Chapter 28 #2
"Natalie... are you..." I dropped to one knee, trying to check on her, but the pain in my left arm and the strength draining fast made my vision go black in waves.
I looked down. The knife was still embedded in my forearm, driven to the bone.
Blood gushed out, rapidly staining my expensive suit sleeve and the floor beneath me. It hurt like hell.
"Doctor! Get a doctor! He's bleeding so much!" Carson helped Natalie up and untied her ropes. She threw herself beside me, wanting to touch me but afraid to, staring at the horrific wound and blood, her face paler than mine.
The emergency medics rushed over, applying pressure, wrapping temporary bandages.
The pain made veins bulge at my temples. Cold sweat soaked through my shirt instantly. But I bit down hard, didn't make a sound, just stared at Natalie, confirming she seemed to have no new serious injuries beyond the bruising on her face.
"The baby... how's the baby?" I asked the paramedic through gasping breaths, but my eyes stayed locked on Natalie's terrified face.
Natalie seemed to notice something wrong with her belly just then. She groaned, clutching her stomach, brow furrowing tight. "It hurts... my stomach hurts... down there... something's coming out..."
The medic's expression changed. Quick exam. "Severe contractions! We need to get her to a hospital immediately—she's going into preterm labor!"
"Go! Get her to Ethelred Hospital!" I struggled to stand, but the pain in my left arm and the dizziness from blood loss made me sway.
"Sir, your injury needs immediate surgery!" The paramedic held me down, face grave. "The blade may have severed major nerves and tendons. If we delay, this hand might..."
"Natalie's safety matters more than anything!" I shoved him away with my good right hand, watching as Natalie was quickly loaded onto a stretcher, my heart gripped tight with terror.
I turned to the police chief and my security advisor who'd rushed over, faces ashen.
Every word came from an ice cellar, tasting of blood.
"Listen. I want Olivia and all her accomplices in custody within twenty-four hours.
And her family—use everything we have, whatever it takes.
I want them gone. Permanently. Understand? "
Only after they nodded grimly did I let the paramedics help me onto another arriving ambulance.
On the way to the hospital, the doctor performed preliminary hemostasis and stabilization in the lurching vehicle, his expression growing darker.
"Mr. Winston, the injury is severe. You need immediate microsurgical repair of the nerves and tendons.
Even with successful surgery, there may be permanent functional impairment—reduced grip strength, decreased dexterity. .."
I closed my eyes, listening to the doctor's verdict, my left arm sending rhythmic, drilling pain through me. Permanent impairment? I didn't care. If I could trade one arm for Natalie and the baby's safety, it was the deal of a lifetime.
At the hospital, Natalie was rushed straight into the obstetrics emergency OR. The "Surgery in Progress" light glowed red above the door. I was wheeled into the adjacent prep room. Doctors and nurses swarmed, preparing me for surgery and anesthesia.
"Wait." I pushed the anesthesiologist's hand away with my right hand and looked at my attending physician.
My voice was weak from blood loss and pain, but absolute.
"Treat the wound. Stop the bleeding. But don't do deep anesthesia or that microsurgery yet.
Give me local anesthesia. Or something that keeps me conscious.
I need to wait until she's out. I need to know she and the baby are safe. "
"Mr. Winston, this is too risky! Your injury can't wait! Nerve death is irreversible!" the attending protested.
"Do what I said." I stared at him. "Or would you like me to find a doctor who will?"
He swallowed whatever else he was going to say.
They compromised.
In the OR, they only performed debridement, hemostasis, and temporary suturing, using drugs to forcibly suppress the pain, but didn't perform the hours-long microsurgical repair that required general anesthesia.
Throughout, I felt every instrument working between skin and muscle.
The drugs compressed the pain into a dull, persistent ache, but my consciousness stayed razor-sharp.
When they wheeled me out of the OR, my left arm was encased in thick plaster and bandages. My face must have looked like death. But I refused suggestions to rest in a room. I had the nurse wheel my mobile bed directly to the corridor outside Natalie's OR.
I lay there, staring at that closed door that held my entire world's fate, my right hand gripping tight the diamond bracelet—stained with her blood and mine—that I'd been clutching since she was rescued. Every minute, every second felt like a century.
Preterm labor from severe shock...
Just over seven months... Could the baby survive? Could Natalie's body handle it? Would there be complications?
For the first time, I felt utterly powerless. Utterly terrified.
Wealth, power, calculation, control—all worthless in the face of life and death.
All I could do was lie here and wait for fate's verdict.