Page 112 of The Tattoo Artist

“I’ll be wearing red; I know it’s your favourite colour.” She speaks, standing up.

“You sound like the stalker.”

She shrugs her shoulders.

“Maybe I am.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ARES NICOLAIDES

THE STEADY BEEPING OF MACHINES FILLED THE air, and the sterile smell of the hospital assaulted my senses. My head felt as if someone was pounding a hammer against it, and I wince as I try to gather my bearings. Slowly, I open my eyes, and my heart sank as I realise, I’m in a hospital room.

My eyes frantically searches the room for any sign of her, but she isn’t there. Panic washes over me, and I try to sit up, only to be met with a sharp pain in my side. I wince and fall back against the pillows, my head spinning. “Alexandra,” I whisper, my voice raspy and weak. “Where is she?”

A nurse notices my distress and hurries over to my bedside. “You need to rest, sir. Your injuries were quite serious, but you’re going to be okay.”

“I don’t care about that,” I insist, my heart racing. “Where is she? Where is my wife?”

The nurse looks sympathetic but firm, clearly hesitant to share any information. I could feel panic rising within me, and I knew I couldn’t stay lying in that bed while my wife might need me. While she might be wondering where I am. The last time I was in a fucking hospital, she forgot all about me. That isn’t going to happen. This cannot happen!

I push myself up despite the pain, determination fuelling my actions. “I need to find her, tell me where she is.”

Before the nurse could respond, Adonis grabs my arm and gently but firmly pulls me back. “Ares, you need to listen to the nurse. You’re not in any condition to go running around. Let the medical staff handle it.”

“I can’t just sit here!” I growl, frustration boiling inside me. “Where is my wife? Where is my fucking wife!” I growl out, grabbing onto Adonis’ throat.

“We don’t know where Alex is.” He chokes out.

Six words.

Six words.

Six agonizing words are all it takes for my entire being to freeze, for my heart to cease its rhythm, for my veins to run cold, for my limbs to lose their strength.

Just six words.

All it took is six words.

We. Don’t. know. Where. Alex. Is.

Luca has her.

Luca has my wife.

I fall onto the sterile hospital bed; the sheets cool against my fevered skin. The steady beeping of machines fades into the background, drowned out by the deafening roar of panic and anguish in my mind. I watch as the nurse turns the security away, Adonis speaking but nothing coming through. It felt as if half of my body stopped working because she isn’t here, she isn’t here, my wife isn’t here.

Adonis sets a bag down on the chair in front of me, filled with fresh clothes. Without hesitation, I rise and swiftly change into them. As I do, the nurse and doctor enter the room, their expressions grave as they insist, I remain in bed due to the severity of my injuries.

Ignoring their protests, I push past them and stride down the corridor.

I’m going to kill him.

I’m going to fucking kill him.

I’m going to make sure he bleeds until he dies.

I’m going to make sure that Luca dies a slow fucking death, and may God be the one to help him and kill him before I get to him.

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