Page 5 of Final Vendetta

“Turn it off,” I barked at the receptionist, my voice tight with barely contained fury. “Turn it off right now. She’s fighting for her life in there because of that man.”

The receptionist’s eyes widened in shock before she quickly grabbed the remote and changed the channel to some mindless home renovation show. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done. The image of Turner’s mangled car served as a reminder of the role I played in all of this.

“Gideon,” Henry cautioned in a low, steady voice — the tone of someone trying to keep a bomb from going off. “Losing it won’t help her.”

“I’m not ‘losing it,’” I snapped back, though we both knew that was a lie. I was hanging on by a thread.

Jumping to my feet, I crossed the waiting room toward the reception desk, forcing myself to keep my voice even.

“I need an update on Imogene Prescott’s condition. I’ve been waiting for hours.”

The receptionist gave me a pitying look before telling me the same line I’d heard a dozen times since arriving. “I’m sorry, sir.As I’ve already told you, only immediate family can be updated on her condition.”

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to argue. “What’s it going to take to get some information? A donation to the hospital? Do you need a new cancer wing or something? Consider it done. Just…” I swallowed down the painful lump in my throat. “Don’t let her die.”

“I truly am sorry, sir. When her parents arrive, they can sign the forms allowing us to speak to you. Until then, I can’t tell you anything.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing down my frustration.

I was teetering on the edge of sanity, rage simmering beneath my skin, threatening to boil over. I wanted to scream, to break something, to do anything to dispel the hopelessness that clung to me like a second skin.

I didn’t know how much longer I could go without knowing if Imogene was still alive.

The sound of the automatic doors to the emergency room cut through, and I snapped my head toward them, praying it was Imogene’s parents, even though the flight from Atlanta would take longer than the two hours it had been since I called them.

Instead of her parents, Melanie stood there, her face pale but resolute. She closed the distance between us quickly, her eyes searching mine as if it were the first time she was seeing me. In that moment, there was no doubt in my mind. She knew. Imogene told her the truth about who I really was.

When she threw her arms around me, I froze for a beat before returning her hug and pulling her close.

“Sam,” she whispered, her voice inaudible to anyone but me.

“Yeah,” I sighed, grateful to be myself around her again, even if I still wasn’t sure who that was.

She pulled back and met my gaze, seeing the truth within. The rest of my features may have been completely different, butmy eyes never changed. It was my eyes that gave me away to Imogene, despite her brain telling her it couldn’t be.

“You really suck, you know that?” she choked out, playfully punching my arm before hugging me again. “But I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“It’s my fault, Melanie,” I admitted, my voice strained. “She’s in there because of me.” I glanced at the locked doors leading into the emergency wing.

“Were you driving the car that slammed into her?” She gave me a pointed glare.

“I’m the reason he fled from the police. If I hadn’t?—”

“No. Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault.”

“I just… I hate feeling like this. I can’t even get any information about her because I’m not technically family, regardless of how much money I promise to throw at this damn hospital.” I shot a glare at the receptionist, even though she was just following protocol.

It still didn’t make it sting any less.

“She’ll pull through,” Melanie assured me, placing her hand on my arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Imogene is stronger than anyone I know.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t sure I believed her.

A man like me didn’t deserve miracles.

And now Imogene would pay the price for my sins.

Chapter Three

---