Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
A mara clung to King, her arms wrapped tightly around the solid frame of a man she didn’t know, her fingers gripping his jacket as if her life depended on it. The wind whipped her white hair around her face, but she didn’t care. Her heart pounded in rhythm with the thrum of the engine beneath her. Every mile they sped covering ground she prayed it wasn’t too late.
The ache in her chest grew heavier with each passing second. Her thoughts were a chaotic mess, tangled with fear, guilt, and desperation. These men didn’t trust her. Their suspicion had been evident in every glance and sharp word. She knew they had questions about her sudden appearance, but explanations would have to wait. Her only focus right now was Joey.
Her mind raced with memories of her nephew, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes, his fierce loyalty despite the struggles he faced with his father. The idea of losing him tightened her throat with dread. She had kept her distance for too long, wrapped in her own battles, living on the edges of two worlds that had no place for her. Joey was a rare light in a life filled with shadows.
Now, that light was flickering. And she was the only one who could keep it from going out.
The bike leaned into a sharp turn, gravel spitting from the tires as King handled the machine with practiced precision. She felt the tension in his shoulders and sensed the storm brewing in his mind even though he remained silent. His concern for Joey burned as fiercely as her own, and that common ground, however tenuous, gave her a sliver of hope.
Her eyes lifted to the darkening sky, clouds swirling in ominous shapes that mirrored her turmoil. Hold on, Joey. Please hold on.
When they pulled into the hospital lot, the tires screeched, and King brought the bike to a hard stop. Amara slid off, her legs shaky but determined. She followed him through the doors, her heart hammering with a thousand unspoken fears.
King didn’t look at her as he pushed through the hallway, but his voice cut through the air like a blade. “You better be telling the truth.” His tone was stern and fierce.
Amara’s chin lifted, her resolve hardening even as her hands trembled. “I am.”
For Joey, she would face the questions, the judgment, and whatever wrath these warriors brought down on her. Because if she were too late, nothing else would matter.
They rushed through the hospital doors, King leading the way, his long strides purposeful as if he had walked this path a hundred times before. Amara quickened her pace to keep up, her pulse racing in sync with her growing dread. Every sterile hallway and every whitewashed wall pressed down on her like a weight. She could feel the unspoken tension between her and the men flanking her, but she didn’t care.
“Is Lee here too?” she asked the other man walking beside her, her voice barely masking the tremor of anxiety.
Jake didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, and he kept moving, his focus locked straight ahead. Amara bit down on her frustration and kept her questions to herself...for now. Every second mattered, and she couldn’t afford to waste them on anger.
They turned a corner, and King approached a young woman with short, dark hair streaked with vivid blue at the tips. She had an air of calm authority, but there was a sadness behind the calm.
“Is Slade back there?” Jake asked, his voice sharp, direct.
“Yeah,” the woman answered, her gaze shifting to Amara before returning to King, her expression heavy with sorrow. “Jessie’s with Joey too.”
Amara's heart twisted painfully at the mention of her nephew’s name. She clenched her fists to keep from trembling.
The woman’s eyes, dark and full of empathy, lingered on King. Her next words hit like a punch to the gut. “He’s in bad shape, King. His leg...” The woman’s words stopped as she stared up at King.
The weight of those words settled on the group like a lead curtain. Amara’s breath hitched, and her vision swam for a moment. Fear coiled in her stomach like a living thing.
“Take me to him,” Amara demanded, stepping forward, her voice fierce with determination.
“Who the fuck is she?” The woman’s eyes narrowed, her gaze flicking between Amara and King, sharp with suspicion. Her posture shifted defensively as if she were ready to step between Joey and a potential threat.
Amara didn’t flinch, though her heart raced. She held the woman’s intense stare, refusing to shrink under the scrutiny.
King remained silent for a beat longer than Amara would have liked, his expression unreadable as he studied her. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but guarded.
“His aunt,” he said simply.
The woman didn’t introduce herself but eyed Amara carefully. “Do you know who would want to do this to Joey?”
“Maybe,” Was all Amara said. “But until I see him and help him, that’s all I’m going to say. Nothing else matters but getting Joey the blood he needs.”
