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“Focus, Skylar,” I muttered. “Later.”
I quickly moved forward, kicking the door open and guiding them inside, away from the grisly spectacle.
"Fuck!" Skylar spat out once we were safely inside, his wounded gaze searching mine. He looked like he was barely holding it together. I couldn't blame him.
"Yeah," I agreed, my heart pounding furiously in my chest. It felt like a bad dream, but the metallic tang of blood lingering in the back of my throat was all too real. It reeked of the De Lucas and their savage tactics.
This wasn’t just a custody battle anymore.
It was war.
"Let's get Hassan inside," I urged, desperation seeping into my voice. Every second counted now. Darius' head was a clear message–they were ready for war. And while our emotions drowned in shock and anger, Hassan's life hung in a dangerous balance.
We practically hauled him toward the front entrance, praying Zane was already prepared to deal with his injuries. "You're going to be okay," I reassured Hassan, even though I wasn’t sure I believed it. His face was pale underneath the still-flowing blood, his tattered shirt soaked with it. He already looked like a ghost.
My lungs seized up.
Breathe, Bash.
His eyes fluttered open, a flicker of defiance shining through the pain. "I better be," he managed to grit out before another coughing fit took over.
The reception room of our headquarters was a paradox: a sleek merging of home and hospital, business and pleasure. The entrance expanded into a cavernous, circular space, lit by hanging crystal chandeliers that refracted rainbow hues across the polished marble floor. High-backed leather sofas occupied one corner, offering a cozy nook of hospitality. Right now, the white marble was stained with blood, a trail left from where we hauled Hassan toward the clinic.
Adjacent to the seating area was Zane's territory: his makeshift infirmary that was more well-equipped than any standard ER. It was all steel and sterility, with a surgical table sitting at the heart of it like a grim monument. We’d upgraded in the last few years on Justice’s urging–she wanted us to be safe, and if we were doing something dangerous, she needed the security of a fully equipped clinic.
At the time, I’d thought it was silly. Jez was out of our lives, Alicia too. We were settling into a strange sort of domesticity.
But now, I realized it had been smart. I was glad we had done it.
We were never going to escape danger, were we?
The elevator doors opened to reveal Zane standing there, a makeshift medical bag in hand. His eyes widened at the sight of Hassan’s state and he quickly moved forward, his professional demeanor taking over.
“Get him on the table,” he ordered, setting down his bag and opening it.
Skylar and I carried Hassan to the table, carefully laying him down on the gleaming metal surface. Zane quickly donned a pair of latex gloves and set to work, his eyes scanning Hassan's body with a practiced precision. His touch was gentle but firm as he probed Hassan’s injuries, his face a mask of concentration.
While Zane worked, my gaze strayed back to Skylar, who was watching over the procedure with an intense focus. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned ghostly white, and I could see the muscle in his jaw twitching.
“Hey,” I said under my breath, reaching for him. He flinched when I touched his arm but didn't pull away.
"We'll get them for this," he vowed, his voice trembling with unshed tears and furious rage. There was a dangerous promise in his words - one I knew we'd all uphold.
“We will," I returned softly. "But we need to let Hassan heal first."
Zane looked down at Hassan. "Scale of 1 to 10, bud, how bad is the pain?”
Hassan's lips twitched in a bitter smile, his eyes glazing over with pain. "An eleven," he rasped weakly, sweat beading on his forehead.
A grim look passed over Zane's face as he reached for his supplies– a suture kit and a slew of painkillers. "Hang in there, buddy," he said. "I'm going to have to give you pain medication."
"Zane, I'm an addict..." Hassan barely managed to croak out.
“I know. I promise you, this is mild.”
"I trust you, doc," Hassan finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. A wisp of hair fell across his sweaty forehead and he closed his eyes, seemingly preparing himself for what was to come.
"Good man," Zane replied before he reached for a syringe filled with an amber-colored solution. "This will take the edge off. It won't make you feel high."
