Page 79 of Beneath the Surface

It was a chaotic rush as they squeezed into the back seat, Molly moaning in agony between them. Isobel and Sophie flanked her, kneeling on the floor of the back seat, coaching her breathlessly. “Don’t push, Molly. Hold on. Just hold on.”

The wail of sirens pierced the air as the car sped through the rain-soaked streets. Molly’s breathing grew shallow, and Isobel’s heart clenched as her sister slipped into unconsciousness.“Molly, stay with us!” she cried, but Molly’s head lolled to the side, her face pale.

By the time they reached Waverly County Hospital, the patrol car skidded to a halt, and the doors flew open. Tristan was waiting with the OB team, his face ashen but composed. He and Sophie coordinated with the team as they swept Molly into the OR, leaving Isobel frozen in place, her hands sticky with her sister’s blood.

Isobel sat on a hard plastic chair, her hands trembling as she stared at the crimson smears on her palms. Tears streamed down her face as the situation crashed over her.

Dillon and Riley stood quietly by the door, giving her space but remaining close enough to act if needed. Unable to bear the sight of the blood any longer, Isobel got up and stumbled to the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her breath ragged. Turning on the faucet, she scrubbed her hands furiously, the warm water doing little to wash away the ache in her chest.

When her hands were clean, she slumped onto the closed toilet lid and pulled out her phone. Her fingers shook as she dialed Brad’s number.

Brad answered on the second ring. “Belle?” His voice was calm, steady, but the instant he heard her sob, it shifted. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Isobel choked back a sob. “It’s Molly. She—she was bleeding. So much blood, Brad. She collapsed, and we—oh God, she passed out on the way to the hospital. They just rushed her into surgery, and I—” Her voice cracked as she started to cry harder. “I don’t know if she’s going to be okay.”

“Hey, hey,” Brad said firmly, his tone cutting through her panic. “Belle, listen to me. Breathe. Just breathe for a second, okay?”

She struggled to comply, taking a shaky breath as he continued, “Molly’s in the best hands now. Tristan and the doctors are going to do everything they can. Right now, you need to focus on staying calm. Can you do that for me?”

“I—I don’t know,” she whispered, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “I’m covered in her blood, Brad. I can’t stop seeing it. What if she doesn’t make it?”

“She will,” Brad said with quiet confidence. “Molly’s a fighter, just like you. And you’re stronger than you think, Isobel. You’re not alone in this.”

“I feel alone,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I’m so scared.”

“I know,” Brad said softly. “I’m in Pierre now, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Until then, I want you to stay close to Dillon and Riley. Don’t go anywhere without them, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise,” she whispered, her voice small.

“And Belle,” he added, his tone gentler now. “I love you. You’re going to get through this. We’re going to get through this.”

Her tears slowed as his words sank in, anchoring her. “I love you too, Brad. Please hurry.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he assured her. “Just hold on a little longer.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her, and ended the call. Sitting in the quiet of the bathroom, she let the sound of the water running in the sink fill the silence. She felt a flicker of hope. Brad was coming. And she wasn’t alone.

When she emerged, Dillon and Riley straightened, their eyes scanning her for signs of distress. “You okay?” Dillon asked.

“No,” she admitted, her voice hoarse. “But I’ll be better once Brad gets here.”

They nodded, their silent presence reassuring as they stood by her side, watching over her as they all waited for news.

Twenty-Nine

Malcolm Hale sat with calculated calm in the lobby of the Waverly County Hospital, his legs crossed casually at the ankles, a worn magazine spread open on his lap. To anyone who glanced his way, he appeared to be just another family member awaiting news from the surgeons—no different from the rest of the people whose loved ones hovered somewhere between life and death. But beneath his composed exterior, Malcolm’s heart raced, not with fear or worry, but with a perverse thrill. His prey was there.

The sterile smell of antiseptic and the hushed conversations filled the air around him, but Malcolm barely registered it. His mind was far from the grief and uncertainty that consumed the other families in the room. Instead, he was focused on the woman, her face pale with anguish, her steps unsteady as she waited to see if her sister survived some horrific medical condition.

Brad Killian, her ever-competent, ever-vigilant protector, was not nearby. He and that annoying LAPD detective were busy trying to find him. The young submissive bartender at Hot Shots called him when they arrived. And even if Isobel’s Dom left the second she called, dear wonderful Mother Nature would slowhim down, making traffic impassable. The important thing was that Brad was not an obstacle for the moment.

Isobel Everhart was here, broken and desperate. And she would be his.

Malcolm forced himself to breathe slowly, to keep his face neutral as he flipped a page of the magazine. He had practiced for years how to appear like everyone else—how to blend in, to become invisible when he needed to. He could smile softly when needed, feign concern, even offer a comforting nod to those who glanced his way. But inside, the anticipation built in him, a dark hunger that made his fingers twitch.

He drifted into the sweet memory. Malcolm Hale adjusted the lapel of his tailored jacket as he entered the grand auditorium of the psychology symposium. The room was a sea of ambitious scholars, eager to impress and network, their chatter echoing against the vaulted ceiling. But his focus wasn’t on the crowd. It was on the panel discussion. Specifically, on the young woman sitting confidently at the center table, poised and radiant.

There she was. Isobel Everhart.

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