Page 37 of Cage the Storm
My team’s already in place by the time we get there. But something feels off.
The warehouse is quiet. Too quiet.
I grip my gun tightly, muscles taut as I step forward. At my side, Mateo motions for the men to take their positions, and we move.
Then the first shot rings out.
The force of the bullet tearing through the air is immediate, echoing off the metal walls. Instinct takes over—I pivot, returning fire as bedlam erupts. More shots are fired, ripping through the silence, and suddenly, it’s clear.
It’s a setup.
Mateo curses, ducking behind cover. “We need to move!”
I fire again, keeping my footing even as gunfire erupts around us. But then—pain. Blinding, white-hot, ripping through my side.
I stumble, just for a second, as my team retaliates.
The world tilts, the edges blurring. But I refuse to go down. I grit my teeth, pushing forward, forcing my body to obey.
Mateo catches my arm, eyes flashing with something close to fury. “Boss, you’re hit.”
I shove him off. “It doesn’t matter. Keep moving.” Bullets fly, and my vision blurs as soon as we reach the car. The pain’s unbearable, and my shirt’s soaked with blood.
I let my head fall back against the seat, breathing shallowly. “No hospitals.” Mateo doesn’t argue. He knows the consequences if he brings me there.
The car screeches to a halt outside the estate, and Mateo is out of the driver’s seat before I can even register the movement. My vision’s swimming, the pain in my side is unrelenting, but I force myself to stay conscious.
Weakness isn’t an option, not now, not ever.
Mateo’s hands grip my arm, supporting me as I stumble out of the car. “Come on, Boss,” he mutters. “We’re almost there.”
Gritting my teeth, I nod once. Each step feels like fire ripping through my body, but I keep moving. The cellar’s the only place we can go, and I’m relieved the medical team is already there.
The stairs loom ahead, steep and unforgiving. Mateo tightens his grip, holding me up as we go down. My legs feel weak, ready to give out at any moment, but his strength keeps me going. “Don’t stop,” he says. You’ve been through much worse.”
I want to snap back, to tell him I don’t need his help, but the words die in my throat. The truth is, I do. The bullet must have hit an organ since the pain is too much, the blood loss too heavy. My body is betraying me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
The cellar door creaks open, and a soft floral scent greets me. A reminder that the women are here. I feel their eyes on me, their whispers cutting through the haze.
I don’t look at them. I can’t.
Mateo lowers me onto the table. “Stay still,” he orders, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Our medical team rushes in, their hands quick and efficient as they assess the damage. I bite back a groan as they press against the wound hard enough to make me want to black out. I refuse.
They move fast, their voices clipped and urgent, but I can barely concentrate on them. My vision darkens, and every breath feels like a struggle. The pain’s excruciating, tearing through my side.
Then I see Luna. Her face is calm, but there’s something in her eyes I can’t quite read. Worry? Frustration? Maybe both.
“Stop fighting. You need to let them sedate you,” she warns. “They can’t operate if you’re working against them.”
I want to argue, to tell her that I’m fine, but the words don’t make it past my lips. The pain’s bearing down on me, and I’m losing control. I fucking hate it.
She steps closer, and her hand covers mine. “Nico,” she begs. “Let them help you.”
I meet her gaze, and for a moment, everything else fades. Then, before I can even think, she leans in, her lips brushing mine. It’s enough to forgive her for using that name again. So, I let my head fall back, the fight draining out of me as the sedation takes hold.
I wake hours later, groggy and aching, but I blink slowly, my vision clearing just enough to see her.
