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A nurse rushes over to the screen, her brows furrowing into a tight line of worry as she adjusts the monitors on Harmony’s stomach.
“The baby’s heart rate is decelerating again.” The nurse turns to hand off a chart as the doctor rushes into the room.
The doctor checks the vitals, his face hardening as he looks between the two of us. “The baby isn’t handling these contractions well. With every contraction, the heart rate dips lower than I’m comfortable with. Her cervix isn’t dilating as quickly as it needs to, and the baby is under distress.”
I walk around the bed, my massive frame looming over the doctor like a dark, suffocating wall. I lean in, my voice dropping into a low, lethal rasp that freezes the air in the room.
“If anything happens to my wife or my daughter, your death will soon follow,” I growl, my dark eyes boring into his soul.
The doctor freezes, his breath catching in his throat. He looks from my unblinking, psychotic gaze down to Harmony, who stares up at him from the bed with a cold, hollow, monstrous expression that matches mine completely.
My wife kills for fun. He doesn’t want to face her if something happens to her child.
Hell, I don’t want to be in her vicinity if something goes wrong.
He sees the absolute, unhinged certainty in both our eyes—the undeniable promise that we aren’t making a dramatic threat, but stating a cold, factual reality.
The doctor swallows hard, his throat clicking in the quiet room.
He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. “W-We need to perform an emergency C-section. Right now. We need to get her to the operating room immediately.”
Within minutes, they wheel Harmony into the sterile, icy operating room.
After the anesthesiologist gives her the spinal, they set up the blue surgical curtain across her chest, strapping her down while I stand right beside her head, dressed in scrubs, holding her cold, sweat-slicked hand tight in mine.
The surgeon takes a scalpel, making the first incision across her lower abdomen.
Usually, the sight of a body being cut open wouldn’t bother me. I’ve gutted men in dark woods, pulled intestines onto muddy leaves, and watched blood pool on wooden floors without batting an eye.
But watching the steel slice into her—into Harmony’s skin, into my woman’s body—makes my jaw wrench tight with a blinding, violent rage.
Then, the smell hits my nostrils. The sharp, acrid scent of cauterized flesh rising from the electrical tool sealing her blood vessels.
The reek of her burning skin makes the muscles in my back lock tight, a guttural, animalistic snarl tearing up from my chest.
“How long is this going to take? I don’t appreciate my wife’s insides being on display in front of everyone,” I bark sharply at the surgeon with pure venom.
The doctors and nurses stop for a fraction of a second, exchanging wide-eyed, terrified glances across the blue curtain. I know it’s because of my horrifying, possessive phrasing, but I don’t give a single solitary fuck.
Harmony’s small hand tightens around mine, her thumb rubbing my knuckles.
She looks up at me through pale, tired eyes, a faint, knowing smile touching her lips. “Relax, Ryder. Take a breath. They’re helping us.”
I close my eyes, dragging a long, steady breath of sterile air into my lungs, letting her voice anchor my rage.
“Okay, pretty girl.” I kiss her sweaty forehead. “I’m here. I’m calm.”
A few agonizing seconds later, the suction machine gurgles, and the surgeon reaches deep into the opening, carefully lifting a tiny, slick, squirming bundle out into the harsh light.
“We have a baby,” the doctor announces, relief lacing his voice as he holds the child up. “It’s a girl!”
The room fills instantly with a sharp, healthy, piercing cry.
The nurses quickly take the baby, wrapping her in a warm blanket, wiping the fluid from her small face, and walking her around the blue curtain.
The nurse steps up to the side of the bed, gently laying the crying, newborn onto Harmony’s gowned chest.
The moment the baby touches Harmony’s skin, the sharp crying softens into tiny, shuddering hiccups.
