The night was calm and still with skies that opened up to a shimmering blanket of stars. The waters were gentle and gave no resistance to the speeding boat as it dashed back to the estate. As the hull raced amongst the lapping waves, Catherine had to shout over the roar of the motor to try and figure out a plan.
“What are we going to do when we get there?” she looked at him with narrowed eyes as the wind whipped her hair across her face, and she brushed it back with a quick hand.
“I don’t know, we just need to get there first!” he replied, eyes not moving from the water as he pushed the small motor boat faster.
The water was inky black, the sky lit in pale moonlight that spilled blue across the shimmering surface with tiny dots of flickering stars. The wind was cool but still carried the heat of the day. Catherine had no idea how he knew where they were going, but he seemed to have it figured out. To her, it was all an expanse of open, quiet waters with only the sky watching them from above.
“What if you get arrested?” she asked as her mind raced as fast at the boat.
“Don’t care, we need to make sure everyone is okay!” he replied with a glance, strands of black hair falling into dark eyes as he drove.
“Michael, we need a plan!” she shouted, her look of exasperation clear.
He shook his head. “Can’t always have a plan, beautiful. We’ll figure it out when we get there!”
She gave him a look of concern, and he slowed the boat down a bit to quiet the motor. With a sigh, he rested his hand on the wheel and looked out to the empty sea.
“If anything else, I’ll turn myself in. If it means saving everyone else, I’ll go to prison for the rest of my life.”
“What? But how can they do that?” her eyes grew in panic.
“If he’s a fed on some kind of mission, he’ll get his way. He’ll threaten everyone I love until I admit I did it.”
“But you didn’t!” She shot up from her seat.
In desperation, she grabbed his face and looked into his eyes. “You can’t do that, you’re innocent.”
He caressed her hand that held his cheek; her fingers were cold from the night, but his warmed them with ease.
“If he has Lucas, I’m doing it. I can’t risk his life, or yours, because of a botched case.”
She felt the tears well in her eyes, and she pulled him in for a kiss. They held together for a moment, their bodies swaying as the boat lightly rocked on the calm waves. Tears fell down her cheeks, but he reached up and wiped them away, then kissed her forehead. She sucked in a deep breath and wiped away the remaining streams on her cheeks. Their eyes met, and she nodded.
“I trust you, but I’ll be damned if I let some bastard storm in and ruin everything. Let’s get over there and settle this.” She gritted her teeth and gestured for him to hit the gas. Without hesitation, he pushed it to full speed and carried on over the waters and into the night.
The journey was longer than Catherine remembered, but she realized that in the dark of night with the sense of dread in their minds, it wouldn’t seem short even if it were. She thought of Lucas, Alberto, Rascal, and the rest of the team back at the clinic, and her gut twisted in the worry of the unknown. She had no idea what this man was capable of, what his motive was, or how they could stop him. She had never felt so out of control. She felt her hand tremble at the thought, but she took a quick breath and tried to pull herself together.
As if sensing her anxiousness, Michael took a hand from the steering wheel and rested it on her shoulder as he drove. He glanced down at her and nodded, giving her confidence. She straightened up and squared her shoulders—they could do this. Whoever this man was, whatever he wanted, they were a team, and they could figure it out.
The estate began to appear in the distance, the flickering lights small dots in the distance. Michael focused on them and pushed the boat faster. He didn’t know where this man was., but he didn’t want to lose his cover. His hands guided the steering wheel to a sharp left, suddenly veering away from the lights and causing Catherine to look at him in confusion.
“We’re going to have to sneak in from the back of the property. It will be a bit of a walk, but he won’t see us coming!” he yelled over the hum of the engine and whirling winds.
She gave a nod of understanding and peered out at the beach. They still had the cover of night for a few hours, and both of them knew the layout of the estate better than this stranger. She mulled over the advantages and tried to formulate some sort of plan. She remembered the gunshot, and the memory made her heart jump. Running in unarmed seemed downright dangerous, especially since they knew he had a firearm and was dead set on bringing Michael in. They needed to scare him off, but she had no idea how to do that.
“Are there any guns on the property?” she asked with narrowed eyes.
He thought for a moment. “Yeah. There are two rifles in the golf supply cabin. We keep them around to scare off the occasional crocodile that wanders on the course.”
