Chapter 3 - Shadows in the CorridorWhile Nora worked feverishly inside the trauma suite, sealing the ruptured vessel with rapid, practiced precision, the situation outside deteriorated rapidly.
Caleb’s phone buzzed in his tailored pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the encrypted screen. A cold, flat rage settled over his hard features.
“Rourke,” he answered, his voice dropping into a lethal register.
“The perimeter breach wasn't a random hit,” a voice hissed through the secure line—one of their top intelligence operatives stationed across the city. “It was a coordinated inside job. The local police department has been paid off to reroute patrol units away from Lakeshore Crown for the next forty minutes. And more importantly... the guys who hit Mercer? They weren't low-level street thugs. They belong to the Iron Cross syndicate.”
Caleb’s eyes darted toward the glass doors. Inside, Nora was leaning over Vincent, her face focused, wiping away the dark slick of blood staining his chest. Vincent’s eyes were closed, his breathing finally stabilizing, but his hand remained locked around Nora’s wrist in an ironclad vice.
“The Iron Cross thinks they can wipe out the throne while the king is bleeding,” Caleb muttered, a cruel smile touching the corner of his mouth. “They miscalculated.”
“What are your orders, Caleb?”
“Lock down every floor. No one enters. No one leaves. If a doctor or a nurse tries to step foot on this wing without my direct authorization, put a bullet in their knee. And find out who in our own ranks leaked Mercer’s hospital routing tonight. I want their head on my desk before sunrise.”
Caleb hung up and pocketed the phone. He turned his attention back to the nurses' station, where Melissa was trembling violently behind her terminal.
“You,” Caleb said, stalking toward her with slow, deliberate steps that made the floor tiles groan.
Melissa shrank back, her eyes wide with terror. “I-I didn't know anything about an ambush! I swear to God—”
“Shut up,” Caleb cut her off coldly, leaning over the counter until his face was inches from hers. “You’ve been treating Nora Bennett like a piece of garbage for three years. You dumped the dirtiest shifts on her, stole her credit on reports, and treated her like furniture.”
“I—I was just—”
“If Vincent Mercer lives through this night, and he looks at that nurse with anything less than absolute gratitude, I’m going to personally throw you off the roof of this hospital. Do we understand each other?”
Melissa nodded frantically, tears streaming down her mascara-stained cheeks. “Yes. Yes, absolutely.”
Inside the trauma suite, the monitors finally chimed a steady, reassuring rhythm. Blood pressure: 110 over 70. Heart rate: 76.
Vincent opened his eyes. The wild, feral panic had receded, replaced by a dark, dangerous clarity. He looked down at where his hand was still tightly clamped around Nora’s wrist. Slowly, awareness returned to him, and he instinctively loosened his grip, though he didn’t pull away entirely.
“You didn’t run,” Vincent said, his voice deep and gravelly, carrying an unsettling weight of authority.
Nora carefully taped the final gauze pad into place, wiping a streak of sweat and blood from her forehead with the back of her forearm. She looked down at him, her expression a mix of exhaustion and quiet defiance.
“I told you,” Nora said softly, her pulse finally beginning to slow down. “I’ve spent my life watching people run. I’m not very good at it myself.”
Vincent studied her face—the faint dusting of freckles across her nose, the kind, tired hazel eyes that held no fear of him, only a stubborn, fierce dedication to her duty.
“What do they pay you here, Nora Bennett?” he asked unexpectedly.
Nora blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Excuse me?”
“Your salary,” Vincent repeated, his gray eyes glinting with a sharp, calculating intelligence. “What does Lakeshore Crown pay a trauma nurse who just did what three board-certified surgeons were too cowardly to attempt?”
“Not enough,” Nora muttered dryly, finally pulling her wrist free from his grip—though Vincent’s fingers lingered for a fraction of a second before falling away. “Now, lie still. The internal bleeding has stopped, but if you tear these stitches, you’re on your own, Mr. Mercer.”
May you like
Vincent let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated in his chest. “Call me Vincent.”
Before Nora could reply, the lights in the entire hospital flickered violently and died.
