God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(100)

“Um, hi.” A small feminine voice breaks the tension.

Elsa smiles, completely ignoring us, and goes to hug the newcomer. After they break apart, she strokes her hair like a loving mother.

My son watches the entire exchange with a stiffer posture, his eyes darkening until they’re almost black.

“Ava, honey. What are you doing here?” Elsa continues patting her hair and clothes, not leaving a single imaginary wrinkle alone.

My wife always wanted a little girl, and since she didn’t get one, Ava kind of volunteered to act as her surrogate daughter.

Sometimes, Eli used to grumble, like a sorry sod, that Elsa loved her more than she loved him and Creigh.

A fact that my youngest smiled at and teased his brother about.

As much as Eli can be difficult, he’s still the best brother Creighton could’ve had. Which is why I’m pissed off that he failed to protect him.

Ava keeps her full attention on my wife. “Uncle Aiden texted me.”

“You did?” Elsa asks me. “You should’ve let her rest and go to school. She was here last night.”

“I thought you’d be more at ease if Ava took you back and stayed with you. She already agreed. Isn’t that right, Ava?”

“Yeah, sure!” She interlinks her arm with Elsa’s and smiles. “Anything to help and spend more time with you, Auntie.”

“I’ll be the one to take Mum back. You. Leave.” Eli steps toward them, having completely forgotten about the topic of discussion from earlier.

“Eli! Don’t talk to Ava that way,” Elsa scolds.

“Never mind him. Uncle Aiden invited me over, so his opinion doesn’t matter.” Ava’s smile falters before she forces it back in place. “Let’s go.”

My wife gives me a warm look and doesn’t protest as Ava leads her down the hall. Eli follows after.

Silently.

If I had known Ava’s presence would have Elsa finally listening and actually relaxing, I would’ve had her come a long time ago.

I slide a hand in my pocket as I stare at my son’s unmoving form. The doctor said it’s entirely up to him now, and while I threatened to kill all the doctors and sue the hospital if something happens to him, I know the current situation is all on Creigh.

There’s a hurdle that’s stopping him from opening his eyes.

What, I don’t know. But I’m sure it has to do with what the kids have been whispering about in the corner and refusing to tell us.

Needless to say, I know this isn’t some robbery like the shit actors, except for Landon, tried to convince us of. They got their stories straight, but it was all too perfect and had Lan’s scheming stench all over it.

I’m curious to know what drove them to go to such lengths.

The only one who can answer my question is none other than my nephew, Landon. The others are easier nuts to crack and would bring me faster results under duress, but he’s the mastermind behind this and, therefore, he’s hiding the true reason.

One problem, though. He’s been methodically avoiding being cornered by me.

An issue that I’m currently finding a way around. Just like I found a way to have Elsa actually rest instead of straining herself.

My gaze flits to Creighton and helplessness bangs against my rib cage. The fact that I can’t do anything to get him out of this state, short of inventing a time machine, wraps around my neck like a noose.

Eli is my biological son, my flesh and blood, and the only son I thought I could father, but it’s Creighton who’s has been the son I didn’t know I needed.

He’s the one who randomly texts me a new fact he’s learned or makes sure I’m included whenever that punk Eli tries to antagonize me for sport.

He plays the mediator between us, the link that keeps our father-son relationship functioning. Without him, we’d probably fall apart.

Not once have I considered him any less just because we don’t share DNA. Creighton is proof that family doesn’t depend on blood, and I considered him a miracle, just like Elsa did.

“Wake up, son,” I whisper, my voice gaining a haunting quality in the silence.

I know he can’t hear me, but I’m ready to try any method, including satanic rituals, if it means we can get him back.

Which could start with pestering the doctor. So I do just that, barge into the chief doctor’s office while he’s in a meeting.

He and his associates gape at me as if I’m the devil fresh out of hell.

“Mr. King…is there anything I can do for you?”

“Besides actually being competent and bringing my son back to consciousness?”

Dr. Strauss, a bald old man with bulging brown eyes and a pointy nose, appears flustered. “As I told you, we’ve done everything we could.”

“Not enough to make me pour more donations into this establishment and satisfy your research kinks.”

“Mr. King—”

“If he doesn’t wake up in the next twenty-four hours, I’m transferring him back to London and cutting off my checks.”

I don’t wait for his reply as I stride out of the room, not feeling even the slightest bit relieved.

Stopping by the vending machine, I pause when a finger comes from behind me and hits Water.

“Only mineral water is good from these waste-of-space machines, right?”