When I glance down and reach into my pocket for my phone, I notice that my shirt is soaked through with dark,tacky stains smearing across it. My forearms are streaked with it too, dried and flaking a little as I move.Zahra’s blood.Proof of how far these people are willing to go. My stomach twists violently, a sick hollow roll that crawls up my throat, with the thought that this could have just as easily been Blake.
My thumb swipes over the screen and rests on the contact I trust more than anyone else alive. I press the phone to my ear and listen intently to each long ring. The call connects, and I don’t wait for Hawk to speak. “I need you all at the hospital, now.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
There’s no surprise in his voice, just immediate focus. “You hurt?”
“No.” I look back down at the stains, at the evidence still clinging to me. “But I need a change of clothes.”
There is a short pause before he asks, “Dr. Hart?” The subtle change in his tone tells me he knows how much the answer matters to me.
“Not physically.” I let out a heavy sigh as I shake my head; it’s not like this hurts her any less. “I’ll fill you in when you get here.”
“I’m on my way. All of us,” he replies before ending the call.
My arm drops heavily to my side, and I lean back against the wall, scrubbing my free hand over my face. The invasive, metallic smell of blood clings to me, and I’m forced to inhale it with every breath. It’s in my clothes. On my skin. In my head.
It feels like an eternity, watching for the team to arrive or Blake to finish. Minutes don’t move right here. Theydrag by, painfully slow. Every set of swinging doors has my head snapping up and my heart leaping into my throat. I wait for a verdict I’m not ready to hear with every nurse who walks past me.
When the guys arrive, I breathe a bit of relief.I don’t have to do this alone.Damon is first through the doors, his jaw locked tight and his gaze assessing me. Gunnar is right behind him, his eyes sweeping over the waiting room for threats. Hawk brings up the rear with a calmness I’m eternally envious of.
Wary of leaving my post, I lead them down a side corridor and into a small, unused consultation room. After closing the door, I turn and tell them everything without wasting a word. The call. The parking lot. Zahra. The terror on Blake’s face when she found her battered friend. And the words Zahra forced out before she lost consciousness.“I didn’t tell them.”
The guys are all angry. Partly at me for making a mess of this job. At Blake for harboring this secret. But most of all, at the men who have committed such horrific acts. There are lines you do not cross—ever—and what they did to Zahra is one of them.
His jaw clenched tight, Damon asks, “How is she?”
“Zahra? I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Blake took her back to surgery a while ago.”
Gunnar nods, a rare softness falling over his face. “And Blake?”
I swallow hard. I haven’t talked to her, but I know the answer. For as high as she built her walls around her, there isa softness to Blake that most of the world doesn’t get to see. “Not good. She’s a smart girl. She knows what this was.”
The four of us stare at each other for a moment. All of us knowexactlywhat this was.
“This was a message.” Hawk breaks the silence. “And if she doesn’t hear it, they’ll be sure to say it a whole lot fucking louder next time.”
My teeth clench and my nostrils flare at the thought of these men so much as breathing near her again. “I know.”
“Then you don’t let her out of your sight,” he continues. “Not for a second. If they’ve been watching her, they know about us, and they’ve been looking for cracks.”
“Understood.”
Damon exhales hesitantly. “We need to update Abrahim. Let him know where we’re at with things and the length his sister’s husband is willing to go to get his hands on her.”
“I’ll stay behind,” Gunnar states protectively.
Hawk slaps his hand on my shoulder, then grips it firmly. “We’ll be back. Eyes up.”
They disperse with practiced efficiency, leaving as quickly as they arrived. Gunnar takes a seat in the waiting area, posture relaxed but alert, gaze tracking everyone who passes like he’s cataloging faces for later.
I resume pacing near the surgical wing, a clean change of clothes dangling uselessly from my crimson-stained fingers. My mind refuses to settle. It keeps replaying Blake’s blood-curdling scream in the parking lot and the way she looked atZahra, like she was already gone. I’ve seen a lot of pain in my life, but this is different.
The doors to the surgical room open, and Blake steps out. I stop so abruptly my boots squeal against the tile. Her hair is plastered to her head with sweat, except the tiny wild curl at the nape of her neck. The only evidence of the past hour is a few blood splatters across the front of her scrubs. Her shoulders are squared, and her posture is rigid. The walls are back up—high and reinforced—the controlled doctor holding the line because if she doesn’t, everything will fall apart.
“Zahra?” I exhale.
She nods, just once. Relief hits me so hard I have to brace a hand against the wall to keep from swaying. Alive and still fighting. It’s a victory, a big one.I don’t know if Blake would have survived the guilt if Zahra died.
Blake’s gaze flicks to the blood smeared across my chest and arms, and she sucks in a stuttered breath. “Come with me,” she insists quietly, already reaching for my hand. Her fingers are warm when they lace through mine. “You need to get cleaned up.”