His expression changed to surprise, and she smiled back at him. “I think we need to head for the golf course first.”
***
Michael brought the boat down to a quiet hum as they approached the back of the property. Multiple docks decorated the shore of his estate, and he was sure to pick the one furthest from the house. He gently guided the craft up to the wooden planks, dropped the anchor, and killed the motor. They both hopped off, and he quickly grabbed the dock rope to tie up the bobbing machine for added security. Catherine watched him nervously as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
“Where’s the golf supply cabin?” she asked as her eyes scanned the dark beach. The moonlight was bright, and she could see the outlines of the trees, sandy dunes, and knolls that made up the eighteen-hole course.
He nodded straight ahead. “We cut south through the course, and it’s right there. Then we can sweep up west and that will put us in the back of the house, allowing us to take a lookout to see where the action is.”
“Okay, fuck. Are we really doing this?” She ran a hand over her face and glanced nervously toward him, feeling like her chest was about to explode.
With a strong tug, he tied the last knot, stood up, and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders.
“Catherine, you’re a brain surgeon. You hold people’s life in your hands daily. Consider this a surgery, and right now, that guy is the cancer we need to remove. You can do this, got it?”
He gave her an encouraging smirk. She let out a deep breath and nodded in confirmation, “Okay, you’re right. We’ve got this.”
Without another word, they took off toward the shore at a quick run. The sand was damp from the receded tides, and Catherine sighed in relief as they quickly made their way across the dunes and hit the grassy course. Michael ran ahead of her, his large frame carrying him quickly with quiet, soft footsteps. She watched him ahead of her, noting those broad, sculpted shoulders, that big, barrel chest, and tight waist. His ass looked perfect in those rugged jeans. She smiled to herself as she took in the view.
His pace slowed for a moment as he looked across the long field. The house could now be seen in the distance. Many of the lights were on, but otherwise it was silent. He glanced at her. “Not much further.”
They picked up their run, and Catherine felt the itchy beads of sweat pour down her back. She was breathing harder, and she felt her legs burn from the long sprint. Michael looked back and gave her a nod. He seemed to be barely sweating, and his breathing was normal. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“I never see you work out, how the hell is this so easy for you?” she puffed as they neared the small, wooden shack in front of a small lot of woods.
He slowed his pace to a quick walk to let her catch her breath and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Good genetics?” he snickered to himself.
She rolled her eyes and stopped as they stood in front of the small cabin door. Michael walked up and typed in the security code. The light turned green, a chime alerted them it was correct, then the door clicked open. She followed him into the dark building; he didn’t bother to turn on a light, wanting to avoid any attention, and instead pulled out one of the high-powered flashlights he had grabbed. The beam blazed through the darkness, lighting up the stacks of equipment, mowers, nets, lawn treatment cans, and piles of other mismatched items.
He headed down the row of equipment. At the end was a large, red metal trunk that was locked with a security code box. He punched in the numbers and the lid popped open, revealing a few shotguns that looked like they hadn’t been used in a long while.
Catherine eyed them suspiciously. “Do those still work?”
Michael reached in and easily pulled two out. He cocked a brow at her paired with a small smile. “I think the more important question is… have you ever fired a gun before?”
Her brow narrowed and she crossed her arms, then looked away as she answered slowly. “I mean… does laser tag count?”
With a shake of his head and a smirk, he handed her the rifle. She held it awkwardly in her arms and stared at him uneasily. He set his down and stepped up behind her, gently taking her hands and placing them in the correct position. She tensed as she realized the thing might be loaded, but he rested his chin on her shoulder as he spoke.
“Relax, it’s not loaded. You need to support the barrel here…” He moved her hand down the long metal tube. “And keep your finger on the trigger with your hand supporting this end, or else the kickback will hurt like hell. Keep that locked right here…” He adjusted her shoulder so it cradled the wooden butt of the gun.
She relaxed a bit and felt the position. He took her hand that supported the rifle and lifted it so it now looked straight out in front of her. “See that little tab at the end?”
She nodded in understanding, and he continued, “That’s your guide. You want whatever you're aiming at to fall between it when you look out to your target. Know what I mean?”
