Page 27 of Justice

Elle's hand finds mine, her touch anchoring me even as I feel the rage building inside. I take a deep breath, trying to focus on her, on what she needs right now.

Konrad continues, his tone professional but with an undercurrent of anger that matches my own. "We're going to flush it out of her system. She needs to stay in the hospital to make sure she recovers fully."

He reaches out and musses up Elle's hair, a familiar gesture that seems at odds with the gravity of the situation. "We'll get the princess better," he says, his voice softening slightly.

Elle manages a weak smile, and I lean down to kiss the top of her head. The scent of her shampoo, faint but still there, grounds me further.

I straighten up, my voice hard as steel as I address everyone in the room. "Every single medication brought to her is to be inspected by Konrad. A guard will be outside the door at all times. I'm not taking any more chances with her life."

I know it's not technically my place to give orders, but I don't give a fuck. To my relief, my dad nods in agreement, his face grim.

"Damn straight," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Nobody's getting near her without going through us first."

As we move Elle to a private room outside of the ER, I stay glued to her side, my eyes constantly scanning for any potential threat. The guys form a protective circle around us, their presence both comforting and intimidating.

Once in the room, we make sure Elle's comfortable, adjusting pillows and blankets until she's settled. I perch on the edge of her bed, unwilling to be more than an arm's length away from her.

"Chris," Elle whispers, her voice small and scared. "What if… what if they try again?"

I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. "They won't get the chance," I promise, my voice fierce. "I swear to you, Elle, I'll keep you safe. Both of you."

My hand moves to rest on her stomach, a protective gesture that feels more necessary than ever. Elle's eyes fill with tears, and I lean in to press my forehead against hers.

"We're in this together," I murmur. "You and me against the world, remember?"

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. I brush it away, my touch gentle despite the rage still simmering beneath the surface.

As Elle drifts off to sleep, exhausted by the day's events, I settle into the chair beside her bed. My eyes never leave her face, watching the rise and fall of her chest, reassuring myself that she's still here, still safe.

But in the back of my mind, plans are already forming. Whoever did this to Elle, to our baby, they're going to pay, and they're going to pay dearly. And when I find them—because I will find them—they're going to learn just how far I'll go to protect what's mine.

Elle

Istare at the ceiling, trying to keep my breathing steady as waves of nausea and fear crash over me. The beeping of the monitors and the hushed whispers of my family fill the room, a constant reminder of where I am and why. I don't want them to see how terrified I am, how weak I feel. But it's hard tohide it when you're hooked up to machines and can barely lift your head.

Every time someone comes to check on me, I see the fear in their eyes, no matter how hard they try to mask it. It's like looking in a mirror, seeing my own terror reflected back at me. And Christopher… God, Christopher. He's treating me like I'm made of glass, watching over every breath I take. I know he's scared, but his fear is making mine worse.

Who would do this to me? The question echoes in my mind, a constant, maddening refrain. Someone tried to hurt me, hurt our baby. The thought makes me sick in a way that has nothing to do with the morning sickness. How did they even manage to tamper with the pills? It must have taken planning, knowledge. The realization sends a chill down my spine.

I remember the bottle now, how the seal wasn't quite right. I'd brushed it off, thinking the heat of the summer melted it. How could I have been so naive? The what-ifs start to crowd my mind, threatening to overwhelm me.

I push the button to raise the bed, needing to feel less vulnerable. Mason stands by the door, arms crossed, looking every inch the protective biker. Christopher paces the room, his eyes darting to every corner, every shadow. My mom sits nearby, her eyes red-rimmed and worried.

The silence stretches, taut and uncomfortable. What can I possibly say? I don't know who's doing this or why. I've never been cruel to anyone, never done anything to deserve this kind of hatred.

The door opens and Konrad enters, carrying more IV bags. "How's the nausea?" he asks, his voice gentle as he fiddles with the equipment.

"Much better," I admit, and it's like the whole room exhales. "I feel human for the first time in forever."

Christopher's jaw clenches, his eyes flashing. "First things first, I'm fucking firing your doctor. I'm going to ask her how this happened."

I reach out, desperate to keep him close. "Stay with me, please." I don't want drama or revenge. All that matters is that our baby is okay.

The door opens again, and Christopher tenses, ready to fight. But it's just Reid and Smiley, laden with bags and blow-up mattresses. The sight of them, of all these people here for me, breaks something inside.

"I love you guys all so much," I choke out, tears spilling over.

My dad moves to the bed, wrapping me in a tight hug. I bury my face in his chest, letting out all the fear and grief and gratitude. I cry for what almost happened, for the innocence I've lost, for the love surrounding me.

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