Shadows of Recovery (Everhart Family #3)

Chapter 39

Thirty-Nine

T ristan took part of the next day off, determined to spend some quality time with Sophie and to check on the patients in the cabins, who had been moved from acute care to long-term care. Each cabin held three patients and a house manager. The spring day promised warmth and sunshine, a perfect backdrop for their outing.

He packed a picnic and, after a tender and loving morning spent making love with Sophie, he told her about his plans. "Dress for a picnic and a horseback ride.”

Sophie’s eyes lit up with excitement. "That sounds fun."

They walked hand in hand to the stables, the promise of a beautiful day ahead of them. Tristan packed his medical bag and the picnic supplies, then mounted his horse. He reached down and pulled Sophie up into the saddle behind him. With her arms wrapped around his waist, they began their ride to the first cabin.

As the day went on, Sophie observed and interacted with the patients, listening to their stories and offering words of encouragement. Tristan watched her carefully. This was part of her emotional rehab as it was for the other patients.

With everyone in good spirits, they moved on to the next seven cabins, repeating the routine. The patients and house managers welcomed them, and Sophie’s gentle demeanor made a positive impact on everyone they met. The day was going perfectly, filled with laughter and healing moments.

The ride to the eighth cabin had been peaceful, almost serene, but that tranquility was abruptly shattered. Without warning, five masked men on horseback emerged from the trees, their horses kicking up clouds of dust as they encircled Tristan and Sophie. The suddenness of the ambush sent a jolt of terror through Tristan, and before he could react, Sophie screamed, clutching tightly to him.

“Hold on, Sophie!” Tristan shouted, his voice edged with fear and determination. He tried to urge his horse to break free from the encircling men, but they closed in too fast.

Panic surged through him as one of the masked men lunged from his saddle, his arm outstretched. In an instant, Tristan felt a crushing grip around his neck, yanking him violently from his horse.

He hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, the impact sending shockwaves through his body. His vision blurred, the world around him spinning as he struggled to regain his bearings. But before he could get up, two more men leaped from their mounts, their hands like iron as they pinned him down. A third man, the one who had pulled him off the horse, delivered a brutal strike across Tristan’s face. Pain exploded in his skull, and he tasted blood as it filled his mouth.

Sophie’s screams pierced through the fog, her voice filled with pure terror. “Tristan!”

His heart pounded wildly, every beat a desperate cry to protect her. He fought to free himself, his muscles straining against the overwhelming force of his captors, but it was no use. His arms were wrenched behind his back, and he felt the rough bite of rope as it was tied tightly around his wrists. Then came a swift kick to his ribs, sending another wave of agony coursing through his body.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tristan saw one of the men climb into the stirrup of his horse, a gun in hand aimed directly at Sophie. Panic turned to rage. “No! Let her go!” he shouted, his voice raw and desperate, but the masked men ignored his pleas.

The man with the gun laughed, a cold, maniacal sound that chilled Tristan to the bone.

Sophie’s cries were heart-wrenching as they dragged her away. “Tristan!” she screamed, her eyes wide with fear and helplessness. The sound of her voice tore at his soul.

Tristan fought harder, trying to rise, but a sharp blow to his back sent him crashing to the ground again. Pain shot through him, and his vision swam with tears and blood. “Leave her alone!” he pleaded, his voice cracking, but the men were merciless.

The man who had mounted Tristan’s horse with Sophie called out to the others, his voice laced with sinister glee. “Saddle up, boys. The pretty lady doctor has a date with her destiny.”

Tristan’s stomach churned with dread as he recognized the voice. It was Damon Whitlock. The realization struck him like a physical blow, intensifying his horror.

The other masked men mounted their horses, two of them dragging Tristan up to ride in tandem. One of them pressed a gun hard against his gut. His own horse broke free, galloping off into the distance, leaving him at the mercy of his captors.

They spurred their horses into a gallop, dragging Tristan and Sophie with them. The world became a blur of motion and pain for Tristan, each jolt sending fresh waves of agony through his battered body. But the worst pain was the ache in his heart, knowing Sophie was in the hands of Damon Whitlock.

The ride felt endless, each second an eternity of helplessness and fear. Tristan’s mind raced, filled with thoughts of Sophie, her safety, and the future that now seemed so uncertain. When they finally came to a stop, they were deep in the woods, far from any hope of rescue.

“Why are you doing this?” Tristan demanded, his voice weak but defiant. He had to know, had to understand why they were being torn apart like this.

One of the men turned to him, eyes cold and empty behind the mask. “We have our reasons. Keep your mouth shut if you want to stay alive.”

Tristan clenched his jaw, fury and fear warring within him. He could see Sophie, her face pale and tear-streaked as she tried to reach him. “Tristan!” she cried, her voice breaking his heart all over again.

“Shut her up,” one of the men ordered, his tone laced with sadistic amusement.

The man holding Sophie leaned in close to her, his breath hot against her ear. “Pretty lady doctor, do as you’re told, and no one gets hurt. Understand?”

