Chapter 5 - The Smoke ClearsThe gunfire lasted barely three seconds, yet it felt like an eternity.
When the smoke and plaster dust cleared, Julian Vance was pinned flat against the stainless-steel IV pole, his right arm twisted behind his back at an unnatural angle, and Griffin’s heavy tactical combat knife pressed firmly against the artery in Julian’s neck.
Julian’s two henchmen were already unconscious on the floor near the doorway, neatly dispatched by Miller and his backup team who had swarmed the room.
“You’re slipping, Julian,” Griffin breathed, his voice dripping with venom, his chest heaving with adrenaline. “You bring a gun into a hospital room where my uncle is recovering? You threaten my family?”
Julian winced in agony, his face pressed hard against the metal pole, but a twisted smile remained on his lips.
“You think... you think killing me stops this?” Julian choked out, blood trickling from a split lip. “I’m just the vanguard, Hale. The board of directors in Chicago... they know about the nurse. They know about the kid. Even if you put me in the ground, someone else will be knocking on her hospital door by tomorrow morning.”
Griffin pressed the blade slightly deeper, drawing a thin line of crimson against Julian’s throat.
“If anyone—anyone—touches so much as a hair on my daughter's head, I won't just take your ports, Julian. I will burn your entire organization to ash, starting with your estate in Chicago. Do you understand me?”
Julian swallowed hard, the bravado finally draining from his eyes, replaced by genuine terror. “...I understand.”
Griffin signaled with a flick of his head. Miller stepped forward, grabbing Julian by the collar of his expensive suit and hauling him toward the door like a sack of garbage, dragging his unconscious henchmen out behind him.
The hospital room fell dead silent again, save for the rhythmic beep-beep of the heart monitor and Uncle Owen’s heavy snoring.
I slowly stood up, brushing plaster dust off my scrubs, my hands trembling violently.
Rosie peeked out from behind the armchair, her eyes wide with wonder rather than fear. “Mommy... was that a laser tag game?”
“No, sweetie,” I whispered, my voice breaking as I scooped her up into my arms and buried my face in her curly hair. “No, it wasn't.”
Griffin turned around. The lethal predator vanished instantly, replaced by a desperate, guilt-ridden man. He walked toward us, stopping a few feet away, hesitant to touch either of us.
“Ren,” he began, his voice cracking. “I am so, so sorry. I swear to God, I didn't think they’d find me this fast. I thought I had another week—”
“You brought a war to my hospital, Griffin,” I interrupted, my voice sharp, though the anger felt hollow now, replaced by a cold, numbing reality. “Men with guns were shooting in a pediatric wing. My daughter was in this room.”
“Which is precisely why you are leaving with me right now,” Griffin said, his tone absolute, leaving no room for argument. “Pack your locker. Get Rosie’s things. You are not going back to your apartment. You are coming to my estate, where my private security detail can surround you twenty-four hours a day.”
“And if I say no?” I challenged, lifting my chin.
May you like
Griffin looked me dead in the eyes.
“Then I will station twenty armed guards outside your apartment door, your grocery store, and her school, and I will sit in my car across the street watching over you myself. Because the one thing I will not do, Ren, is lose you and my daughter a second time.”
