risky. Where’s he getting the cash to fund this lifestyle?”

Olivia’s expression darkened, the anger simmering just below the surface as she continued, “That’s the thing—Damon isn’t short on money. The Eldon Sect owns a lot of real estate. Every home of the original group is owned by the Whitlock family, as well as a large construction company that’s been growing steadily over the past few years. Damon’s not just some low-level thug. He’s connected, and those connections run deep.”

Brad’s jaw tightened, the implications of Olivia’s findings sinking in. “So, he’s using the sect’s resources to bankroll his little excursions into town. And no one’s stopping him.”

Olivia nodded, her frustration evident. “Exactly. The sect has built up enough power and influence that Damon can move freely, using their wealth to live out his twisted fantasies without much fear of repercussion. But every time he crosses into town, he’s leaving a trail.”

Brad’s eyes narrowed as he considered their options. “We’ll have to move quickly and strategically. Damon’s been playing this game for a long time, but he’s made mistakes. And those mistakes are going to cost him. Does Trace Whitlock know about this?”

The room fell silent as everyone absorbed the gravity of the situation. They were up against a well-connected, dangerous man, but they had an advantage now—knowledge. And with that knowledge, he hoped Damon’s family would help end this.

Brad looked around at the group, his expression resolute. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. But we’re going to take him down. No more running, no more hiding. It’s time to put an end to this.” The next steps would depend on what Ethan found out.

As the preparations began, Brad took a moment to look back at the hospital, his thoughts with Sophie and the others trapped inside. The next hours would be crucial, a delicate balance between negotiation and action. And he was determined to tip the scales in their favor, no matter the cost.

* * *

Tristan and James moved briskly through the Global Entry line at John F. Kennedy International Airport, filled with worry. They were on their way to catch a flight to Sioux Falls, and from there, a connecting puddle jumper to Waverly Junction. The strain in Tristan's body was visible, each step a reminder of his mounting anxiety about Sophie. He had tried to call Brad and Charlotte Everhart repeatedly but had received no response.

As they finally boarded the flight and settled into their seats, the plane taxied down the runway and ascended into the sky. Tristan's thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and frustration. To distract himself, he turned on the in-flight news channel, hoping for any updates.

Suddenly, his heart stopped. The national news anchor reported on a hostage situation in South Dakota. The cameras cut to the Citizen app, which showed drone footage of Damon Whitlock holding Sophie at the hospital doors. Tristan recognized her immediately, covered in blood spatter. His heart raced, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

"James, look," Tristan whispered, his voice trembling as he pointed to the screen.

James's eyes widened in shock. "Oh my God, Tristan. Is that Sophie?"

Tristan’s medical training kicked in as he noticed her bobble-head appearance. "She might have a head injury."

The news footage showed Sophie at a distance, being used as a human shield by Damon. The sight of her, so vulnerable and broken, filled Tristan with a rage and helplessness he had never felt before. Not even with his wife’s death. His stomach churned violently, and he felt like he might be sick.

James quickly reached for the airsick bag and handed it to him. "Breathe, Tristan. We’re almost there. We have to stay strong for her."

“How the hell can they show that?” Tristan took deep breaths, trying to calm himself, but the feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. Seeing Sophie in such a state and knowing he was powerless to help her was almost too much to bear. He clutched the armrests of his seat, his knuckles turning white.

"Why haven't they done something?" Tristan muttered, his voice shaking with anger and despair. "Why haven't they rescued her yet?"

"I’m sure they’re doing everything they can," James said, trying to reassure his brother while sounding strong himself. "We’ll be there soon, and we’ll do whatever it takes to help her. Right now, we have to trust that they’re doing their best."

The rest of the flight passed in a blur of anxiety and silent prayers. When they finally landed in Sioux Falls, Tristan and James hurried through the airport to catch their connecting flight. The wait felt interminable, every minute stretching into an eternity.

As the small plane took off toward Waverly Junction, Tristan's mind replayed the horrific images of Sophie over and over. He felt as if he were teetering on the edge of an abyss, desperate to hold on to hope but constantly pulled back by fear.