Page 63 of King of Violence

Julian’s hand twitches, his fingers brushing weakly against mine. “Felix,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“I’m here,” I say quickly, clutching his hand like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

His gaze meets mine, hazy but focused, and my heart clenches at the look in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it,” he says, his words slurring slightly.

“Mean what?” I ask, panic lacing my voice. “Julian, what are you talking about?”

His brow furrows, like it’s taking all his strength to string the words together. “What I said...about not loving you.” He pauses, his breath hitching. “I didn’t mean it. I never meant it.”

My throat tightens and tears spill over, hot and uncontrollable. “I know you didn’t,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

His hand squeezes mine, so weak it’s barely there. “Forgive me, please...” he murmurs, his eyes slipping closed.

“Julian,” I choke out, shaking him gently. “Don’t do this. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.”

His lips twitch in the faintest hint of a smile. “I love you. Always have.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest, but before I can respond, his body goes limp in my arms, his head rolling to the side.

“No no no,” I shout, gripping his face and willing him to open his eyes. “Julian! Wake up! You can’t?—”

“We’re almost there!” the driver yells as he swerves sharply around a corner.

I press my forehead to Julian’s, my tears falling onto his blood-streaked skin. “You don’t get to say that and then leave me,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “You hear me? You don’t get to do that.”

The car screeches to a halt in front of the hospital, and the doors fly open. Medics rush toward us and pull Julian from my arms.

“Please,” I beg, stumbling out of the car after them. “He’s losing so much blood—please, just help him!”

They’re saying things I can’t understand, their voices a blur as they wheel him through the emergency doors. I try to follow, but someone stops me, their hands firm on my shoulders.

“You need to let them work,” the driver says, his voice steady but grim.

I shake him off, my chest heaving with ragged breaths. My hands are coated in Julian’s blood, and the words he said echo in my head, looping over and over like a broken record.

I love you. Always have.

And now he might never get the chance to say them again.

???

The waitingroom feels like a cage. The sterile white walls press in around me, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead drilling into my skull. Every second drags like a lifetime, and I can’t stop staring at my blood-streaked hands. Julian’s blood.

The nurse at the front desk hasn’t looked up in over an hour, and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve asked for updates. They always say the same thing: “He’s still in surgery.”

I sit hunched over in one of the stiff plastic chairs, my foot tapping nervously against the tiled floor.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don’t bother to check it. Nothing matters right now except Julian making it out of that operating room alive.

“Felix,” a familiar voice says softly, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts.

I glance up to see Elijah standing in the doorway, his suit slightly wrinkled, his tie loosened. Sunglasses shield his bruised eyes from prying stares. His expression is uncharacteristically soft, concern etched into every line of his face.

“Elijah,” I croak.

He steps closer, his shoes clicking softly against the floor. Without a word, he sits in the chair next to mine, his presence grounding but heavy. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence is too loud, filled with everything we’re not saying.

“How is he?” Elijah finally asks.

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