That afternoon, Natalie seemed better. She said she wanted some air in the hospital's cleared garden downstairs, get some sun. I was supposed to go with her, but a critical overseas acquisition negotiation reached final terms. The other CEO gave me twenty minutes.
When Natalie found out, she smiled at me. "Go, Richard. I'll be downstairs. With all these guards, I'll be fine."
"Okay. I'll be right back." I kissed Natalie's forehead, ordered Carson and three other guards to stay glued to her, then fastened a new diamond bracelet on her wrist—it had a micro tracker and emergency alert built in. Only then did I go back to the makeshift office upstairs.
Fifteen minutes into the negotiation, my custom earpiece shrieked. Then Carson's voice, almost unrecognizable. "Sir! Mrs. Winston's been taken! A van disguised as hospital maintenance—they sprayed anesthetic gas! Two of our men are down! They took her out through the B2 garage exit! We're tracking the vehicle!"
I shot up, knocking over the water glass. It shattered, liquid spraying everywhere. "Deploy everyone! Activate all tracking signals! Block every road out of the city! Get me the police chief and Homeland Security direct line! Now!" My fingers flew across the tablet, pulling up the tracker signal hidden in Natalie's bracelet. A faint red dot moved fast across the city map, heading toward the desolate northeast industrial district.
I drove there at top speed. The trail ended at a sprawling abandoned factory complex. The tracking signal stopped at a rust-covered warehouse. Police sirens wailed in the distance, but I couldn't wait. I led the private security team that had arrived first and smashed through a side door.
Inside, vast, dark, reeking of rust and dust.
"Damn it! Fight back and I'll kill you!"
The man's crude cursing stopped my heart. I followed the sound, rounding a pile of abandoned machinery, and saw a scene that made my blood run backward.
Natalie lay on the ground, hands bound behind her back, clothes disheveled, fresh bruises on her face, blood at the corner of her mouth. A man in filthy overalls had one hand over hermouth. The other hand raised high. In it—a knife. Stabbing down toward Natalie's struggling body!
"NO!!!"
The roar tore from my throat as my body moved before my mind could catch up. I threw myself forward with everything I had. In the final instant before that blade fell, I shoved my left arm between the knife and Natalie!
The blade tore through skin and muscle. Searing pain exploded from my left forearm, flooding half my body. Warm liquid sprayed out, thick with the smell of blood.
But clearer than the pain was relief—thank God, thank God Natalie was safe.
The attacker clearly hadn't expected someone to charge out and block a knife with his arm. He froze. That split second of hesitation was all I needed. The pain and rage ignited all my violence. Ignoring the agony threatening to swallow me, I balled my right fist and slammed it with every ounce of strength into his temple.
He grunted. The knife clattered to the ground. He slumped sideways.
"Richard!!" Natalie's cry was soul-shattering.
My security team and the police finally rushed in, quickly subduing two more accomplices in the warehouse and securing the scene.
"Natalie... are you..." I dropped to one knee, trying to check on her, but the pain in my left arm and the strength draining fast made my vision go black in waves. I looked down. The knife was still embedded in my forearm, driven to the bone. Blood gushed out, rapidly staining my expensive suit sleeve and the floor beneath me. It hurt like hell.
"Doctor! Get a doctor! He's bleeding so much!" Carson helped Natalie up and untied her ropes. She threw herself besideme, wanting to touch me but afraid to, staring at the horrific wound and blood, her face paler than mine.
The emergency medics rushed over, applying pressure, wrapping temporary bandages.
The pain made veins bulge at my temples. Cold sweat soaked through my shirt instantly. But I bit down hard, didn't make a sound, just stared at Natalie, confirming she seemed to have no new serious injuries beyond the bruising on her face.
"The baby... how's the baby?" I asked the paramedic through gasping breaths, but my eyes stayed locked on Natalie's terrified face.
Natalie seemed to notice something wrong with her belly just then. She groaned, clutching her stomach, brow furrowing tight. "It hurts... my stomach hurts... down there... something's coming out..."
The medic's expression changed. Quick exam. "Severe contractions! We need to get her to a hospital immediately—she's going into preterm labor!"
"Go! Get her to Ethelred Hospital!" I struggled to stand, but the pain in my left arm and the dizziness from blood loss made me sway.
"Sir, your injury needs immediate surgery!" The paramedic held me down, face grave. "The blade may have severed major nerves and tendons. If we delay, this hand might..."
"Natalie's safety matters more than anything!" I shoved him away with my good right hand, watching as Natalie was quickly loaded onto a stretcher, my heart gripped tight with terror.
I turned to the police chief and my security advisor who'd rushed over, faces ashen. Every word came from an ice cellar, tasting of blood. "Listen. I want Olivia and all her accomplices in custody within twenty-four hours. And her family—use everything we have, whatever it takes. I want them gone. Permanently. Understand?"
Only after they nodded grimly did I let the paramedics help me onto another arriving ambulance. On the way to the hospital, the doctor performed preliminary hemostasis and stabilization in the lurching vehicle, his expression growing darker. "Mr. Winston, the injury is severe. You need immediate microsurgical repair of the nerves and tendons. Even with successful surgery, there may be permanent functional impairment—reduced grip strength, decreased dexterity..."
