Red and blue lights flashed against the ambulance windows.
The siren wailed, sharp and loud, drilling into my skull. Everything smelled like cold rain and iron.
"Blood pressure is seventy over forty and dropping!" a paramedic yelled over the noise. He pressed two thick pads against my stomach. "Stay with me, ma'am! Keep your eyes on me!"
I tried, but my eyelids felt like lead. The pain in my lower belly was a deep, tearing fire. Every bump in the road sent agony shooting through my old scar. My hands were freezing. I could not feel my fingers at all.
The ambulance skidded to a halt. The back doors flew open.
Cold air hit my face. Then I was moving fast. The wheels of the gurney rattled over the pavement. The automatic doors of the emergency room slid open with a soft hiss.
Fluorescent lights blared overhead. Bright white ceiling tiles blurred together as they rushed past.
"Trauma bay three! We have massive internal bleeding!" the medic shouted, running alongside the cart.
Then I heard a familiar voice.
"I don't care about your waiting list!" Silas was shouting. "My companion is having severe stomach cramps! I donate five million dollars a year to this hospital board! You get Dr. Evans down here right now!"
I turned my head an inch.
Silas stood by the nurses' station. His expensive suit jacket was off. His tie was loosened. A few feet away, Cielo sat in a wheelchair, holding a cup of warm tea. She had a light blanket over her knees. She was pretending to sniffle, but she didn't have a single scratch on her.
Then Silas looked up. His eyes landed on my gurney.
He didn't look relieved to see me alive. He didn't look scared. His face twisted with pure disgust.
"Are you out of your mind?" Silas barked.
He stepped directly into the center of the hallway. He planted his feet and threw both hands out, slamming his palms against the metal frame of my gurney.
The cart jerked to a violent stop.
"Sir, back off!" the paramedic yelled, trying to push past him. "This patient is in critical condition!"
"She's my wife!" Silas snapped back. He leaned over me, his face inches from mine. His breath smelled like the red wine he had shared with Cielo thirty minutes ago. "Did you really call 911? Did you track me here just to embarrass me?"
I opened my mouth, but only a wet gasp came out.
"Look at this," Silas sneered, turning toward the nurses. "She's faking it. She does this every time I don't give her what she wants. She's desperate for attention."
"Sir, let go of the cart! She is bleeding out!" the nurse screamed.
Silas scoffed. He grabbed my left arm with his bare hand. His fingers dug into my flesh like iron claws.
He yanked me upright.
A scream ripped from my throat. The sudden movement tore my insides apart. Darkness exploded behind my eyes.
My hospital gown fell open. It was completely drenched in blood. The white sheets underneath were soaked through, dripping dark, heavy crimson onto the linoleum floor.
Even with my blood on his fingers, Silas didn't flinch. His eyes were cold as ice.
"Get up, Sutton," he hissed in my ear. "Stop playing games. You walk out of here right now, or I swear to God—"
The heavy double doors at the main entrance blew open.
The sound was like a gunshot.
The whole hallway went dead silent.
Seven men walked in. They wore matching charcoal-gray suits. Their posture was straight and rigid, moving in flawless formation. Under their tailored jackets, the heavy outlines of concealed firearms were impossible to miss. They moved with the cold, silent precision of soldiers.
At the front walked Dakota Reed.
His hair was cut short, touched with silver at the temples. His eyes were pale gray, hard as flint. He didn't look at the doctors. He didn't look at the nurses.
He locked his eyes onto Silas.
Two of the men stepped forward and blocked the hallway exits. Two more flanked the nurses' station, cutting off the phones.
Dakota walked straight up to my gurney. His expensive leather shoes clicked softly on the floor.
Silas blinked. For a second, he looked annoyed. "Who the hell are you? Do you know who I am? I run Bennett—"
Dakota didn't let him finish.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't draw a weapon.
Dakota simply lifted one flat palm and placed it against the center of Silas's chest. Then he shoved.
It was a smooth, effortless movement.
Silas flew backward. His dress shoes slipped on the floor, and he crashed into a row of blue plastic waiting chairs. The metal legs shrieked against the tile as he tumbled over them, landing hard on his elbows.
"Silas!" Cielo shrieked from her wheelchair.
Dakota didn't even look at him. He pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his palm, as if he had touched dirt.
He looked at the chief resident standing frozen nearby.
"Dr. Evans," Dakota said. His voice was calm, deep, and utterly terrifying. "Operating Room One is prepped. The Hawkins surgical team is taking over. You have thirty seconds to clear the hallway."
The doctor swallowed hard. His face went gray. "Y-Yes, sir. Right away."
Silas scrambled up from the floor. His hair was messy, and his knuckles were white. He opened his mouth to shout, but he froze.
He looked at the six armed men standing like stone pillars around the hall. He looked at Dakota's tailored cuff links, stamped with the golden crest of the Hawkins family.
For the first time in eight years, Silas Bennett looked small.
For the first time, he looked afraid.
Dakota stepped to my side. He took my bloody hand and wrapped it gently in his warm grip.
"We have you, Miss Hawkins," Dakota said softly. "You're safe now."
I let out a ragged breath. The cold ceiling lights faded away, and I let the darkness take me.