Once again, the woman glanced at King, and Amara saw him nod in her peripheral vision. She didn’t say another word as she led the way, pushing open a door that revealed a small room filled with the hum of machines and the sterile, suffocating smell of antiseptics.
Amara’s eyes landed on the fragile figure of Joey lying on the bed. His skin was pale, and his breaths shallow. Tubes and wires seemed to sprout from every inch of him, and her heart clenched painfully at the sight. He had bruises and scrapes on his face, with one cheek swollen. She heard the cursing from King as well as Jake, who rushed toward a woman who was standing next to Joey’s bed and took her in his arms.
“Joey,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she rushed to his side.
A tall man with a commanding presence stood at the end of the bed with a chart in his hands. His sharp eyes, as hard as steel, flicked toward her.
“Who are you?” Slade growled protectively over his patient, his voice like gravel.
“She says she’s Joey’s...aunt,” King answered before she could speak, his tone careful.
“Amara?” Jessie sniffed, bringing her head from Jake’s chest.
“Yes,” Amara replied to Jessie, but she looked at the man at the end of the bed staring at her. She didn’t have time for pleasantries. “Does he need blood?”
“You know her?” King asked Jessie, but Amara ignored them.
Jessie stepped back, her arms folded tightly, and exchanged a tense glance with King. "Yes, but not well. I thought you were in Mexico," she muttered, her confusion evident in her tone. “How did you even know he was in trouble?"
Amara’s eyes went to Joey’s pale face as she answered, her voice low but laced with authority. “I’ll explain everything after he’s safe. Right now, there’s no time for questions. Does my nephew need blood or not?”
The man, who she figured was the doctor but looked nothing like any doctor she had seen, nodded gravely. “Yes. He’s lost significant blood. We’ve been searching every available database for a compatible donor. His blood type is extremely rare.”
“RH null,” Amara said calmly, brushing her fingers gently across Joey’s brow before stepping toward the doctor. Her gaze was fierce and unflinching. “Where do you want to do this?” She rolled up her sleeve without hesitation.
The doctor froze, confusion etched deep into his face. “I’m sorry, but because of his type, he can only receive?—”
“RH null blood,” Amara interrupted sharply. “I know. Because I to have RH null blood.”
The room fell silent, tension rippling like a crackling storm. The doctor’s frown deepened as he stared at her, his disbelief plain. “That’s... impossible. There are fewer than fifty known cases in the world. It’s almost unheard of for family members to share it.”
“Well,” Amara said, her eyes blazing, “consider this your miracle exception. I’m his aunt, and we don’t have time for a medical conference. You can analyze me later if you want to write a paper about it.” She stepped closer, her posture daring him to argue. “But Joey doesn’t have time for bullshit.”
“We still have to test your blood.” He wasn’t easily swayed, but she saw a spark of respect in his handsome gaze.
Amara’s patience finally snapped. Her eyes flashed with a fury born of desperation and love. “ Does Joey have time for that? ” Her voice cracked, her composure teetering on the edge. “I would bleed out for him without a second thought. Take my blood now, or you can explain to everyone why you stood here arguing while he died.”
King stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “You heard her, doc. Do it.”
The man nodded as he stared at Amara. “I’m Dr. Slade Buchanan.” He said, his voice hard as his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Someone did this to him, expecting him not to survive. I don’t know you. Joey is my patient, and if you have lied to me, I will kill you myself.”
“She isn’t lying.” A new voice entered the room, and they all turned to look at the door. “And she’s right. Time is running out for him.”
Amara frowned as she stared at a man with white swirling eyes staring straight at her. He gave her a nod and then looked toward Joey with a frown.
“What the hell are you doing here?” King’s voice drew her attention as she looked at his shocked face as he stared at the newcomer.
“Figured you guys are going to need help on this one.” He said, then glanced back at Joey. “Hurry, doc, he’s fading fast.”
Amara’s breath caught as a strange sense of familiarity tugged at her mind. She studied him intently—his sharp features, his calm, almost otherworldly demeanor, but the memory eluded her. Her instincts screamed caution, but something deeper told her he wasn’t here as an enemy.