1
Maddox
“Maddox…”
When Demi reaches out for me, I suck in a relieved breath. It does little to loosen the knot in my stomach, but the benefits to my screaming lungs are incomparable. I thought she was dead, or at the very worst, on her way to death. This is the first time in my life I’m grateful for jumping the gun. She’s bleeding more than she should be, is incoherent and woozy, but the blood pumping out of her isn’t coming from slashes in her wrists or mortal body wounds. It’s gushing from an area I’m reasonably sure she shouldn’t be bleeding from, considering all three tests on the vanity sink show two bright blue lines. If the amount of red liquid pooling in the bottom of the shower is anything to go by, I’m also certain it’s more than Demi’s life that’s on the line right now.
“I’m s-s-so cold,” she mutters through chattering teeth.
“I know, baby. I’ll get you warm as soon as I can. I just need to get you cleaned up a bit first…” My words trail off when the shiver wreaking havoc with Demi’s tiny frame doubles in strength. She’s shuddering like she is in an ice bath, and her lips are turning blue.
“Demi…”
I slap her cheek in an endeavor to rouse her. The image of my hand tapping the scar on her right cheek kills me, but I’d rather her face be reddened by my hand than whitened by death.
“Stay with me, baby. Come on, just a little longer. The medics are on their way.”
When she fails to respond to my begs for her to hold on, I snag her dressing gown off the back of the bathroom door, carefully place it around her shoulders, then scoop her into my arms. My race out of the cabin is so desperate, my body fails to register the coolness of the crisp lawn on my bare feet, much less the fact I only have my motorbike at my disposal. Demi only whimpered when I thrust her into my chest. There’s no way she’ll make the twenty-mile trip to the hospital on the back of my bike.
I stop seeking the sounds of a siren on the horizon when the crunch of dead leaves under a boot sounds through my ears. Weeks ago, I would have said it was the armed goons Dimitri placed on each entrance of the property, but when my first couple of fights occurred without a single sneer from Col, the number of men guarding the cabin soon dwindled to none.
I thought it was for the best. Now, I’m not so sure. I hate leaving Demi’s protection in the hands of anyone not related to me by blood, but if I hadn’t been so stubborn, perhaps I would have had better means to seek medical help than two wheels between a chunk of metal anarchy.
My mood doesn’t know which way to swing when a big balding Russian steps out from the shadows. Unlike earlier when he witnessed the tussle between Dimitri and me, Agent Brahn isn’t aiming his gun at the crinkle between my brows. His empty hands are high in the air, exposing that the gun on his hip is still fastened in its holster.
After drifting his eyes between my wet ones, Demi’s white face, and the bottom of her dressing gown that’s no longer stark white, he gestures for me to follow him. “You’ve got thirty minutes tops before she bleeds out.”
My legs move before my brain can fire a single objection. I would sign on to be the devil’s righthand man this very instant if he guaranteed Demi would make it out of this alive. I wasn’t being facetious when I said I’d do anything to keep her safe. I killed a man, so selling my soul seems like the next logical step.
I realize how small the world’s axis is when Agent Brahn breaking through the dense bushland surrounding the cabin occurs at the same time a cab pulls up in front of him. I thought he was guiding us to his government-issued vehicle. I had no clue he plans to bundle us into the back of a cab to continue our journey alone.
Too panicked to allow shock its chance to shine, I slide Demi and me through the back-passenger door Agent Brahn is holding open for me, then raise my eyes to the pair peering at me in the rearview mirror. I scarcely register their familiarity before requesting for him to take me to Mercer Private. It’s the closest hospital with a permanent OBGYN. Although I wasn’t smart enough to grab my shoes, I did snag the gym bag full of cash I’m rarely without these days. It should have any man sidestepping protocol. It’s rare to find a man with a moral compass these days, so I won’t mention the rarity of stumbling upon one in this part of the state. It isn’t Hopeton, but its dealings are just as shady.
My eyes jackknife to Agent Tobias when he warns, “If you see an ambulance, continue on course. No good guys come out this far.”
The blond cab driver jerks up his chin before planting his foot on the gas pedal. It’s clear he and Agent Tobias have met before, but I don’t have the time nor the patience to work out how far their connection goes. Demi has returned from her second bout of unconsciousness. She’s clutching my drenched shirt in a white-knuckled hold while her eyes seek mine through the heaviness of hooded lids. “M-M-Mad—”
“I’m right here.” I curl my shuddering hand over Demi’s barren white one. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right where I need to be. I’ll never leave your side again. I promise you that.”
“I-I’m sorry,” she whispers through blue, shuddering lips.
I push her hair back from her face before locking my eyes with her pained ones. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
She doesn’t answer me.
She doesn’t need to.
The sheer terror in her eyes is very telling. She can feel the wetness seeping into her nightgown. She knows our baby’s chance of survival is barely nonexistent. That doesn’t make her liable, though. This isn’t even on my shoulders.
“It isn’t your fault.Nothinghappening is your fault.” I wipe at a rogue tear she couldn’t hold back before shifting my focus to the wailing of sirens rapidly approaching us. They should offer some sort of comfort in this twisted, fucked-up day, but for some reason, they strengthen the knot in my gut instead of relinquishing its firm hold.
“Scoot down,” instructs the cab driver with a backward cap and wonky grin. He’s young, probably only a year or two older than Demi and me. His youth has me suspicious of his relationship with a high-up member of the FBI. Is he working with us or against us?
When the former screams the loudest of the two, I do as requested. Once I scoot Demi and me down low in our seat, the unnamed man twists his baseball cap around, then angles his head so the shadows of the early morning sun cover his face.
The gurgle of an upset stomach rolls up my esophagus when our dash past the flashing medical van has a second dose of familiarity hitting me square in the stomach. I’ve seen the driver of the ambulance before. He was ringside at the fight that switched me from an everyday man to a killer. He wasn’t a ticket-paying customer. He was on-call to stretcher the loser out of the ring. How do I know this? The referee didn’t announce the end of the fight. The paramedic did when he checked Igor for a pulse after I snapped his neck.
Remorseful yet unrepentant hazel eyes peer at me in the rearview mirror as solemn words spill from the driver’s mouth. “I told you blood money would give you nothing but grief.”