Sophie gasped, nodding weakly as tears streamed down her face. Her voice was trembling, filled with fear. “Please don’t hurt him.”

Tristan’s voice cracked as he struggled to speak through the pain. “Sophie, it’s going to be okay. Think of all the work you’ve done. Just hold on.”

But as they were forced onto horseback once more and dragged deeper into the wilderness toward Eldon Falls, a remote and foreboding area within tribal territory, Tristan’s hope waned. The terrain grew harsher, the air colder, as they approached a large, filthy building surrounded by more masked men. Tristan was pulled roughly from his horse and shoved forward at gunpoint, his heart pounding with dread.

He could feel Sophie’s presence beside him, her fear palpable, and it was that connection, that bond between them, that kept him fighting even as despair threatened to consume him. He wouldn’t give up—not now, not ever. He had to protect her, no matter the cost.

* * *

Sophie was dragged to the clinic. Inside, she was greeted by a frenzied scene. A woman was in labor, her face contorted with pain. Six other women were attempting to soothe her. Another woman in orange scrubs looked frazzled. But the last woman’s presence stunned her—it was Kay Birdham.

Sophie quickly learned the patient Damon was pawing at was his wife, who made it clear his touch was unwelcome. Her fear turned to anger. She immediately did one of the grounding techniques she worked hard to learn.

She slapped Damon across the face, her voice firm and commanding. "Stop it. Where is Tristan?"

Damon glared at her but didn't respond. Kay, who was sporting a black eye, stood nearby. Sophie’s empathy surged. She didn’t need to ask what happened to Kay; she could see the answer in her bruised face.

Sophie turned her focus to the pregnant woman, her concern overriding her anger. "Kay, are you why I’m here? Why didn’t you call an ambulance?" she demanded.

A man joined them, his expression unchanged. "We can’t jeopardize our way of life for one woman and child,” said Damon’s brother Nathan.

A wave of disgust washed over her. "Your way of life is barbaric," she spat, turning her attention back to the laboring patient. She washed her hands, grabbed a pair of gloves and offered a smile. “I’m Sophie, and I’m a doctor. Can I examine you?”

“I’m Emma, Damon’s wife. Please help me.”

Sophie examined her. “She’s at three centimeters. Kay, how long has she been like this?”

“Twelve hours,” Kay whispered.

Sophie’s eyes widened. “She’s got a fever. Have you given her anything?”

“No…I…” Kay mumbled.

Sophie ground her teeth. “Do you have ampicillin, gentamicin and erythromycin IV drugs?”

Damon roared at the woman in scrubs, “Get Sophie what she wants!”

Sophie asked if they had equipment. Kay nodded, showing her the fetal monitor and the sonogram machine shoved in a corner of the room, unused. Sophie quickly checked Emma and the baby, finding the baby’s heartrate stable. "We need Pitocin to help move her labor along. She’s been in labor for twelve hours already."

The woman in scrubs brought in a large duffel bag and dumped the contents on the floor. Sophie shuddered when she realized the bag was filled with the drugs stolen from Waverly County Hospital. She closed her eyes and did a visualization exercise. “Find Pitocin and morphine,” she exhaled through pursed lips.

Damon was growing frantic. “You have to save the baby.”

Nathan frowned as he looked at Kay. It was clear to Sophie that Kay had no idea how to set up the drip. As they worked, Kay apologized, her voice trembling. "I’m sorry for what happened at the Blackwell Institute."

Sophie’s nostrils flared as she set up the drip. Her voice was cold. "I don’t care about that right now. Where is Tristan?"

Kay glanced at Damon, who smirked, wrapping his arms around her. "If you want to know, you can switch places with him."

Kay scoffed at the suggestion, but Sophie’s eyes burned with defiance. "I’ll do it."

Damon laughed cruelly. "No, we need your medical skills."

Before Sophie could react, Damon pulled out a gun and shot Kay. The sound of the gunshot echoed through the room, and Kay crumpled to the ground. Sophie gasped, her eyes wide with horror.

Nathan and the rest of the Whitlock brothers were furious. "Damon, what have you done?" his brother shouted.

Damon shrugged, his face devoid of remorse. "She was useless."

Sophie rushed to Kay’s side, her hands trembling as she tried to assess the wound. Blood poured from Kay’s chest, and her breathing was shallow. She grabbed at Sophie’s hands and fought to speak. “Syphilis. Damon,” she muttered.

Sophie nodded in understanding. "You need to get her to a hospital," she said, looking up at Nathan. “You’re not a murderer.”

Nathan hesitated, torn between his duty to the sect and the life of the woman before him. Finally, he shook his head.

Sophie rolled her shoulders. “Get me a saline IV setup and look in that mess on the floor for BleedSolv dressings and trauma dressings.”

Everyone stood shocked and frozen.

“Move it!” Sophie screamed.

After Sophie pressed gauze to Kay’s wound and started an IV, two men put her on a stretcher that was dragged into the room. The Whitlock brothers, their faces masks of shock and anger, subdued Damon, wrestling the gun free. Shouts and curses filled the air as they tried to figure out what to do with him.