Page 66 of Twisted Vows

When she appears from the back hall still wearing her scrubs and with a clipboard in her hand, I check my watch and take another pull of my smoke. Her shift ends in five minutes, but I haven’t seen her replacement arrive yet, so she probably won’t clock out for a while. The frustration simmering in my veins increases.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I move to the shadows on the opposite side of the mouth of the alley and lean against the brick building as I fish my phone out and check the caller ID. It’s Alessio; the man watching Narciso’s current hideout so I can escort my wife home.

He wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency. I curse and snuff out my cigarette on the wall as I answer.

Less than a minute later, I end the call and send Emma a text, warning her not to leave the hospital without me, and dial Giorgio as I start down the street.

“He’s moving. Any updates from the boss lady?” I ask.

“She’s checking now,” he says.

The line goes quiet until I reach the end of the block. I step onto the street to cross the road. The hair on my nape stands on end.

A motorcycle emerges out of the darkness, barreling straight toward me with its lights off. I jump and roll out of the way, but the muffler smacks my foot. Agony streaks up my leg as I push through another roll, narrowly missing the second motorcycle as it swerves toward me.

My phone glimmers on the asphalt as a break in the clouds brightens the night. I scramble to my feet, grab my phone, and run back toward the emergency room. Blinding pain shoots up my leg with every step, but fear propels me forward. I must reach Emma. This can’t be a coincidence. I’m not the target. She is.

Giorgio’s faint and tinny voice reminds of our call, so I lift the phone to my ear.

“Anything?” I demand.

Aurora’s voice sounds in the background, and my gut clenches as I realize she’s trying to calm Tristan down.

“Nothing. She checked all the devices in and around Narciso’s apartment. There’s nothing,” Giorgio responds.

I curse and run across the road toward the ambulance entrance.

“I need a favor from the boss lady,” I growl against the pain.

Giorgio tells me to quit being a dramatic little bitch and just spit it out, then agrees to my request before ending the call. Just before I reach the double glass sliding doors, the entire building goes dark as Aurora cuts the power. I turn my body sideways and wedge myself through the partially opened doors before locking them shut behind me.

The shouting of panicked patients, harried staff calling out to each other, and medical equipment beeping as the emergency generators come online bombard my ears.

I slip my pistol from its holster and my knife from its sheath as I turn toward the hall. The nurse who was supposed to replace Emma rushes out from behind the nurse’s station near the ambulance entrance with a small flashlight and a stack of supplies.

A trio of men wearing all black slips around the corner at the other end of the hall toward the on-call and break room.

The nurse’s flashlight catches Narciso’s profile as she darts into the nearest room.

A feminine squeak cuts short from the front of the building, but I’m not sure if it’s from the waiting room or the hall to the break room.

I lunge forward and grit my teeth as pain arrows through my ankle, my breaths sawing in and out of my lungs as I push myself to move faster.

When a patient steps out of their room in front of me, I shoulder them out of the way, knocking them backward and rushing forward. The man yells as he sees the weapons in my hands. I ignore him and peek around the corner into the adjacent hall.

A woman lies prone in the middle of the floor, but the red emergency lights reveal her pregnant belly, assuring me it isn’t Emma. After a flash of relief, guilt plagues me, so instead of limping past her, I drop to a knee, check her breathing, and roll her onto her side before rising.

White-hot agony pierces my shoulder. My ears ring from the blast of a gunshot. I stumble and hit the wall, staying upright by sheer force of will.

Narciso’s goons rush forward. I shoot one in the knee and the other in the hip, but they tackle me as I pull the trigger a third time.

The man on the left lands on me like dead weight, smacking my wounded shoulder into the floor and covering me in theblood spraying from his head. His buddy swings his knife, but I pull the dead man on top of me as I roll. I grunt as his blade sinks into my human shield.

“Don’t move,” Narciso snarls.

His shoes bracket my vision. I gauge the distance between us as I skim my eyes up his body to meet his face. He stands just far enough away to be out of reach while he aims his handgun straight between my eyes.

“I can see why my nephew likes you. You’re a fucking cockroach, aren’t you? Always scurrying around and refusing to die.”

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