“I’ve learned to never underestimate Edward Donovan. Everyone who has is dead.”
Chapter 51
XAVIER
The days spent in the ICU blur into each other, marked only by the rhythmic beeping of machines and the shift changes of the nurses. Each one feels like a victory, a result of Delilah’s resilience. Although she’s moved to a different wing, a less intensive care unit, the reality of our situation sharpens into focus. It’s a move towards normalcy, yet nothing about our circumstances feels normal.
I watch Delilah gain a little strength each day, a slow but determined progress. She sits up without help now, manages to eat more, and her smile, though still tired, reaches her eyes more often. My relief is tempered by the constant undercurrent of worry. Each small improvement she makes is overshadowed by the toll it takes on her body.
Today, she insists on walking, going as far as to flip me off when I suggested she stay in bed. The physical therapist supports her, guiding her gently. While I trail behind, ready to catch Delilah if she falters.
She’s sweating, her breaths shallow and fast, her body trembling with the effort it takes to walk the length of thehallway. The therapist nods approvingly, but I can clearly see the cost of each step etched in Delilah’s pale face.
Back in her room, she collapses onto the bed, drained but trying to hide her fatigue behind a brave face. “I am an official badass,” she wheezes.
I smile at her while shaking my head. “No doubt.” Pride and an overwhelming urge to protect her from everything, including her own stubborn will, rises within me. I help her lie down, adjusting her pillows, and brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead.
As I sit beside her, watching her drift into a fitful sleep, my thoughts spiral. My father is still out there, hunting us. His shadow looms over these brief moments of peace, a reminder that we are never truly safe. Our timeline is shrinking, and with Delilah still bound to her recovery, we are vulnerable. Too fucking vulnerable.
I lean back in the chair, my gaze never leaving Delilah as the sun sets, painting her face with hues of pink and orange. The hospital has become a temporary sanctuary, but it is just that—temporary. We need a plan, a way to secure our safety once she is well enough to leave. My mind races through options, contingencies, escape routes, allies who might still be safe to contact. But every scenario ends with the same image: Edward, one step ahead, leaving us nowhere to run.
As night reigns, the room is quiet save for the soft hum of medical equipment and Delilah’s steady breathing. I know I should rest, but sleep eludes me. Instead, I sit here, watching over Delilah, a silent guardian against the threats both seen and unseen.
A subtle shift in the atmosphere sends a prickle of unease down my spine. Something is wrong. The usual hospital sounds—the distant chatter of nurses, the squeak of shoes on linoleum—fall away, replaced by a stifling silence, charged like the air before an electrical storm.
Quickly, I send a text to Declan and then get to my feet, moving with an urgency brought on by instincts that have kept me alive thus far. I pull the curtain around Delilah’s bed to shield us from view.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, enhancing both determination and fear. My will to live is ever-present, but when I look at my little raptor a feeling of powerlessness assails me.
She’s so defenseless.
I press my spine to the wall, gripping the firearm I’ve kept hidden since we arrived. Its weight is familiar and comforting. But only to a point. My ammunition is limited.
The door swings open, and four figures slip inside, dressed in nondescript hospital scrubs but moving with lethal purpose, not the weary shuffle of overnight staff. My entire body tenses as their shadows skim the walls, heading in my direction. The first one steps closer, scanning the room, his face unfamiliar to me despite the amount of time I’ve spent in this hospital.
I don’t hesitate. From behind the curtain, I aim and fire two quick shots. The first bullet hits him square in the chest, the second in the head. He drops with a loud thud, a dark stain spreading across his scrubs.
The noise of the gunshots is deafening in the enclosed space. Delilah jerks awake with a scream. The second assassin turns towards the sound, his reactions quick—but not fast enough. My third shot catches him in the shoulder, spinning him around. My fourth shot is better aimed, and he crumples to the ground.
Before I can target the third, he’s on me, crashing through the curtain with the force of a freight train. We go down, the gun knocked from my grasp and sliding across the floor, out of reach. His weight pins me to the ground, his hands grappling for my throat.
I buck under him, throwing him off balance, but he’s solid and heavy. The fourth assassin joins in, kicking me hard in the side. Pain explodes through my ribs, and I grunt as the air is knocked from my lungs.
It’s a desperate scramble, my training the only thing keeping me alive. I manage to throw a hard elbow, catching the third assassin in the jaw. He groans, loosening his grip for just a second. It’s long enough for me to slip out from under him.
I roll, trying to reach the gun, but the other man is faster. He kicks it away, sending it skittering under a nearby cabinet. The third assassin recovers and advances towards me, joined by the fourth. They move in, confident now that I’m outnumbered and unarmed. Very stupid, considering my entire body is a weapon.
I brace myself, muscles tense and ready. As the third assassin lunges at me, I pivot, using his momentum against him. I grab his arm, twist sharply, and the crack of bone echoes in the room. He howls in pain, stumbling back, effectively out of the fight.
I turn to face the fourth, my body ready to engage, but the chilling click of a gun being cocked slices through the chaos. My heart slams against my ribs. I freeze, my instincts screaming. Slowly, I turn my head, dreading the sight I know I’ll find.
Standing by Delilah’s bedside is my father, holding a gun to her head. The coldness in his eyes is something I’ve seen all my life, but it hits differently now that he threatens the essence of my soul.
“Enough, Xavier,” he says, his voice calm, controlled.
I slowly raise my hands in a show of surrender. The fourth assassin takes a step back, falling in line like a good soldier under my father’s command. I fight the urge to do the same, to submit to the role I’ve been subjected to my entire life.
“I must say, I’m impressed son,” he says. “I thought four mercenaries was an overkill, however you would’ve easilydispatched them without my interference. You’ve become a formidable crow because of me.”
