Chapter 49
Xavier
Under the lights of the hospital corridor, I pace back and forth, each step a manifestation of the worry inside me.
Delilah’s life rests in the hands of the surgeon who’s working to transplant a new heart.
One that she tried to reject. It’s fortunate she submitted to my demands, or else I would’ve forced her.
Through sabotage, coercion, or whatever was necessary.
My girl is strong, a fighter, and her determination is admirable, but the circumstances are beyond her. They are beyond both of us. I’m not ready to face a future where she’s not at my side. Her near refusal haunts me.
I should’ve told her that her foster brother is alive to give her an incentive to live, but the risk was too great.
I trust Declan with my life, and Delilah’s, or else we wouldn’t be here, but I’ve seen the things my father is willing to do to mete out punishment.
If he finds out that Declan hid me from him in this hospital, Edward Donovan will kill him.
I stop to look out the window, my thoughts centered around Benjamin. He’s still out there, underground with nothing but MREs to eat. Meanwhile, I’m standing here, a part of me dying every minute that I’m away from Delilah, unable to do anything to help her.
But I can help her brother.
With an exhale, I push away from the window and head toward the exit.
The surgeon said the procedure will take hours, hours in which I can do nothing except wait, worry, and wonder about my girl.
She’d want me to take care of Benjamin instead of standing here, ready to kill someone at the very hint of her surgery not going well.
The ride to the university is a blur, my thoughts never straying from my little raptor.
I run my fingers over the firearm on my hip, then my pocket where June’s phone rests.
It’s not as sophisticated as mine, but I couldn’t risk my father tracking me through it.
It’s in my dorm room, along with Delilah’s.
Although June was clearly scared to talk to me, the bride gave her cell phone and her word to call me if there was any news concerning Delilah. I can see why Declan cares for June.
I park the Jeep behind the old maintenance building, the familiarity of my surroundings offering no comfort.
This entrance to the tunnels is hidden behind a set of water heaters.
I pull a series of levers disguised as switches in an electrical panel, and the door, old and rusted, screeches against the concrete floor.
The air smells of mold and damp earth as I turn on my flashlight and begin my descent, pistol in hand.
The steps are slick with moisture, and I take them slowly, mindful of every move.
The trek to the secret room will take longer from here, but I can’t risk going back to the fraternity, not with my father on the hunt.
As I navigate the familiar, eerie pathways, memories flood my mind. The times Delilah and I explored these tunnels, her laughter echoing off the walls, her hand in mine. It feels like a lifetime ago.
I push the memories down, focusing on the present.
Eventually, I reach the tunnel where the air grows noticeably cooler, a sure sign I’m almost at my destination.
Reaching the nondescript section of wall that serves as the door, I pause, my hands searching the cold, damp pipes until they find the one that serves as a makeshift lever.
With a firm twist, there’s a soft click of the mechanism unlocking, and I push against the stone.
It swings silently inward on well-oiled hinges.
Stepping inside, I’m immediately met by the dim light of a lantern and the barrel of a gun.
Instinctively, I raise my hands, my eyes fixing on the weary, dirt-streaked face of Benjamin.
His eyes narrow in suspicion, but as recognition dawns, his grip on the firearm loosens, and he lowers it, exhaling deeply.
“Fuck, man,” he says. “You scared the shit out of me.”
I tuck my gun back into the waistband of my pants. “You didn’t think I’d leave you down here forever, did you?”
Benjamin shakes his head with a smile. “I can’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind.”
“Mine, too.”
“You’re an asshole.”
I nod, my amusement fading at the thought of Delilah. “I need to tell you something.”
Benjamin places the pistol on a table nearby to fold his arms. “Give it to me straight. No bullshit.”
I tell him everything. Delilah’s undiagnosed congenital heart defect, the heart attack, and need for a transplant.
Along with my part in securing a donor for her and the surgery that’s currently in progress.
Benjamin’s expression shifts from shock to worry, and then settles into a grimace, his mouth a thin line.
“I had no idea,” he says when I’m finished. “The foster care system really fucked us. We never had routine medical care, though I can’t remember a time when Lilah complained about chest pains or anything like that. Maybe she hid it from me all these years.”
