Chapter 24
twenty-four
Beeping.
Steady, rhythmic, annoying as hell.
Dom floated toward the sound, pushing through layers of darkness that seemed to cling to him like wet fabric. His body felt impossibly heavy, disconnected. Like he’d been disassembled and put back together by someone who’d only seen the instructions once.
The beeping continued, insistent. With it came other sensations—the scratch of stiff sheets against his skin, the sharp antiseptic smell that meant medical facility, the dull throb in his left shoulder that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids refused to cooperate. Too heavy. Everything was too heavy. The effort drained what little energy he had, and for a moment, he drifted again, lost in the haze between consciousness and darkness.
“Dom?” The voice pulled him back—soft, familiar, etched with concern. “Dom, can you hear me?”
He tried again, managed to crack his eyes open. The room was dimly lit, but even that felt too bright. He blinked, waiting for the blur to resolve into something recognizable.
Vivi’s face came into focus. Her blonde hair was tangled, falling around her face in loose waves. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her clothes—the same ones she’d worn at the warehouse—were rumpled and stained with what he realized must be his blood.
“Vivi,” he rasped, his voice a shredded whisper.
Relief flooded her face. She squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt, her other hand coming up to brush hair from his forehead. “Thank God,” she said. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He tried to smile, though it felt more like a grimace. His throat burned, and swallowing felt like dragging sandpaper down his esophagus. “Water?”
She reached for something out of his line of sight, then held a cup with a straw to his lips. The cool water was heaven sliding down his throat. He drank greedily until she pulled it away.
“Easy,” she said. “Not too much at once.”
He licked his lips, relishing the moisture. “Where...?”
“WSW medical facility. Davey had you airlifted straight here after the extraction.” Her thumb traced circles on the back of his hand. “You’ve been out for almost thirty hours.”
Thirty hours. Christ.
Memory flooded back—the warehouse, the gunfight, Sabin’s blank eyes, the bullet tearing through his shoulder. He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. White-hot pain seared through his left side, momentarily blanking out his vision.
“Don’t move, you idiot,” Vivi said, pressing her hand to his chest, pushing him back down. “You just had major surgery.”
He let her, too weak to fight it. “Sabin?”
Her expression tightened. “He’s stable. They have him sedated in a secure room.”
“Did he... is he still...?” He couldn’t find the right words to ask if her brother was still the hollow shell they’d found at the warehouse.
“We don’t know yet,” she said, her voice strained. “Daphne’s working with Tessa and the medical team. They’re trying to understand what was done to him, how to reverse it.”
Dom nodded, but the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his skull. Jesus, they’d pumped him full of the good drugs and he still hurt this much?
“You were lucky,” Vivi said, as if reading his thoughts.
“Always am.” He tried for a cocky smile but knew it fell short. “That’s why you love me.”
She snorted but didn’t contradict him. Progress, maybe.
“The team?” he asked.
“All clear. Griffin has a few bruises from wrestling with Sabin. Bridger’s nose is broken. Everyone else is fine.” She paused. “You were the worst casualty.”
“Sounds about right.” He shifted, trying to find a position that hurt less. There wasn’t one. “What about Praetorian? Raines?”
“Gone,” she said flatly. “Escaped during the initial breach. Cade too.”
Cade. His cousin’s face flashed in his mind—that moment across the warehouse floor when their eyes had met, when Cade had aimed and deliberately missed. What the hell was that about?
Before he could ask, the door opened and a doctor entered—mid-forties, with a severe haircut and the brisk efficiency that screamed military medical background. Probably one of WSW’s contracted physicians.
“Mr. Wilde,” he said, moving to check the monitors beside his bed. “Good to see you awake. I’m Dr. Faulkner.”
“What’s the damage?” Dom asked.
“Gunshot wound to the left shoulder, through and through. The bullet tore through the deltoid and damaged part of your scapula. You lost a significant amount of blood. We’ve repaired what we could surgically, but you’re looking at months of physical therapy.”
He grimaced. “How long till I’m back in the field?”
Dr. Faulkner’s expression didn’t change. “That depends on how well you follow medical advice. Best case? Four to six months.”
“Bullshit,” he muttered. “I’ll be ready in two.”
“Only if you want to lose function in that arm permanently.” Dr. Faulkner checked his IV, made a note on his tablet. “The muscle damage was extensive. Push too hard too soon, and you’ll undo everything we repaired.”
Vivi’s hand tightened on his. “He’ll follow doctor’s orders,” she said, shooting him a look that dared him to contradict her.
Dr. Faulkner nodded. “I’ll check back in this evening. The nurse will be in shortly to administer your next round of medication.” He left as efficiently as he’d arrived, the door clicking shut behind him.
“Months?” Dom groaned. “I’ll go stir-crazy.”
“Better than dead,” Vivi said sharply. Then, softer: “You almost were, you know. Dead.”