Her gaze looked beyond the tab, and by focusing on a mower in the distance, the tab split in her sight. She lifted the rifle a bit, and the mower fell between the two tabs, “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
“Great, shooting lesson over. Let’s get moving.”
***
As they neared the house, Michael and Catherine both exchanged a worried glance. Most of the lights blazed, and now that they were within earshot, they could hear a heated exchange going on inside the giant building. The voices of the two men echoed loudly against the stone and filtered out into the night. Michael and Catherine crept up to a window on the east branch of the building. It was the room between the front entrance and the banquet hall, just a regular room that had once been used as a guest check-in area.
Michael peered in the window and felt his heart skip a beat. There was Lucas, in the center of the room, tied to a chair. His head hung against his chest, and a trail of crimson red blood trailed down his nose and cheek. Michael felt his blood boil in rage; his face hardened, and his blood coursed quickly through his veins as adrenaline pumped to his heart.
Nobody was allowed to touch his baby brother like that.
He pulled an arm back, butt of the rifle positioned to smash out the window, but a hand suddenly snapped up and grabbed his wrist, then pulled him back into the shadows.
He looked to Catherine with angry eyes, but she shook her head frantically and glared at him. “What the hell are you doing?!” she whispered angrily.
He gestured toward the room. “Stopping in for tea... Saving Lucas! What the hell do you think I’m doing?” he snapped back.
“Michael, bursting in there without any idea of where this guy is at is a terrible idea. Calm down and get your head in the game. We need to think of a better plan.”
He went to protest, but she cut him short. “You just told me this was like a surgery. Well, I don’t just smash someone’s head in and expect the cancer to be gone. We need to extract Lucas, and then deal with this guy. What if I go cut the power, then you use the distraction to get in there and get your brother out?”
She crossed her arms as she waited for his response. His face softened, and he glanced through the window, then back at her. He knew she was right.
“Okay, do you know where the electrical unit is?” he whispered as they stepped further back into the shadows.
“I recall you saying in the basement…”
He nodded. “Head around to the west branch, you know where the kitchen opens up to the patio? There is a storm door hidden behind the bushes, it has a security code, 3204. That entrance will pop you out literally right next to the box—big, grey, and metal on your right, can’t miss it. Cut all the power and then come back to this spot. If you see anyone, and I mean anyone, you hide.”
She paused. “Wait... where are the security guards?”
“I don’t know, that’s what has me worried.” His eyes darted around, and Catherine felt a shiver go through her spine as she wondered what had happened.
A loud, booming voice split through the night air. Catherine almost screamed, but Michael reached up and put a hand over her mouth as he peered back toward the window. Ricky had walked into the room. He was dressed in all black, his buzzed hair was wet with sweat, and his sharp jaw was clenched in annoyance. His narrow eyes looked down on his victim, and a meaty hand with a bright, red scar reached down and clutched his shoulder. He squeezed hard, fingers digging in until Lucas flinched and tried to get away from the pressure, which only made him grasp it harder.
“Lucas, I’m just asking you to call your brother? Is that really so difficult?” Ricky crouched down beside him, his steel grey eyes locked on his prey.
Lucas spat a bloody wad of spit at his face.
“Go fuck yourself.”
In a swift motion, he drew back his powerful fist and the sickening smack of knuckles connecting to bone cracked through the air. Catherine grabbed Michael again. His nostrils flared in rage, and his body quivered in anticipation of a fight.
Ricky held the radio out to Lucas. “Last chance.”
Michael watched. He had left the radio behind in the boat to keep it from going off. Ricky held down the button, and his little brother paused, dazed eyes looking up at the older man. Then he sighed in defeat. “Hey Michael, if you can hear me, stay where you are. There’s a mega douchebag here who wants to kill you.”
Lucas gave Ricky a bloody grin, and the man stared down at him with a sneer. He pulled back and punched Lucas again; this time his fist collided with his temple and knocked him out cold.
“Fuck.” Catherine whispered, worried about the trauma it could cause to his healing brain.
Ricky held the radio up to his lips and looked around with those cold eyes as he paced the room.
“Michael, you have one hour to get back to your estate. If you’re not here in time, I’m going to make sure your brother doesn’t wake up.”
