Page 100 of Liam
The air shifts as Elias moves, his presence looming over me once again. I brace for another blow, my muscles tensing. But it doesn’t come. He’ll never break me, no matter how much he tries to silence me.
And he knows it.
The air hangs thick with tension, our ragged breathing the only sound. My heart pounds, counting down the seconds to an inevitable explosion.
A thunderous crash rips through the silence. The floor beneath me vibrates as something heavy slams against concrete. Voices erupt, a chaotic chorus of shouts and commands.
“Drop your weapon!”
“Secure the hostage!”
“Watch your six!”
The cacophony disorients me. Blinded even more by the sunlight suddenly filling the room and gagged, I can only piece together the chaos through sound and vibration. Boots thunder past, their impacts sending tremors through my body. The acrid scent of gunpowder fills the air as a deafening pop cracks overhead. Then another. And another. Gunfire erupts around me. I press myself flat against the floor, my cheek scraping rough concrete. My bonds cut deeper as I strain, desperate to make myself as small a target as possible.
Something whizzes past my ear, so close I feel the heat of its passage. A bullet? The thought sends ice through my veins. Elias is trying to finish what he started.
More shots ring out. I flinch with each one, never knowing if the next will find its mark in my flesh. A scream of pain pierces the air. Elias? A rescuer? The uncertainty is maddening. A heavy thud shakes the floor near me. Friend or foe, I can’t tell.
The gunfire stops, leaving a ringing silence punctuated by groans and barked orders.
“Clear!”
“Suspect down!”
“Get a medic in here!”
Hands grasp my shoulders. Fingers fumble at the back of my head, working at the knot of my gag. As it falls away, I squint, trying to force my eyes to focus, but the world remains a blurry smear of color and shadow.
A face hovers above me, features slowly sharpening into focus.
“Liam.”
The voice slices through the chaos, steady but urgent. My vision clears, and I make out the figure crouching beside me—a man in tactical gear, his gloved hand firm on my shoulder. His helmet obscures part of his face, but his eyes lock on mine, calm and focused.
“We’ve got you,” he reassures, the words anchoring me as the adrenaline slowly fades, leaving only pain in its wake. “You’re safe now.”
Someone cuts away the ropes binding my wrists, and I let out a hiss as my limbs fall free, the sharp ache from my ribs intensifying with each shallow breath. It’s not just the ribs; every inch of me feels bruised and battered, the agony no longer dulled by survival instinct.
A medic kneels beside me, checking my vitals, his touch gentle but swift. “You’re going to be okay,” he says, his voice a low hum. “We’ll get you to the hospital, patch you up.”
As they lift me onto a stretcher, my head tilts to the side, and my eyes land on Elias’s body, sprawled across the concrete. He lies motionless, the dark pool beneath him stark against the cold, gray floor. His chest doesn’t rise, his hands limp at his sides.
I blink, unsure if I expected to feel relief, triumph, or something else. But there’s nothing. Just a hollow emptinessas they wheel me out of the room, leaving Elias behind like a ghost of the nightmare I just survived.
Sirens fade in and out, their wail distorted like a warped record. The ambulance sways, a boat on choppy seas. Voices swim around me, muffled and distant. A sharp prick in my arm, then...floating.
The hospital materializes in fragments. Fluorescent smears overhead. The squeak of wheels on linoleum. Faces swim into view, familiar yet strange. Dad’s mouth moves, but the words are underwater.
“Li... ...am...” Cora’s fractured voice. Tears glisten on her cheeks, kaleidoscopic in the harsh light.
Someone pushes the stretcher. The ceiling slides by, hypnotic. Machines beep. Hands prod, but the pain is far away, wrapped in cotton.
“...broken ribs... ...concussion...” Words drift by, disconnected.
The world tilts. I’m sinking into softness. Blurry figures hover at the edges of my vision. Logan? Lucas? Their outlines blur, merge, separate.
Cora’s face looms close, then retreats. Her lips form “sorry” over and over. I try to reach for her, but my arm is too heavy.
