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“Spencer,” I whisper her name as if saying it aloud will somehow anchor me to her, keep her close. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
I push away from the wall and ease open the door, stepping into Spencer’s dimly lit room. She lies asleep on the hospital bed, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. The sight of her brings a bittersweet ache to my heart—she looks so peaceful, yet I know that soon, she’ll have to face the reality of her surgery. I wish I could take away her pain and fear.
“Sleep well, beautiful,” I whisper, watching her for a moment longer before slipping back out into the hallway. As the door clicks shut behind me, I feel a strange mix of vulnerability and determination wash over me. This is my chance to make things right for Spencer, and I can’t afford any mistakes.
I start down the aisle, lost in thought when I notice a man leaning against the wall a few feet away. He’s casually cleaning his mouth with a toothpick, seemingly oblivious to my presence. But it’s not his nonchalance that catches my attention—it’s the tattoo on his hand. A snake coiled around a dagger, its forked tongue flicking menacingly in the air. The image sends a shudder down my spine as memories come rushing back.
“Hey,” I call out, my voice firm despite the sudden pounding in my chest. “You work here?”
He glances up at me, a brief flash of surprise crossing his face before he composes himself. “Yeah,” he replies, tossing the toothpick aside.
“Nothing much,” I say, trying to keep the conversation casual as I rack my brain for any information about him. “I just saw your tattoo and thought it looked familiar.”
“Really?” He smirks, flexing his hand to display the ink more prominently. “Well, it’s one of a kind, so I doubt you’ve seen anything quite like it before.”
“Maybe,” I concede, my heart hammering in my chest. “But the thing is, I’ve seen that same design on a man who attacked me some time ago. Just for money.”
The guy’s smirk falters, and he shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a nurse here, trying to make a living.”
“Right,” I say, fighting to keep my emotions in check. “A nurse with a hand tattoo that brings back memories of a violent encounter.” Inside, my thoughts are racing. What are the chances this guy is connected to that attack? And if he is, what does it mean for Spencer’s safety?
But as much as my instincts scream at me to confront him, I know I can’t risk jeopardizing Spencer’s well-being. Instead, I need to be patient, to play along until I can get him away from her room.
“Listen,” I say, forcing a smile. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. But if you ever need some extra cash, I might be able to help you out.”
His eyes narrow, but he nods slowly, intrigued by my offer. “Alright,” he agrees, clearly suspicious yet unable to resist the lure of money. “Let’s talk.”
“Perfect,” I reply, my mind racing with possibilities as we begin to walk away from Spencer’s room toward the elevator. In the midst of uncertainty and potential danger, one thing remains clear: I will do whatever it takes to protect her. And if that means dealing with this tattooed stranger, then so be it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Percival
WhentheguyandI step into the elevator, the air thicken with tension. The sterile hospital walls seem to close in on us, and I try my best to keep my facade of cool confidence as we stand side by side. I can’t help but notice the way he clenches his fists, the veins in his arms bulging against his skin. Every fiber of my being wants to confront him now, but I know I must wait.
“Nice weather we’re having, huh?” I say, trying to break the silence. My voice comes out more shaky than I would have liked, but I do my best to maintain eye contact with him. He merely grunts in response, keeping his gaze fixed on the elevator doors.
As the elevator descends to the first floor, my heart races like a thoroughbred at the final stretch of a race. I replay the confrontation in my mind, trying to prepare myself for what’s to come. In a way, I’m grateful to Spencer for saving my life because, without her, I wouldn’t be here now. She saw through me and found something worth saving, and for that, I owe her everything.
My fingers drum nervously against my expensive slacks—only the finest tailored threads for me, after all—and I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of antiseptic that permeates the hospital. I glance over at Dylan, who remains stoic and unreadable. It’s hard to imagine what could be going through his mind right now, knowing that his attack on me is about to catch up with him.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask, not sure if I’m asking the guy or myself. I think of all the times I’ve charmed my way through difficult situations, using my disarming smile and air of confidence to win people over. But this isn’t a party or a business deal—this is real life, and I need to face it head-on.
“Doesn’t matter if I am,” he replies, his voice low and gravelly. “What’s coming is coming.”
I nod, understanding that there’s no turning back now. As the elevator slows to a stop, my heart thumps like a bass drum in my chest. A mix of fear, anger, and determination swirls within me, and I know that I must see this through for Spencer and for myself.
“Here goes nothing,” I whisper under my breath as the elevator doors slide open, revealing the bustling hospital lobby beyond. And with that, I step out into the unknown, ready to confront the man who nearly ended my life.
The elevator doors open with a soft chime, and we step out into the hospital lobby. It’s a scene of organized chaos—nurses rush by with clipboards in hand while patients and their families navigate the maze of corridors and waiting areas. In this sea of people, one figure stands out: Detective Taylor, his weathered face and sharp instincts marking him as a man who has seen it all.
As we approach, he appears to be deep in conversation with another officer, but as soon as he spots us, he strides over with purpose. Before the guy beside me can react, Detective Taylor places a firm hand on his shoulder, his grip like iron.
“Dylan Morris, you’re under arrest for the assault of Percival Hills,” he announces, his voice steady and authoritative. The tension in the air thickens, and I can’t help but notice how the bustling lobby seems to slow down, curious eyes turning our way.
“Wait, what?” Dylan exclaims, his stoic facade crumbling as surprise flickers across his face. He looks at me, confusion etched on his features. “You set me up?”
“Set you up?” I snort, my heart pounding with adrenaline. “You nearly killed me!” I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat. This is my chance to get some answers, to understand why this man decided to target me. “But why?”