I wave a hand in dismissal. “It doesn’t matter now. I’ve taken precautions to ensure this never happens again.”
“Good. So what’s your plan going forward? She won’t be able to travel, not after a surgery like that.”
“We have to hide until I can go on the offensive,” I say. “You, me, and Delilah. We stay under the radar until I can figure out a way to deal with my father. I’ve got some places in mind, safe houses that not even Declan knows about.”
Benjamin runs a hand through his unkempt hair, looking around the cramped room that’s been his refuge for the last two days. “And if your father finds us?”
“I’ll kill him earlier than I’d planned.”
He gives me a curt nod. “All right. Just make sure Lilah isn’t caught in the crossfire.
She’s all that matters.” He pauses for a moment and then laughs, the sound self-deprecating.
“I guess I don’t have to tell you that. You murdered someone, stole their heart, and then gave it to her like a fucking Christmas present. You’re one fucked-up Santa Claus.”
I shrug. “Slay bells ring . . .”
His words aren’t an insult because they’re true: I killed a man for Delilah. And I’d do it again without remorse or guilt. Or hesitation.
Benjamin laughs and slaps me on the back. “Let’s get out of here. I need a shower.”
The drive to the secluded cabin is quiet, each mile taking us away from the city lights and noise and into the quiet desolation of the woods.
Benjamin sits beside me, his body taut, with him scanning the passing trees as if expecting a threat to leap out at any moment.
I focus on the road while my mind churns with worry for Delilah.
As we turn down an almost-hidden driveway, the cabin comes into view, shrouded by towering pines and cloaked in fog. It’s rustic, with a touch of weathered charm, an ideal place to disappear for a while.
“This is it,” I say. I inhale, and the scent of pine and earth fills my senses. It’s preferable to the antiseptic of the hospital.
“This will work,” Benjamin murmurs.
“I’ll come back with Delilah as soon as she’s stable enough to travel. You’ll be safe here. There’s food, a security system, and an armory. Settle in. It’ll be a while.”
Benjamin nods, gripping my shoulder tightly for a moment. “Thank you, X. For everything.”
The emotion in his voice indicates this is more than some casual remark. He’s acknowledging the fact that I didn’t kill him, even though I could’ve to assist my father in his mission for dominance over the other families. And because of what I did for Delilah.
We both know Benjamin wouldn’t have gotten a heart for her.
I give him a nod to show I understand. In a guild of assassins, a trustworthy person is hard to come by.
He opens the car door, and the motion-sensor light comes to life. When his feet hit the gravel, he pauses to look back at me, his hand still gripping the door handle. “You’re the better man for her. I don’t know if I could’ve . . .”
His voice trails off, and he clears his throat, his gaze shifting away. “Take care of her.”
“I will.”
He nods slowly. “I know you will.”
I drive away, leaving Benjamin behind, my need to return to Delilah overwhelming me. I have to be there when she wakes up, to reassure myself that she’s going to live.
The return to the hospital feels endless, each red light a barrier keeping me from my little raptor.
When I finally walk through the hospital doors, my heart rate kicks up at June’s forlorn expression.
The bride spots me from where she sits in the waiting area, her posture stiff.
Then she stands as I approach, her face drawn with fatigue.
“Any news?” I ask, dread coating my insides.
She shakes her head. “Not yet. They said the surgery should be finishing soon, though. They’ll come out to talk to you once they’re done.”
I nod, sinking into the chair beside her, the exhaustion of the past few hours catching up with me. “Thank you for staying.”
June offers a tired smile. “Delilah’s my friend. Where else would I be?”
Her loyalty in this moment is attractive. If Declan hurts this girl, I’m going to be a good friend by punching him in the face. And the dick.
We lapse into silence, the waiting area around us buzzing softly with the low murmur of other families and the occasional clatter of the nurse’s station nearby.
I sit there, clenching and unclenching my fists, watching my knuckles turn pale again and again.
By the time the surgeon emerges, I’m close to losing my mind.
Even his light green scrubs are too cheerful for my mood, instantly pissing me off.
