18. Fate’s Cruel Betrayal #2
“How far out?” I demand, pressing harder on Seb’s wound. His breath comes in shallow gasps, each one a knife in my chest.
“Five minutes,” Eli says from the driver’s seat.
“Doc Martinez is already heading to the mansion,” Micah adds.
Seb’s head lolls against my shoulder, his skin ashen under the passing streetlights. “Hey,” I shake him again. “No sleeping, little brother. Talk to me.”
His eyes flutter open, unfocused. “Reminds me of … that time in Queens,” he slurs. “Remember? When those … Russians jumped us?”
“Yeah.” My voice cracks. “And I carried your scrawny ass six blocks to safety.” Just like now, my hands had been covered in his blood then. But we were just kids—this is different. This is so much fucking worse.
“Not so scrawny anymore,” he mumbles, then coughs. Fresh blood stains my hands.
Terror claws at my throat. “Eli, faster!”
The SUV accelerates, engine roaring as we tear through red lights. Seb’s breathing grows more labored, each inhale a desperate struggle. My mind races with memories—teaching him to fight, watching his back through countless battles, building our empire together.
“Almost there,” Eli announces, his voice distant through the roaring in my ears. All I can focus on is the weakening pulse beneath my fingers, the growing pallor of Seb’s face.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” I whisper fiercely, pulling him closer. “You hear me? That’s a fucking order.”
His only response is a wet, rattling breath that chills me to my core.
The mansion appears ahead, lights blazing. But as Seb’s body grows heavier in my arms, I wonder if we’re too late.
I kick open the front door with my brother’s blood still sticky on my hands. His body hangs limp in my arms.
“Get me blankets!” I roar as we storm through the foyer. “Now!”
The house erupts in chaos—boots pounding on hardwood, voices shouting orders, the metallic stench of blood filling the air. My arms burn from carrying Seb, but I won’t let anyone else touch him. Not when each second could be his last.
A small cry pierces through the mayhem. Leo stands frozen in the middle of the living room, his blue eyes wide with terror as he takes in the blood-soaked scene before him. Fuck. He shouldn’t be seeing this.
“Leo, baby, come here.” Eve appears from nowhere, moving fast. She scoops him up and turns his face into her shoulder, shielding him from the nightmare unfolding in his home. Her eyes meet mine over Leo’s head—shock, fear, and something else I can’t read flashes across her face.
“What happened?” She demands, but I’m already pushing past, following Micah into the living room. I can’t stop. Can’t explain. Every second counts.
“Uncle Zeke!” Leo calls out, his voice trembling. “Is Uncle Seb okay?”
I nearly stumbling under Seb’s weight before I make it to the couch. Because I don’t know. I don’t fucking know if he’s going to be okay, and the possibility that he won’t threatens to shatter me.
“Get him out of here,” I manage, not looking back. I can’t face Leo’s fear right now. Can’t handle Eve’s questions or concerns. All I can do is get my brother help and pray it’s not too late.
Behind me, Eve’s gentle voice murmurs comforting words to Leo as she carries him upstairs, away from the violence invading his sanctuary. One more thing I’ve fucked up. One more way I’ve failed to protect the people I—
No. Focus. Save Seb. That’s all that matters right now. Everything else can wait.
My hands shake as I press down on his wound, desperate to stop the bleeding.
“Where’s the fucking doctor?” I snarl, pressing harder on Seb’s wound as his breathing grows more labored. The metallic stench of blood fills my nostrils.
“Two minutes out.” Micah reports, his usually stoic voice tight with concern.
My brother’s face is ghostly pale, his skin clammy under my touch. Each rattling breath he takes sounds weaker than the last. I lean closer, my voice dropping to a whisper only he can hear.
“Don’t you fucking dare die on me, Seb. You hear me? I need you, brother.” My voice cracks on the last word, raw emotion bleeding through despite my efforts to stay strong.
I hear Eve’s footsteps descending the stairs behind me, but I don’t look up. Can’t look up.
“Oh my God.” Eve’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the tense silence. From the corner of my eye, I see her rush forward, medical training kicking in as she assesses the situation. “What happened?”
“Ambush,” I grunt, pressing harder as fresh blood seeps between my fingers. “Shot in the chest. Doctor’s on the way.”
Eve drops to her knees beside the couch, her hands already reaching for Seb. “Let me see.” Her voice is calm, professional, despite the horror in her eyes. When I don’t move, she touches my arm. “Zeke, let me help.”
I hesitate for a fraction of a second before shifting aside, allowing her access while maintaining pressure on the wound. She leans in close, checking Seb’s pulse, his breathing, the color of his lips.
