Page 77 of Temptation and Tyranny

“I’m sorry,petite chère. But business is business.”

What happened next was a blur of motion and sound. Steele moved with impossible speed, shoving Cooper into my arms and pushing us towards the exit. Mario laid down covering fire as we stumbled towards safety.

I heard the sharp crack of a gunshot, felt something whiz past my ear. Then we were outside, the cool night air a shock after the stifling atmosphere of the warehouse.

“Go!” Steele shouted, helping me maneuver Cooper into the waiting van. “Murphy, we need extraction now!”

As we peeled away from the warehouse, I cradledCooper’s head in my lap, my fingers pressed to his neck to feel the weak but steady pulse. We’d done it. Against all odds, we’d rescued Cooper.

But as I looked down at his pale face, I knew that our ordeal was far from over. Cooper’s breathing was shallow and labored, his skin clammy to the touch. The makeshift bandage Steele had applied during our escape was already soaked through with blood, even though I was applying as much pressure as I could.

“He needs a hospital,” I said, my voice tight with worry.

Steele shook his head, his eyes never leaving the road as he drove. “Too risky. Your father will have people watching every hospital in the city. We need to get him somewhere safe, somewhere off the grid. We have a doctor on standby. We just need somewhere to go.”

“I know a place,” Mario spoke up from the back of the van, where he was monitoring Cooper’s vitals. “A safehouse Cooper set up a few months ago. It’s fully equipped with medical supplies. Should be able to stabilize him there.”

Steele nodded grimly. “Good thinking. Give me the address. I’ll have everyone meet there.”

As we sped through the darkened streets of Paris, I tried to focus on the steady, if weak, beat of Cooper’s pulse beneath my fingers. Each labored breath he took felt like a small victory, a sign that he was still fighting.

“Stay with me, Cooper,” I whispered, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “Please, just stay with me.”

After what felt like hours, we pulled up to a nondescript apartment building in a quiet residentialarea. Mario jumped out first, quickly scanning the area before signaling us to follow.

“Third floor,” he said as we carefully maneuvered Cooper out of the van. “There’s a service elevator we can use.”

The next few minutes were a blur of activity. We got Cooper into the apartment and onto a bed that looked like it had been hastily prepared for medical emergencies. The team’s doctor, a man wearing a sweatsuit and sporting bushy eyebrows, immediately set to work, hooking Cooper up to monitors and starting an IV while Mario helped position equipment.

“How bad is it?” I asked, hovering anxiously at the edge of the room.

The doctor’s expression was grim as he examined the wound. “The bullet’s still in there. We need to get it out and stop the bleeding. Luckily it’s a slow bleed. I can do it, but...” he trailed off, looking uncertainly at Steele.

“But what?” I pressed.

Steele placed a hand on my shoulder, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s going to be rough, Allegra. And we don’t have any anesthesia. Cooper’s going to be in a lot of pain when he wakes up.”

I swallowed hard, forcing down the fear and nausea rising in my throat. “I understand. What can I do to help?”

“Hold him steady,” the doctor instructed. “Talk to him. Even unconscious, he might be able to hear you. It could help keep him stable.”

For the next hour, I held Cooper’s shoulders while the doctor worked to remove the bullet and repair the damage it had caused. The metallic tang of bloodfilled the air, mixing with the sharp bite of antiseptic. Every time the instruments clinked against the metal tray, I flinched. The overhead light cast harsh shadows across Cooper’s face, highlighting the gray pallor of his skin and the sheen of sweat on his brow. Under my hands, his skin felt clammy and too cool, like glass left in shade.

The steady beep of the heart monitor became my lifeline, each sound a reminder that Cooper was still fighting. Occasionally, even unconscious, he would twitch or moan, his body instinctively trying to pull away from the pain. During those moments, I would lean close to his ear, whispering whatever came to mind—memories of our time together, promises for the future, desperate pleas for him to stay strong.

“Remember the first time you came to physical therapy?” I murmured, my thumb stroking his temple as the doctor worked. “You were so stubborn, insisting you didn’t need help. Refusing your cane. None of the other therapists wanted to work with you. But you still came back.” My voice cracked. “I need you to be that stubborn now, Cooper. I need you to fight.”

It was grueling, nerve-wracking work. More than once, Cooper’s vitals dipped dangerously low, the monitor’s steady beep turning into a frantic, high-pitched warning that made my stomach lurch. Each time, the doctor would bark orders while his hands never stopped moving, steady even as mine shook.

But finally, mercifully, he stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow. The last bloody bullet fragment made a dull thud as he dropped it into a metal dish. “It’s done. Everything’s out, and I’ve managed to stop the bleeding. Now we just have to hope he’s strong enoughto pull through.”

I sank into a chair by Cooper’s bedside, exhaustion suddenly hitting me like a physical weight. “He is,” I said, taking Cooper’s hand in mine. “He has to be.”

Steele, who had been coordinating with his team throughout the procedure, approached us. “We need to talk about next steps,” he said, his tone serious. “Your father isn’t going to let this go, Allegra. He’s going to come after Cooper again, and probably you too.”

The reality of our situation crashed back over me. In the intensity of the rescue and Cooper’s treatment, I’d almost forgotten about the impending threat of my father.

“What do we do?” I asked, looking up at Steele.

---