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Panic rises within me once again. Every second she lies here is another second she goes untreated.
“Do me a favor? Tell Tácito, I love him.”
“You tell him yourself,” I respond, my voice weak from blood loss and straining to get to her side.
A watery laugh escapes her, but I don’t see the humor in our situation. “I don’t think I’ll be able to.”
Her heart wrenching words tear at me, but can’t give me the push I need to get to her any faster. Despite knowing I can’t run to her side, I make slow progress as my life seeps from me in the trail of blood I leave on the floor.
“Do you think he’ll forgive me for breaking my promise?” she whispers brokenly.
“Dammit, Sloane, stop talking shit. Talk to me about what you’ll do when you see him again.” Tears prick my eyes with the acceptance of a truth I can no longer hide from her, and her silence only fuels my distress. “We can’t leave Tácito alone,” I respond frantically. “No matter what, you have to live to help him through when I’m gone.”
“No…Valentino,” she sobs.
A calm settles over me.
“You can’t—”
“Don’t worry, principessa. Our love isn’t done yet. I’ll find you in our next lifetime and everyone thereafter.” I finally reach her, but I won’t be able to carry her out. I turn on my side and lace our fingers together, squeezing with what little energy I have left. I savor what will be the last time I touch her skin as I imbue my remaining heat into our connection. Anything to give her what she needs until Tácito reaches her.
As my vision darkens, I say, “Live, principessa. Knowing you and Tácito survive is worth dying a million deaths.” In my final moments I couldn’t ask for anything better than being held by the love of my life.
“Valentino? Valentino, nooo!”
Sloane’s scream fades as icy blackness enshrouds me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Tácito
The second Valentino goes down after shooting at Matthew and Emerson, I’m out of the truck. Mindless panic drives me to rush heedlessly into the building he and Sloane are in. Bodies litter the first floor. The people standing are all members of Valentino’s personal militia. I run through, following Valentino’s steps from memory.
Ever since Sloane’s body cam went dark, terror has had me in a choke hold. On the second floor, I rush past Ethan. I’m sure he shouts at me, but I don’t have time to waste on reading his lips. Not with Sloane and Valentino’s last moments on an unending reel inside my head.
I won’t forgive either of them for dying on me. Sloane made a vow she would fight to return to me, and I’m going to make sure she does just that. I follow a trail of blood as hope whispers into my brain that it isn’t theirs. I stop short at the sight of them with their fingers locked together, their chests unmoving, surrounded by blood. They are a beautifully macabre portrait of death.
No! The scream echoes in my head. What lies before me is a lie. It has to be. I can’t accept this reality. We are supposed to have more time. Yet, I can’t move. All my training has deserted me at the moment I need it most.
A shove to my back from Ethan gets me moving again, jump starts the medical instincts I’ve honed for years. He points to Valentino then himself, so I go to Sloane and begin triage. I find a pulse, thready and almost nonexistent, but it’s there, gracias a Dios. My breath comes a little easier through my constricted lungs. When they are stable enough to move, Ethan and I work together to get them out of the building. An armored car awaits us at the entrance with two men plus the driver inside. With my mind racing, I try to calm my thoughts to think of what I need next.
“I need a phone,” I yell.
One gets shoved into my hands and I text Cooper’s number with instructions to meet me at the clinic. Within seconds, she responds that she’s on her way.
We pull up to Santa Lupita where Cooper waits outside with two gurneys ready for our new patients. After transferring Sloane and Valentino, we wheel them into the empty clinic. I’ve never been more thankful for the pull I have here.
Ethan grabs my arm on the way to the outpatient operating wing. “I want to help however I can. I have some experience in the field.”
I nod and point at Cooper who pushes Valentino’s gurney through a set of double doors. “Assist Cooper. Valentino wasn’t hit in any vital points and from what I saw he has exit wounds for every bullet. I’ll work on Sloane and check in when I can.”
Without another word, he rushes to follow Valentino’s body and I push Sloane into the room next door. I’ve never been more thankful for my surgical knowledge than I am now. All those extra hours where I scrubbed in on complicated surgeries to be the best well-rounded surgeon I could be are paying dividends. Although had Sloane received a head injury, I would need to call in a neurosurgeon because I would never risk damaging her brain from an over-inflated sense of my abilities.
Since I’m alone for this operation, I speed through my search for the medical instruments I’ll need. The anesthesia momentarily stalls me. I can’t remember where the clinic keeps the sedative-hypnotic and adjuvant agents I will need to mix to make sure Sloane remains unconscious during the procedure.
While I assemble everything else, a memory surfaces of the last audit I participated in which our head anesthesiologist walked me through his procedures. I retrieve what I need, drop off the necessary meds in Valentino’s room. Cooper spares me a grateful smile before going back to working on Valentino.
I swallow my questions about his progress. I have to have faith that everything will work out. He will survive and return to boss me and Sloane around. I cling to that belief as I return to Sloane, otherwise I’ll lose them both. I won’t. I refuse to entertain the possibility. As I work on Sloane, I can’t help but remember a few months ago when she showed up in a similar condition. Only then, she fought her way to us before collapsing.