The words were icy, and Michael, still unseen among the shadows of the palm trees, gave the man a fiery stare through the window. He watched the man pace around the room, circling Lucas like a vulture. He didn’t like this man’s erratic nature, or the fact that he had no idea why he was after him. He just knew he was going to make him sorry for ever stepping foot on his property and invading his life. He felt a soft touch on his arm and looked down into Catherine’s pleading eyes.
“Just give me a few minutes to cut the power, then you go in there and kick his ass.”
He reached up and grabbed the back of her neck softly, then pulled her in for a kiss. Their lips were salty with sweat, the taste like the ocean breeze. Her touch made him feel invincible, the blood flowing through his body like hot, liquid steel. He kissed her more deeply, while she ran slight hands through his beard and held his face. She slowly pulled back and looked in his eyes, then gave him a lopsided grin.
“Here we go.”
*
Catherine felt like every nerve was on edge—any sound or tiny movement made her flinch as she quickly made her way around the house to the patio. The silver light of the night had cast shadows every which way, and the slightest breeze made the landscape appear as if it were moving, slowly creeping up behind her. Palm leaves fluttered like outstretched fingers, clawing to grab at her as she passed by. The clack of the coconuts from above sounded like a bitter laugh, the once beautiful melody now unsettling.
She shook her head and tried to stay focused, but her thoughts kept drifting to that man knocking Lucas out. He had been brutal—cold blooded—and she didn’t hesitate to think for a second that he would kill Lucas if they didn’t resolve this soon. Her mind was suddenly drawn to the cool metal of the gun slung across her back. She took a deep breath in as she rounded the corner and approached the patio, staying close to the house and crouching low to avoid the windows. She exhaled as the storm door came into sight, and her eyes zeroed in on the code box.
“You can do this, just like surgery. Get in there and get it done,” she whispered to herself as she stepped up in front of the door, reached out with shaking hands, and used sweaty fingers to punch the code.
The light turned green and the door clicked as the lock released. She glanced up, her eyes tracing the windows carefully to see if Ricky had left the room to check on any other part of the house. The kitchen lights were on, but there was no movement inside. As softly as she could, she slowly pulled the door open. It creaked and groaned under the pressure, and her heartbeat jumped as she looked to see if anyone had noticed or come to investigate. She held her breath, frozen with the door half open as she watched—nothing.
She opened it the rest of the way and peered down into the darkness of the basement, the concrete steps hardly visible in the scattered light. She gulped and put a careful foot down as silently as she could, then crept down the rest of the way, using her hands against the rock wall to guide her. She finally reached the bottom of the stairs. It was so dark she could hardly see her hand in front of her face. She felt the outline of a handle, twisted the knob to the basement door, and slowly pried it open.
The basement and cellar were pitch back—absolutely no light from above seeped in—and she frantically searched the wall beside her for a light switch. She was flooded with relief as she traced the little switch, then flicked it on and cast a yellow light across the basement. Her eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the new scene. Boxes and cabinets were stacked in rows, and beyond the shelves, she saw a cellar door propped open and full of wine. She knew on the other side of the cellar there were stairs that led up to the kitchen, and she held her breath as she waited to see if she had been heard through that entrance. There weren’t any footsteps or voices above—or more importantly, coming for her—prompting her to sigh and look to her right where the electrical box sat. She turned toward it and opened the thin, metal door to reveal rows and rows of switches, each labeled with the appropriate area.
She set the gun down and looked to the labels. There were so many rooms and wings she realized it was useless to try and select different ones. She shook her head and flicked the first one off. “Fuck it.”
In a rapid succession, she hit each one, until she reached the last that read ‘basement’. She glanced up at the light, grabbed her gun, slung it around her shoulder, and leaned into the doorway. With a reach back, she hit the final switch and was thrown into inky darkness yet again.
She swung back toward the cellar door and looked up at the night sky. The bone white moon watched her as she came up the stairs, wide eyes searching. The house was pitch-black—not a single light emitted from any of the windows. It was also eerily silent. There was no hum of appliances or even the motor of the pool cleaner. Her steps were quiet and quick as she took her trail back toward where Michael had been.