He looked at her and saw how close to the edge she was. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her complexion pale beneath the golden tan she always maintained. Her hand trembled slightly where it held his.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m okay.”
She swallowed. “Now you are.”
A nurse entered then. She checked Dom’s vitals, adjusted his IV, and administered another dose of pain medication that immediately made the room feel softer around the edges.
“This will help you rest,” the nurse said. “Don’t fight it.”
Dom didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to talk to Vivi, to ask her about Sabin, about what happened after he passed out. But the medication pulled at him, dragging him back toward darkness.
“Stay?” he managed to ask, his eyelids growing heavier by the second.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised.
He drifted off with her hand still in his, the last thing he felt before consciousness slipped away again.
Time stretched and condensed in the weird way it did with heavy painkillers.
Dom surfaced occasionally, aware of Vivi still in the chair beside him, sometimes talking quietly to others, sometimes just sitting in silence.
Once he woke to find Davey standing at the foot of his bed, deep in conversation with her, both of them stopping abruptly when they realized he was awake.
“Hey, little brother,” Davey said, moving to stand beside him. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got shot,” Dom replied, voice still rough.
Davey’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “That’ll happen when you jump in front of bullets.”
“Any update on Sabin?” Dom asked, looking between Davey and Vivi.
They exchanged a glance that sent unease crawling up his spine.
“It’s complicated,” Davey said finally. “Daphne’s identified the conditioning technique—it’s similar to what happened in that Montana town thirty years ago. She thinks she can break it, but it’s going to take time.”
“And until then?”
“He stays sedated,” Vivi said quietly. “It’s safer that way.”
Dom nodded and drifted off as another dose of medication hit his bloodstream through his IV.
When he woke, the room was darker, and Vivi was the only one there. She’d changed clothes finally—someone must have brought her something—but she was still in the same chair, her head tilted back, eyes closed.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said softly.
Her eyes opened. “You asked me to.”
“You should get some real sleep. In a real bed.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
She smiled faintly. “Takes one to know one.” She reached for a cup of what looked like hours-old coffee on the side table. “Besides, I’m not leaving until Sabin’s awake and talking to me again.”
The medication was clearing from his system, his thoughts becoming sharper. “You think Daphne can bring him back?”
“She has to.” Vivi’s voice was matter-of-fact, allowing no room for doubt. “He’s in there somewhere. I saw him fight through it at the warehouse.”
“You did,” Dom agreed, remembering the flicker of recognition in Sabin’s eyes when Vivi had pressed the icon into his hand. “That’s a good sign.”
Silence stretched between them.
“You saved my life,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “Taking that bullet.”
“Don’t make it a big deal.”
“It is a big deal, Dom. You could’ve died.”
He shifted his good arm, reaching for her hand. “Worth it.”
She took his hand but shook her head. “Nothing’s worth that.”
“You are,” he said simply.
She looked away, but her fingers tightened around his.
Time slipped by. The facility settled into its nighttime rhythm, the hallway outside his room quieter, the overhead lights dimmed.
Moonlight seeped through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the foot of his bed and the floor beyond.
The pain medication had settled into his system, leaving him drowsy but not unconscious.
He drifted in and out of light sleep, always aware of Vivi’s presence beside him. At some point, she’d moved her chair closer to his bed and was now slumped forward, her head resting on her arms at the edge of his mattress, finally surrendering to exhaustion.
He woke more fully sometime later. The moonlight had shifted, the stripes now falling across Vivi’s blonde hair, turning it silver. She was still asleep, her breathing deep and even, her face turned toward him, her hand still loosely holding his.
In the quiet darkness, with the pain dulled and his mind cleared of the heaviest medication fog, he remembered the moment in the van when he’d thought he was dying. Remembered trying to tell her he loved her. Remembered her refusing to hear it.
He squeezed her hand gently.
Her eyes opened immediately. She blinked, orienting herself, then sat up. “You okay? Need the nurse?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just... watching you sleep.”
She ran a hand through her tangled hair. “Creepy.”
He smiled. “You’re beautiful.”
“And you’re high on pain meds.”
“Not that high.” He reached for her hand again. “Can I say it yet?”
“Say what?”
“What I tried to tell you in the van. When you stopped me.”
For a moment, she looked confused. Then understanding dawned, followed by something softer. She knew exactly what he was asking.
She exhaled a small, shaky laugh and brought his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Not yet,” she murmured against his skin.
“When?”
“When you’re fully conscious. When we’re not in a hospital. When I’m sure I want to hear it.”
“Fair enough.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll wait.”
She moved from the chair to perch on the edge of his bed, careful not to jostle his injured shoulder. “I can’t promise what I’ll say back.”
“I know.”
She was silent for a long moment, then met his gaze. “You’re really not going to give up on me, are you?”
“Never have,” he said. “Never will.”