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“Where the fuck were you?”
Before he can answer, a paramedic crouches beside Ava to check her vital signs.
“Sir, we’ll need to move her,” the paramedic advises, and reluctantly, I stand.
“Where the fuck were you?” I bark again at Marco.
He doesn’t answer, and it makes me furious.
“I’ll have your head if she dies.”
“Sir,” the other paramedic calls while pulling the stretcher to Ava.
I move to the side, then turn back to Marco. “Oliver needs a dozen men. He has my kids in my suite. I want them out of here.”
“Right away, sir,” Marco answers, already going to the door.
It takes a few minutes, but they get Ava on the stretcher. There’s so much blood on the rug and her. I can’t tell where it’s coming from.
By the time the paramedics roll out, cops enter the suite. How the hell did they get here so fast?
“I’m Detective Paderewski, and this is my partner Detective Jacobs. Whose room is this?” the detective demands as she moves deeper into the suite.
“My wife was rolled out of here with a gunshot wound, so how about you move out of the fucking way,” I order as I storm past them.
“Sir, we need your name.”
I keep walking, too frustrated to think straight.
“Sir,” the detective calls again.
“I’m going to the hospital with my wife,” I snarl from the door.
The paramedics enter the elevator as I enter the hall. I startle when I notice two men standing on each side of the elevator doors.Where were they before the shooting? How was Ava left unprotected?
I can’t think about my answers at the moment. Right now, I need to be with Ava.
When I run to enter the elevator, one of the guards holds the door open for me. Inside, I take Ava’s hand.
“You don’t get to fucking die today. Hold on, baby girl,” I plead as the doors snap shut as firmly as my heart.
* * *
It’s been forty-five minutes since we arrived at the hospital, and no one has told me a fucking thing. I’m stuck in the waiting room, pacing up and down. As I’m about to demand information, someone in blue scrubs enters the waiting room.
I stare at him, but I can’t decipher his demeanor.
“Mr. Manarch?” he calls, glancing around the room.
As I head his way, I ask, “How is my wife?” before he can speak further.
“I’m Dr. Foss. I worked on your wife in the ER.”
He’d better not tell me she’s dead. Because it might be the last thing he does.
“We’ve stabilized her, and she’s been taken to surgery. We’ll know more in a few hours. Someone will come and update you as soon as they can.”
“Do you know where she got shot?” I ask while running my fingers through my hair.
