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The air seemed colder too, the hospital’s sterile light harsher.
What will occur in these next days? How will I keep my kids. . .my fiancé. . .safe?
The Cartel’s relentless assault had pushed us to our limits, and our escape through the club’s bathroom window now seemed like a fevered dream.
But the grim reality of our situation was all too clear in the quiet of this hospital.
The Cartels had wanted to send a message, and in doing so, they had torn through the fabric of our lives with a brutality that left scars on the soul.
Maxwell fought for each breath. Emily’s pain was a silent scream against the injustice of it all. My fists clenched at my sides, a vow forming in the tightness of my jaw.
This was not the end.
The Cartel would pay for every tear, for every drop of blood shed.
But first, we had to survive this night, this moment.
Footsteps echoed from down the hall.
Now what?
I looked that way.
Valentina and Tisha moved cautiously down the corridor.
Bandages wrapped tightly around their wounds.
Dried blood stained Valentina’s clothes.
Although Tisha appeared visibly weakened from his injuries, he kept his pace with Valentina, and his jaw was set in a bleak line of pain.
The closer they got, the more I noticed that Tisha’s makeshift bandage around his torso was soaked through in places.
Seeing them appear like this, battered yet defiant, ached something deep in my chest.
I pushed past those emotions and fully turned their way.
Valentina and Tisha stopped in front of me. Tisha’s face wore a mask of grim resolve. Valentina’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, probably from crying.
The door to Maxwell’s room creaked open.
I snapped my view that way.
Emily emerged from the room and walked towards us, holding a gun at her side.
Where did she get that gun, and when? All this time, she had a gun in there?
I eyed her. “Mysh?”
She didn’t look my way.
Instead, her gaze slid over Valentina and Tisha.
The air between us charged.
Emily’s silence was louder than any words she could have uttered. Her fury was not shouted but radiated from her small frame like heat from a fire.
It was in the tension of her shoulders, the tightness of her jaw, and the hard set of her eyes. Even the way she held the gun at her side spoke volumes like it was an extension of her rage.