June and I rise to our feet. I gauge his expression, searching for any hint of the news he brings. His tired eyes meet mine, and then, he gives me the slightest nod with a small smile.
Relief crashes through me, and my legs threaten to give out. I stand up straighter, locking my knees and fisting my hands.
The surgeon stops in front of me. “Mr. Donovan, we have completed the transplant. Everything went smoothly, and the patient is doing well.”
My voice is steady, but my hands shake. “I need to see her.”
“I understand. You can visit her, but since it’s the ICU, you can only stay for a few minutes.”
He can fuck right off with that. He’ll find out soon enough.
“Take me to her.”
He nods and leads the way down the corridor, his shoes squeaking against the shiny linoleum. “It’s going to take a while for the anesthesia to wear off.”
I nod and follow, ignoring his attempt at conversation. All that matters is getting to Delilah. I have to see her with my eyes and touch her with my hands before I can feel at peace.
Her bed is in a large room surrounded by windows and machines that beep steadily, indicating her stability. Her face is pale, but the steady rise and fall of her chest reassures me.
June squeezes my arm. “Now that I know she’s okay, I’m going to leave you two alone. I’ll come back after I’ve slept.”
“Thank you for staying.”
“Of course.”
June gives me a brief nod and leaves. I take Delilah’s hand and look at the surgeon. “Did you do what I asked?”
He clears his throat, his nervousness bleeding through the action.
“Yes. The ILR is in place, just under the skin in her chest. The Implantable Loop Recorder will monitor her heart’s electrical activity continuously,” the surgeon explains, adjusting his glasses with a slight tremor in his hands.
“And as you requested, there was also a tracking device embedded alongside it. It’s linked to this smartwatch.
” He hands me a sleek, modern watch, its screen glowing softly.
I release Delilah’s hand to take the device from him, my gaze flicking between it and her serene face. “What do I need to look out for?”
“The watch will receive real-time data from the ILR,” he begins, his voice clinical yet cautious.
“You’ll be able to monitor her heart rate, rhythm, and if there’s any irregular activity, it will alert you immediately.
As for the tracker . . .” He hesitates, then continues, “It uses GPS technology. You can track her location anytime from anywhere.”
I nod, strapping on the watch, the object representative of Delilah’s condition and the extraordinary measures I’ve taken to protect her. “Anything else?”
He sighs, the exhaustion brought on by the surgery still visible in his posture.
“The heart is functioning well for now, but there’s always a risk of rejection.
We’ll monitor her closely for any signs of that or infection.
It’s crucial that she follows a strict regimen of immunosuppressive medication to help her body accept the new heart. ”
The word rejection triggers something primal in me, a surge of fear and anger that she might still be taken from me after everything I’ve done to ensure her survival. “And if her body rejects the heart?” I press, my temper flaring as I lean toward him.
The surgeon meets my gaze and flinches. “Rejection can often be managed with medication adjustments, but in extreme cases, another transplant might be necessary.”
If that happens, I have four more names on the list.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he says. At the glower on my face, he backs up a step. “I’m needed elsewhere, but the staff will be monitoring the patient.”
As he walks away, I turn back to Delilah, her quiet presence the complete opposite to the chaos raging inside me. I sit beside her on the bed, taking her hand gently, the coolness of her skin a result of the ordeal she’s just undergone.
The sight of her hooked up to various tubes and wires is almost too much to bear. I want nothing more than to tear her free of them, to have her back in my arms. But she needs the equipment. She needs to recover.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, my little raptor. And so strong.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss each of her fingers, smiling at the memory of how we met. “You stabbed me that first night, and I need you to use that fire, that same determination, to live. Do you understand?”
She doesn’t answer, but I feel her pulse thrum against my fingers, the steady beating of her heart soothing me. I sit back, my gaze fixed on her face, unwilling to leave her side, even for a second.
The room is quiet now, except for the sounds of the monitors and the distant hustle of the staff in the hospital. I watch over her, the smartwatch on my wrist a constant reminder that she’s alive. If there was any guilt within me, it was gone the second I first saw her heart rate on the screen.