Xavion’s P.O.V.

“Mr. Waller, you should call your mate. It’s getting out of our hands.”

Withering in pain, all I could hear were the doctors’ stupid excuses for no treatment. Those high-class bastards were unable to treat a simple headache for so long.

I grabbed my head with both hands and yelled, shooing them away.

“Give me another dosage of morphine and get the hell out of my room.

I will be fine after some rest.”

Five years, and still, I had to remind them of the protocol. It was clear evidence of the doctor’s incompetence. I lost it when he said that.

“We have maxed out morphine injections. You...