Chapter 170
The hospital corridor stretched endlessly before Sophia, its sterile white walls closing in on her.
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs.
Liam was still in surgery.
She clutched her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed Ethan Blackwood’s number for the fifteenth time.
No answer.
Again.
A cold dread slithered down her spine.
Where was he?
Her gaze flickered to the clock—three hours had passed since the accident.
Three hours of suffocating silence.
The waiting room door creaked open.
Daniel Carter stepped inside, his expression grim.
Sophia’s breath hitched.
“Any news?” she whispered, her voice raw.
Daniel hesitated, then shook his head.
“Not yet.”
Her knees nearly buckled.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob.
Liam had to be okay.
He had to.
The thought of losing him was unbearable.
A sudden vibration in her palm made her jump.
Her phone screen lit up with an unknown number.
Her pulse spiked.
She answered instantly.
“Hello?”
A chilling voice slithered through the line.
“Miss Blackwood.”
Her blood turned to ice.
She knew that voice.
Hawk.
The man who had tried to kill her before.
“What do you want?” she demanded, her voice shaking.
A low, sinister chuckle echoed in her ear.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Her grip tightened on the phone.
“If you’ve touched Liam—”
“Oh, he’s safe,” Hawk interrupted smoothly. “For now.”
Sophia’s stomach twisted.
“What do you want?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hawk’s tone turned deadly serious.
“Ethan Blackwood. Bring him to me. Alone.”
Her breath caught.
“Or?”
Another dark laugh.
“Or your son dies.”
The line went dead.
Sophia stood frozen, her mind racing.
Ethan was missing.
Liam’s life was on the line.
And she had no choice but to play Hawk’s game.
Her phone buzzed again.
A text.
An address.
And a timer—counting down from six hours.
Her vision blurred.
She had to find Ethan.
Before time ran out.
Before she lost everything.
"Shit, that hurts!" Isabella screams in agony, snapping me out of my daze just in time to see the man raise his gun.
I lunge for the weapon I'd dropped and fire without hesitation. He crumples to the ground. I don’t spare him a second glance—alive or dead, it doesn’t matter. Not when adrenaline is roaring through my veins and Isabella is bleeding out beside me.
"Am I dying?" she whimpers, tears welling in her eyes.
Normally, I’d tell her to stop being dramatic. But not today. Not when she shoved me out of the way and took a bullet meant for my chest.
"No, you’re not," I say firmly, assessing the damage.
The bullet hit her shoulder, and blood soaks through her blouse. My stomach twists. She could bleed out before we find help—and we’re still trapped, with enemies likely closing in.
"You’re lying!" she hisses when I press down on the wound. "If I’m not dying, why does it feel like my arm’s on fire?"
I ignore her, focusing on slowing the bleeding. Teaching first aid was part of our training, but I’m no surgeon. The bullet’s still lodged inside, and removing it could make things worse. Instead, I tear the hem of my dress and wrap it tightly around her shoulder.
"Damn it, I should’ve stayed locked in that godforsaken room," she mutters, shooting me a glare that does little to mask her pain.
"Come on. We need to keep moving," I urge, helping her up.
Fuck. Ethan is going to murder me. Not only did I drag Isabella into this mess, but now she’s been shot. Even if it was her choice to take the bullet, he won’t care. He’ll see her bleeding and blame me.
With a sigh, I adjust her weight against me. She leans heavily on my side, her right arm limp. At this pace, we won’t last long.
Time blurs—minutes or hours, I can’t tell. My legs burn, my hands shake, and my head throbs. Isabella sags forward, her strength fading with every step.
"Maybe we should rest," I pant.
"Yesss. Good idea," she slurs, nearly sending us both tumbling.
I find a shadowed corner behind an abandoned car and ease her down before collapsing beside her.
This place is a labyrinth. We’ve been running in circles since we escaped, and exhaustion gnaws at me. Right now, I don’t care if they find us. I just want painkillers, food, and sleep.
"Isabella, I don’t think we’re getting out of here," I admit.
Silence.
I turn to her. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted.
"Isabella?"
No answer.