28. Isabel
Isabel
I don’t know what pushed me to act. Maybe it’s Rurik’s callous disregard for my feelings and blatant lies that finally push me too far.
He’s not my father. Deep down I knew that from the beginning. Even knowing that didn’t stop the anger that allowed him to burrow his way into my head and play me for a fucking fool.
When I step toward him, the cruelty in his eyes only fuels the fire, turning it into something harder to control.
This isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about Lawrence and Trinity.
The thought of her watching someone she cares about suffer while she’s helpless to stop it, ignites a fierce protective instinct inside me.
My mind flashes back to the night at the club.
The fire alarm blaring, the panic, the way everything fell apart just a little too perfectly.
I don’t believe in coincidence. Not anymore.
My gut burns, telling me the truth I don’t want to fully face—if Aiden hadn’t been there, Trinity and I would have been taken.
Rurik was behind it.
The rage that follows isn’t clean. It doesn’t burn… it fractures, sharp and jagged. I drop to my knees beside him and check his wound.
This is no longer about what he did, but what he planned to do.
“That looks pretty painful,” I say, my attention on the blood seeping up around the deep gash in his leg. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
“Fuck you.” His muscles lock, the insult breaking into a scream the second my finger finds the nerve.
Good.
“I wouldn’t move.” My voice stays even, calm in a way that doesn’t match what I’m doing.
“If it didn’t nick the artery, it will if you keep moving.
” I increase the pressure just enough to make him fight the urge to pull away.
“One wrong move and the blade shifts. When it does, you’ll bleed out in about… ninety seconds.”
I hold his gaze and let that sink in, then ease up to give him a reprieve to catch his breath.
“I should’ve let Tank and Urick finish teaching you that lesson before I killed them.”
The scream hits immediately. His earsplitting, high-pitched shriek tears through the room as my finger slips past the blade and bumps the nerve. Bear answers from the next room, his howl breaking through the walls.
“But you didn’t.”
The steady pulse of the main artery throbs beneath my fingertips as I slide in deeper, a small, satisfied smile playing on my lips.
“Hurts like a motherfucker, doesn’t it?”
He tries to hold it together. Jaw tight. Muscles locked. But his attempt is falling flat. Within seconds, he loses the battle. His stomach heaves, a strangled gag tearing from his throat as the pain overwhelms him.
I’m not surprised when he vomits and passes out, landing in it.
Gross.
I’m about to ask someone to grab me something to stabilize the dagger, but the uncontrollable laughter coming from Mr. Doyle stops me.
Of course, he finds this entertaining. The sound grates, pulling me out of the moment just long enough to wonder if maybe I took matters too far.
“Oh, shit.” The urgency in Aiden’s voice snaps my attention behind me. “Trent.”
No more laughing. Mr. Doyle is on his knees, clutching his chest, his skin already losing color, going pale in a way that tells me this isn’t nothing.
I immediately know what’s happening.
“Motherfucker.” I’m on my feet, no longer concerned about the man bleeding out slowly. “Someone get Jen.”
I’m across the room before anyone moves, dropping to the ground next to him. “Mr. Doyle, I believe you’re having a heart attack.”
“Trent,” he corrects, voice rough. Then tries to argue through shallow breaths. “I’m not having a fucking heart attack.”
A pause. A struggle for air.
“Weak men have those. I’m not a weak man.”
I ignore him.
Airway. Breathing. Circulation.
His airway is clear. He’s talking, even if it’s strained. His breathing is shallow, uneven, and his pulse—
“What the fuck are you doing?” Trent swats at my hand.
“I’m checking your vitals.” I grab his wrist again, shifting to his neck before he can stop me. “Stop talking.”
His angry gaze meets mine.
Everything disappears for a second. Gold flecks mixed in with brown. The exact same pattern as mine staring back at me. None of my siblings have this. My mother didn’t, either. Hers were much darker.
But his… it’s like looking into a mirror.
I can’t stop staring, even though I’m trying to save his damn life.
