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“I can’t just take your blood. What if it won’t be a match? She will die for sure.”
“Take my fucking blood. It won’t kill her.”
“Hayden . . .”
At the plea in her voice, he gets his emotions back in check. “She’s my fucking sister, so take my damn blood and save her.”
Silence follows. She blinks, everyone else staring at him.
“Are you fucking delusional, man?” Cameron asks.
But Hayden props on the chair next to her, and Alessandra stabs his vein with a needle, taking his blood from him.
“Not jealous anymore,cariño?”
“Shut up or I’ll drain you.”
“I’m not alive, anyway.” So many emotions pass between them. I recognize the sign of love, a doomed love.
My pulse drums in my ears. Each minute that passes as she operates has me drowning in anxiety.
She swipes her hand over her forehead and carefully pulls out the bullet.
“The bullet is out, and I haven’t seen any internal bleeding, nor did the bullet perforate any organs. We just have to wait for her to wake up,” Alessandra says, and I gulp in a breath of air that kickstarts my heart.
Kieran’s body is still taut with worry. Hayden looks like a ghost; Cato is pacing around, and Cameron takes this all in, processing everything around him in that calm manner of his.
I wait with bated breath. Behind the transparent curtains, I watch her lying on a hospital bed. If Kieran’s eyes were bullets, I would be gunned down. Even though I apologized to him, letting him see my vulnerability, my regret, he’s still bent on keeping me away. But I have to be there for my best friend. Pushing through my nerves and guilt, I step inside the sterilized room.
“Wake up, okay, please wake up.”
“She will, but if she finds you alive or dead is up to you.” Kieran’s deadly calm voice chills me to my bones.
“I’m sorry. Believe me, she . . .”
“She what?” he snaps, but I hold my stance.
“She loves you, and she just wanted to help me, that’s all . . . I would trade places with her for her to be okay.”
I grip Aurora’s hand. She’s cold, frail, and pale.
“Don’t hurt her.”
I smile, happy at how much he loves her.
He takes her other hand, blowing warm air onto it and kissing her fingers, his eyes turning glassy.
“Leave.”
At least I saw her.
I trudge back outside, and Cato is right at my back. “You have no respect for your life, do you?”
“What do you care?”
It hurts. I want him to comfort me, to console me, to bring me back from this anguish, from this hell.
He grips my neck, turning me to him. I clutch his shirt.
