Chapter 13
Xander
The ER bay comes up fast. I slam the brakes, and the car screams across the pavement, tires burning, smoke curling. People scatter out of the way.
A man in a vest runs at me, waving his arms, shouting about where I can’t park.
I don’t slow. Don’t even look at him as I jump out, tossing him the keys mid-stride. “It’s yours.”
He stumbles back, mouth still open, but nothing comes out. I’m already moving past him through the sliding doors.
The waiting room shuts down the second I enter. Conversations die. Heads turn. Nurses freeze mid-step, eyes wide, like they just felt the air shift.
I don’t give them a second of attention. My thumb moves fast, typing a single message to our group chat.
Me:
Room number?
The response buzzes in my hand almost before I lower the phone. Just numbers. Nothing else. No sarcasm. No jokes.
I push the hospital room door open, careful not to let it slam. The sight hits me anyway. She’s there, pale and streaked with blood, still in a way that twists something deep in my chest. For a second, I can’t breathe.
A nurse steps between me and the door, her solid stance blocking my way.
“Move.” It’s a low growl, and she flinches. I’m about to kill the next person who tries to keep me from her.
She swallows hard, crossing her arms, standing firm.
A doctor runs up, takes one look at me, and says, “Just stay out of the way.”
Finally, someone with sense.
I do as he says, keeping my back pressed against the wall under the nurse’s watchful eyes. She’s wasting her time worrying about me. The only thing I care about is Dahlia.
The doctor checks her over, assesses the back of her head, shining a light into her pupils, and I’m about to scream that they need to hurry the fuck up. That if they don’t save her, I’m taking everyone in this hospital down.
My thoughts are cut off when he steps back. “There’s bruising and a laceration to the back of her head from blunt impact, but other than a concussion, she’ll be fine.”
He directs the nurses around him. One supports her head while applying gauze to her wound, while the other cleans her, removing most of the blood.
Without it, Dahlia no longer has the stark look of someone close to death. There’s a slight color to her cheeks, and her breathing is visible.
“Now that you know she’s okay, please wait with the other visitors. We will call you back in as soon as she’s ready.”
“Immediately,” I command.
He nods, and I decide to trust him. If he’s lying, I could use him to burn off some of this feeling of ants crawling under my skin.
The waiting room clears out as I make a coffee, down it, and pour another. The caffeine does nothing to help my already racing pulse. I drink it anyway, needing something to help keep myself together.
The sharp turn from fear to relief has me reeling, my legs barely stable enough to support my weight.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket.
Damon:
Update?
I exhale long and slow before replying. There’s no doubt in my mind all three of my brothers have been going crazy since the second I left, only made worse by my last few requests.
Me:
Contusion to the back of her head, and concussion. She’ll be okay.
Bash:
Mother fucker.
Matthias:
Are they dead?
Me:
Yes. Died before I could kill him.
Bash:
Brutal.
Matthias:
I’m looking into who arranged this. Won’t be long until you can get your hands on them.
Images of just how much I’ll make them suffer float through my mind.
I’m going to take my time, keeping them alive so that they dread each breath they take.
Until they beg me to kill them. Then I’ll play with them some more.
The human body can take a lot before it gives out, especially if provided with just enough medical aid to keep its heart pumping.
Bash:
Sounds like fun.
Damon:
Should we come?
Me:
Don’t bother. The second she’s awake I’ll be bringing her home with me.
Bash:
How are you going to explain that to her?
Me:
I won’t.
It’s less than twenty minutes before the doctors let me know I can head back in.
I shove her door open but stop it before it cracks against the wall.
She’s there, pale and still, surrounded by tubes and wires that don’t belong.
A nurse leans over her IV and freezes when she notices me.
Her hands twitch, and she takes a small step back.
“Stay.” My voice cuts sharply. “Finish what you were doing.”
Her eyes flick up, wide, then down again, scanning me in from head to feet. The IV line rattles as her hands shake. The bag sways on its hook. She finally straightens, edging toward the door like she can escape without being noticed. I shift just enough to block her. My stare locks her in place.
“Is she okay?” The words scrape out raw, pulled from somewhere I don’t show anyone.
“Yes.” Her voice is thin as she repeats what the doctor already said. “She’ll be fine. Concussion. Pain meds. Rest.”
I want to question her more, but she drops her eyes and bolts.
Two strides close the space between me and Dahlia. The woman who walked out of my bed without a word, left me chasing shadows for months.
The sight fractures something inside me. She shouldn’t be here. She should have been with me.
I lean closer, lower myself until I can breathe her in. My hand drifts to the curve of her neck, knuckles brushing the soft skin at her nape.
One part of me wants the sound of their bones breaking under my fists. The other pounds one truth into me, harder than any blow could. I failed her. All the power I’ve built, all the money, all of my reach. It’s all worthless. She still ended up here.
I sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. For a long time, I just stare at her. Too fragile. Too breakable.
My hand moves to her arm, deliberately slow. I trace down it until I find her wrist, circling it lightly with my thumb. Her skin is soft, warmer than I expected. Her heartbeat’s there, steady beneath my touch.
I go over every angle of her skin, noting every injury I didn’t protect her from. That thought coils tight in my gut. I squeeze once, not hard, just enough to feel her life under my hand, to remind myself she’s still here. It’s the only thing keeping me steady.
I lean closer. The blanket slips low, so I pull it higher, careful of the IV taped to her hand. My fingers smooth the fabric over her shoulder, tucking her in like she might slip away if I don’t hold on to her.
A strand of golden brown hair has fallen across her face. I brush it back slowly, knuckles grazing her cheek on the way. She doesn’t stir, doesn’t flinch. Just breathes, quiet and even, like she knows she’s safe.
Whatever she’s gotten herself into. I’ll find it, cut it out, until there’s nothing left to hurt her.
I stay close, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest. She’s too soft for this world, too easy to break. Too easy to lose. The thought hardens into a promise.
I won’t fail her again.