“You have an irregular heartbeat—too fast. One-twelve.” I push my other thoughts aside and keep my voice clinical. “Your breathing is shallow, like you’ve just run a marathon, which I doubt you’ve ever done.” I drop back onto my heels and rest my hands in my lap. “All signs of a heart attack.”
I hold his gaze, refusing to let him dismiss it. “So, what’s it going to be? You want my help now, or should I wait until you pass out, and I have to give you CPR? Because that’s what I’ll do.”
When he refuses to answer, I tell him like it is, my voice sharp. “You aren’t dying on me, arsehole. I’ve got a ton of questions, and you’re the only one who can answer them.”
Someone taps me on the shoulder, and when I look up, it’s Jen.
“You should give him these,” she says, pressing two aspirins into my hands. “Have him chew them. If he refuses, wait until he passes out and then rub them on his gums or place them under his tongue.”
“I’m not taking any damn pills.” He grumbles as he lifts his hand to wipe the sweat pouring down his face. “I just need a good stiff drink.”
“You need a swift kick in the arse.” I hold the aspirin out in front of him. “Take them. Now. Or I’ll have Aiden hold your mouth open for me and then force them down. Don’t test me, Trent.”
Trent snags them and shoves them in his mouth, chewing with unnecessary force. A second later, his face twists, and he starts to spit them out.
“I’ll pick them off the floor and force them down you,” I warn, not breaking eye contact. “Try me.”
“You’re a pain in the arse.” He turns his head to look at Aiden. “This is the woman you’re willing to die for?”
“Yes.” Aiden reaches over and lays his hand on my leg. “Now shut up and listen to her… or when you pass out, I won’t let her revive you.”
“You’re fired.” Trent frowns, blinks rapidly like he’s fighting through it.
“You need to lie down.” I place my hands on his back and do my best to ease him backward. “Stop fighting me. Either do it yourself, or I’ll knock you down. It won’t take much. You know I can do it too. Remember how I knocked Drake on his arse earlier?”
Gabriela and Aiden both say, “When did you do that?”
I wave them off, already reaching for the cushion on the kitchen chair. “Lift your head. Do you feel any better now?”
“Not really. I feel like a damn idiot.” His breathing is still uneven, but it’s improving. The color of his face isn’t as ashen as it was.
I take his pulse again. It’s still too fast.
“You’re not going to like this, but that’s too fucking bad. We need to get you to a hospital.” I sit back slightly, keeping my focus on him. “I can only do so much. If you go into cardiac arrest, which is a very big possibility, there’s not much I can do. You need a cardiologist, which I’m not.”
“I can fly you,” Teddy offers.
I glance up, surprised to find him there. “Perfect. Now, are you going to cooperate?”
Trent swallows his pride and nods. “I don’t think I really have a choice, do I?”
“No.” I scratch my head and try to think. “He shouldn’t walk. I need a stretcher. Can you and your men use those military skills and make me one?”
“Already on it.” Lane steps in with a blanket and a heavy tarp tied to two wooden curtain rods. “What about him?”
I glance back at Rurik. He’s still out. Jen’s stabilized his leg, padding the knife so it won’t move. Even duct-taped his leg to what I believe are broken wooden broom handles. To stop the bleeding, she’s fashioned a tourniquet from a belt.
“Only room for one patient in my chopper,” Teddy informs us.
Trent pushes onto his elbows, glaring across the room. “Give me five minutes alone with him—”
“Shut up.” My voice cuts clean through his. “You’re in no condition to be tossing out threats. Lay down. You’re not in charge here, I am.”
He falls back, the corners of his lips curl slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You take the mob boss.” Gabby makes this decision easier. “We’ll figure out how to get that one help.”
Lane and Aiden are already loading Trent onto the makeshift stretcher. They slide the blanket under him and then shift him onto the tarp in one smooth motion. It’s not as good as a real stretcher, but it’ll get the job done.
When they lift him, I hover close, unable to stay quiet. “Don’t move him around too much. He’s stable, but that could change quickly if you stress him out.”
