Page 109 of The Thief
Alastríona's on the ground, hands pressed to her side, blood seeping between her fingers.
"I'm here," I say, dropping beside her. "I'm here. You're safe."
"Freddie." Her voice is weak already. Too much blood loss, too much trauma. "He got away."
"Doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is getting you to a hospital."
I check the wound. Knife went in below her ribs, angled upward. It could have hit organs. She could be bleeding internally. No way to know without proper medical attention.
My phone's already in my hand, calling for backup.
"Maverick, I need you now. Target's mobile, heading west on Industrial Road. Black sedan, partial plate Tango-Four-Seven."
"Copy. We're in pursuit.”
“I’ll need Jason at the docks with the car. Medical emergency."
"On it."
Maverick isn’t finished. "I’ll get Denis to coordinate with the others. I want Trace found and brought to me alive. But the first priority is medical evac for Alastríona." He ends the call and I know that he’s got this taken care of. It’s why Jer wanted him to take over. He’s the perfect man for the job.
I can finally breathe again when Jason's car screeches to a halt beside us within minutes. He's already got the back door open, medical kit ready.
"Hospital?" he asks as I lift Alastríona as gently as possible.
"Fastest route. And Jason?"
"Yeah?"
"If she dies because we hit traffic, I'll hold you personally responsible."
"She won't die. Not on my watch."
The drive to the hospital feels like it’s taking forever. But I see the speedometer rising as Jason weaves through Dublin traffic like he's driving in a video game, while I try to keep pressure on Alastríona's wound and monitor her vitals.
She's conscious but fading, skin pale and clammy. Classic signs of shock.
"Stay with me," I murmur, holding her hand with my free one. "Don't you dare leave me now."
"Not going anywhere," she whispers. "Too stubborn to die."
"Damn right you are."
But her eyes are starting to drift closed, her grip on my hand weakening. The blood's soaking through everything I use to stanch it.
"Faster, Jason."
"Already doing ninety through the city center. Any faster and we'll kill someone."
"Any slower and she'll bleed out."
"We're almost there. Two more minutes."
Two minutes feels like two hours. But Jason's as good as his word; we screech to a halt outside Dublin's main hospital with time to spare.
The medical team's already waiting, alerted by our phone call. They have Alastríona on a gurney and through the doors before I can blink.
"Sorry, sir," a nurse says when I try to follow. "Family only beyond this point."