“His pulse is weak but steady,” she reports, fingers pressed against Seb’s neck. “Keep the pressure there, just like that.” She grabs a throw blanket from the back of the couch, tucking it around him. “We need to keep him warm, prevent shock.”
My brother’s life is slipping away under my hands, and there’s nothing I can do but watch and pray and keep pressing down, down, down on the wound slowly killing him.
A sharp knock at the door makes me jerk. “Let him in!” I roar, not taking my eyes off Seb’s face.
Eli yanks the door open and Dr. Martinez strides in, medical bag in hand, and a nurse behind him carrying even more supplies. His weathered face is grim as he takes in the scene. “What happened?”
“Bullet to the chest,” I growl. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”
The doctor kneels beside me, his movements quick and efficient as he opens his bag. “How long ago?”
“Fifteen minutes.” My voice cracks. “Maybe twenty.”
Dr. Martinez’s hands replace mine on Seb’s chest, probing the wound with practiced fingers. “Entry wound looks clean. No exit.” His eyes flick to mine. “We need to get the bullet out and stop this bleeding. Now.”
Eve shifts closer, her shoulder brushing mine. “What do you need?”
“Hot water, clean towels.” The doctor’s voice is clipped as he pulls supplies from his bag. “And I need space to work. Everyone back off.”
My men retreat without argument, but Eve hesitates. Her hand squeezes my shoulder, a silent gesture of support before she does the same.
“Hold him down,” Dr. Martinez orders, readying a syringe. “This is going to hurt, and I can’t have him thrashing.”
I grip Seb’s shoulders, my knuckles white with tension. The doctor works swiftly, his movements precise as he injects something near the wound. My brother doesn’t even flinch.
“The bullet’s lodged near his collarbone,” Dr. Martinez mutters, reaching for his instruments. “If we’re lucky, it missed anything vital. But he’s lost too much blood. He’ll need a transfusion.”
My jaw clenches. “Take mine. Whatever he needs.”
The doctor looks at me, his eyes flickering over my own wounds. “Looks like you need your blood. Don’t worry, the nurse has everything I need.”
I pace the length of the couch, watching every movement of Dr. Martinez’s hands as he works to save my brother’s life. Each second feels like an eternity as I wait, helpless, while Seb’s life hangs in the balance.
Eve returns with towels and hot water, setting them beside the doctor without a word. Her presence is both a comfort and a torment. I want to reach for her, to draw strength from her, but I can’t let myself be weak right now. Can’t let anyone see how close I am to breaking.
“Blood pressure’s dropping,” the nurse announces, her voice tight with concern.
“Start the transfusion,” Dr. Martinez orders, not looking up from his work. “Now.”
I watch as they insert the IV, the crimson liquid flowing into my brother’s veins. This is my fault. I led us into that ambush. I should have known it was a trap.
“The bullet’s lodged deep,” Dr. Martinez mutters, probing the wound. “But I think … got it.”
A small metallic ping as he drops the bullet into a dish. The sound echoes in my head, a reminder of how close I came to losing everything. How I still might.
Eve’s hand brushes my arm, and I realize I’ve stopped breathing. “He’s strong,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the worry in her eyes. “He’ll pull through.”
I want to believe her. Need to believe her. But all I can see is the blood—so much blood—staining my hands, my clothes, the expensive leather of my couch. The evidence of my failure to protect him surrounds me, suffocating me with guilt and fear.
“We need to move him somewhere more stable.” Dr. Martinez orders. “A downstairs bedroom?”
Eve jumps into action. “There’s one right there.” She points to one of the spare bedrooms not fifty feet from where I stand.
The stench of blood and antiseptic fills my nostrils as I help carry Seb to the spare bedroom.
His body feels lighter now, drained of blood and life, but the even rise and fall of his chest gives me hope.
The doctor managed to extract the bullet and stop the bleeding, though Seb’s not out of danger yet.
Eve hovers nearby as we settle him onto the bed, her hands quick and sure as she adjusts pillows and tucks blankets around him. The nurse hooks up an IV while Dr. Martinez gives final instructions about monitoring Seb’s vitals through the night.
“Zeke.” Eve’s voice cuts through my exhausted haze. “Your arm is still bleeding.”
I glance down at the knife wound, barely registering the pain or the blood seeping through my torn sleeve. “It’s fine.”
“The hell it is.” Eve turns to Dr. Martinez. “He needs stitches.”
The doctor’s stern gaze fixes on me. “Sit down, Mr. King. That cut needs attention before it gets infected.”
I want to argue, but Eve’s already pushing me into a chair, gentle but insistent. “Don’t be stubborn. Let us take care of you.”