They get him to the helicopter without incident. But once there, I realize we have another problem. There’s no place to put him on the floor. Thankfully, it’s a bench seat, making that an option I can live with.
“Lay him across the seat.”
Aiden shakes his head, “No. Where will you sit?”
“Do it.” I shove him in the back. “I’ll sit on the floor.”
He slides Trent in, then turns to me. “I’ll sit in the back with him. You take the passenger seat.”
Not happening.
I roll my eyes and slip past him, making sure Teddy straps my patient tight so he doesn’t get tossed during the flight. When Teddy jumps out, Aiden reaches inside to grab my arm.
I point to Trent, already seeing the signs. “He’s going to arrest. I’m the best chance he has. Now get your arse in the front seat.”
Does he listen? Hell, no. He forces his way in the back, shutting the door behind him.
Teddy hands him two headsets. “Hold on. I’ll do my best to keep this smooth, but with the weight distribution...”
I tune the rest out. My focus needs to be on my patient.
We’re barely halfway through the flight when Trent’s body starts to tremble. Not a positive sign. My mind runs through the possibilities. There are a handful of reasons for that. Every single one of them is unacceptable.
“Tell me you have a defibrillator on this bird.” I was hoping not to have to use it, but now it might be the best option to keep him stable until we can land.
Aiden reaches under the seat. “Standard equipment. We never leave home without it. Kind of like my Leatherman.”
Good. Because we are about to need it.
While he pulls it out, I unbutton Trent’s shirt, doing my best to keep him calm. “Your heart is misfiring. Probably the stress of this flight. I’m not letting you die, so don’t look so scared.”
Trent frowns. “I’m not scared.”
Once I have his shirt opened, it’s my turn to frown. On his chest is a tattoo similar to the one I have. A compass, only it’s not broken and shattered.
My mother had one as well. It’s the one thing I remember clearly. The reason I got mine.
He struggles to get the words out. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
Keeping my composure is getting harder. “She had one. I remember.”
“I know.” He reaches for me, his grip weak as he squeezes my arm. “Keep me alive, and I’ll tell you the story behind it.”
I nod, but the words won’t come out, they’re stuck in my throat.
His eyes flutter. Then roll back. His grasp on my hand loosens as his arm goes slack.
“Fuck. How much longer?”
“Ten.”
I check his carotid pulse. Nothing. “No pulse.”
I move immediately, starting compressions. Lacing my fingers, I drive the heel of my palm hard into his chest, keeping a steady rhythm while counting under my breath.
One, two, three. Break. One, two, three. Break.
The space is tight, the angle wrong, but I adjust and keep going. I don’t stop. I can’t.
My arms burn by the time Aiden has the AED machine open and ready for me.
“You got this,” he says, powering it on.
Taking a deep breath, I wipe Trent’s skin off with his shirt to make sure it’s clear of sweat. Then I place the pads where they belong.
“Pads on—don’t touch him.”
Aiden holds his hands in the air and leans back.
The machine speaks, “Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch the patient.”
“Clear!” I shout and then lift my hands.
My eyes lock onto the machine, and we wait for it to tell me what to do. “Shock advised.”
That’s when I press the button and hold my breath.
Trent’s body jumps.
My stomach bottoms out.
“Begin CPR,” the machine reminds me.
I immediately check for a pulse. Nothing. So I put my palms on his chest again. “Starting compressions.”
This happens three more times before I find a pulse and fall back onto my heels.
“You stubborn bastard.”
Aiden pulls me into a tight hug, and the dam breaks as uncontrollable sobs wrack my body.
We land on the helicopter pad and the door opens.
“Somebody better explain why you’re landing here without authorization.”
So, I do.
We get out, and they move fast, transferring him onto a real gurney before rushing him inside. I stay right on their heels.
No way are they losing him on my watch.
If I have to climb onto that gurney and keep compressions going in the lift, I will. I didn’t get him this far to lose him now.
No dying allowed.