Page 42 of Sexted By a Stranger
A bullet drove unimpeded through her thin chest.
Glaring crimson blood spread like spilled ink across her chest, swallowing that pure white.
"Sheila!"
Silent screams exploded in my soul's depths. Every cell roared, wanting to lunge forward, catch her, block that bullet. But my body was heavy as lead, nailed down by invisible chains, only able to watch helplessly.
She fell on that cold sidewalk. Blood spread beneath her. Those eyes that once held starlight rapidly lost their spark, becoming empty, gray...
"Run, stellina."
Cold and heat tore through my blood. Heavy eyelids like iron gates. Consciousness repeatedly sank and struggled through darkness and bloody nightmares.
Only that name was the sole flickering light.
"Sheila..."
Chapter 14
Sheila
The car reeked of blood and gunpowder, a nauseating cocktail that made my stomach churn. Luca's head rested heavily on my lap, his forehead burning with an alarming fever that seared through the fabric of my dress.
The ragged bullet hole below his left shoulder blade gaped obscenely with each labored breath. The torn flesh around the wound's edges seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, dark blood seeping steadily through layer after layer of hastily applied gauze. My hands trembled as I pressed another compress against it, feeling the warmth of his life literally slipping through my fingers.
The wheels ground through the wrought-iron gates of the manor entrance and lurched to a stop so abruptly I had to brace myself to keep Luca from sliding. Lennox yanked open the rear door, and the crisp scent of grass and earth rushed in—a cruel mockery of normalcy that couldn't begin to mask the suffocating stench of blood and smoke trapped in the vehicle.
Every bump in the road had made Luca's brows knit tighter in unconscious agony, his jaw clenching even in his fevered delirium.
"Move! Now!" Lennox's voice cracked like a whip, tight with barely controlled panic. He worked with several nurses who'd been waiting at the entrance, their movements practiced and efficient as they maneuvered Luca's limp form from the car onto a waiting gurney. His large frame looked somehow diminished, vulnerable in a way that made my chest constrict painfully.
I stumbled out after them, my legs like water, threatening to give out with each step. But my eyes remained locked on that unconscious figure as they wheeled him swiftly through the manor's halls into a brightly lit room at the far end—a fully equipped home surgical suite that spoke volumes about the dangerous life Luca led.
The doctor was already scrubbed and waiting, his face a mask of professional focus.
He snapped on sterile gloves and immediately began cutting away the blood-soaked fabric clinging to Luca's chest. When he peeled away the last stubborn piece stuck to the wound, even in his deep unconsciousness, Luca's entire body went rigid. A broken, guttural sound escaped his throat—raw and primal—as cold sweat beaded instantly across his forehead. His muscles spasmed violently from the pain, cords standing out in his neck.
I gasped, my nails digging crescents into my palms hard enough to draw blood, using that sharp sting to keep myself from falling apart completely.
The doctor's expression grew grimmer as he worked with practiced efficiency. Within minutes, he extracted a blood-slicked bullet with forceps, dropping it into a metal pan with a sickening clink.
Watching the gauze on his chest rapidly bloom crimson, soaking through faster than they could replace it, filled me with a bone-deep terror of witnessing life drain away before my eyes.
I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting copper, desperately trying to swallow the sob clawing its way up my throat.
The room filled with nothing but the cold metallic sounds of surgical instruments, the doctor's clipped orders to his assistants, and Luca's labored breathing that seemed to grow shallower by the minute.
When the final suture was tied off and thick sterile dressings covered the angry wound, the doctor finally straightened, peeling off his blood-stained gloves with a snap.
"Lucky it missed his heart," he said, his voice betraying the close call as he handed several syringes to the waiting nurse. Then he pressed a bottle of pills into my shaking hands. "Monitor his temperature and blood pressure constantly. When he wakes, get these into him immediately."
After they'd changed Luca into a clean hospital gown, the doctor and nurses filed out, leaving us alone. The heavy door clicked shut softly, sealing us in blessed silence.
I stood frozen beside the bed, staring down at his ashen face. Sweat had plastered his dark hair to his forehead in damp strands. Those eyes that were always so sharp and penetrating were sealed shut, his normally firm mouth pale and cracked. Even unconscious, the deep lines of pain and ingrained wariness never left his features.
My chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice.
I staggered into the adjoining bathroom and cranked on the cold water. The icy stream over my fingers brought a shock of clarity. After wringing out a cold cloth, I returned to his bedside, carefully avoiding the thick bandages at his shoulder and neck as I gently pressed the cool fabric to his burning forehead. Myfingers trembled as I tried to smooth away the deep furrows carved between his brows.