A loud crash echoed through the stillness of the estate, followed by a yell. Catherine sprang into a full sprint toward the window where she and Michael had been, blood rushing and her mind racing as a million different scenarios went through her head. She saw the form of two shadows in the room, caught in mid-fight, and knew it was Michael and Ricky. She paused right outside, breathing hard, the whites of her eyes like the moon above as she watched the scene inside. She peered in and saw the two wrestling for a gun, and without hesitation, she flung herself toward the open window.
“No!” she screamed as she tumbled into the dark room and toward the two men fighting for their lives.
****
She had done it—the place suddenly grew dark as light after light went out from within the estate. Michael smiled at the thought, knowing there was no one better than Catherine with whom to go hunting for bad guys. His gaze returned to the room. He could see Ricky’s face in the moonlight, looking angrily around to see what had happened. After a few moments, the man gave an exasperated sigh then tore out of the room to try and discover the source of the inconvenience.
He knew it—now was his chance. With a silent step forward, he reached up and pushed at the narrow window, a sigh escaping his lips when it folded in, unlocked. With a quick hoist, he was perched inside the frame, his large shadow falling to the floor in front of where Lucas was tied. He silently placed his feet on the ground then softly slid down until he was in the room. He crouched for a moment. The gun was slung behind his back, and he quietly reached back and pulled it forward. His eyes looked around as he stood up, then in a sweeping motion he came up beside Lucas’ unconscious body.
He reached out, one hand gently nudging his brother’s shoulder, and the other lightly tapping his face. “Come on, Lucas. You gotta wake up.”
He felt his lungs burn as he held his breath—his brother wasn’t moving. He shook him a bit harder, careful to not cause further injury to his already beaten and bloodied body. “I swear man, I’m going to beat the shit out of this guy.” Michael growled.
There was a light cough, and his little brother’s eyes slowly opened. The left was too swollen to manage much, but his other peered at Michael with fear. “I told you… not to come…” he said hoarsely, his throat sore and tired.
Michael shook his head. “I was already here. Come on, let's get you out of here.”
He had already begun untying the ropes; the material fell away from Lucas’ wrists, and then he pulled them from his ankles before reaching down and putting an arm under Lucas’ shoulder. “Can you walk?”
His brother nodded. “I think so.”
He propped him up, and his brother swayed slightly. As he regained his ground, he looked around at the dark room with suspicion. “Where’s Ricky?” he whispered.
“Catherine cut the power, he’s probably looking for the source. You head out through this window, I need to deal with this guy.”
Lucas went to protest but his brother’s hand shot up and covered his mouth as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. Michael gave a sharp nod then pushed Lucas, who was trying to hold onto him, through the window.
“Go get help, I need the police,” he instructed Lucas in a low whisper, as the footsteps grew louder.
His baby brother cursed then slid out the window without another word. He looked back, saw Michael nod, then turned around and started limping toward the garage.
The door crashed open behind Michael. He quickly pulled the gun over his shoulder and turned around to see Ricky Barber with his own gun drawn, pointed right at him, a cold, sly smile on his face.
“Michael Francis, so nice to finally meet you,” his voice was low.
“Wish I could say the same Ricky, but, whoever you are, you’ve been a royal pain in my ass the last couple days.” Michael began to circle him, the two of them caught in a standoff.
“Oh, that’s right. How would you know the family members of any of the victims you killed?” Rickey said, grey eyes narrowed, his thin lip pulled back in a vicious sneer.
“Who are you?” Michael asked, ignoring the accusation.
“I’m the agent that’s going to drag your ass back to the States for a trial that will hopefully end in your death…” he paused and cocked his gun, “and if you refuse, I’ll just have to do it myself.”
Michael felt himself stiffen at the threat, but he kept his mind focused as he studied the room. There had to be a way to disarm this guy.
“You went missing from the FBI, why?” he asked, the question a distraction as he began to back Ricky toward the open door to the banquet room.
“Oh, them. Too many rules and regulations, but once they see I have you, they’ll be a little more willing to loosen my rein,” Ricky replied with a chuckle.
Michael shifted left, and Ricky mimicked to the right. His back was now to the opening, and Michael had the heavy, wood door just in his reach.
“So, you’re a dickhead on a power trip who is after me because you assume I funded a terrorist attack, and you want a raise? Do I have that story right? If so, you need to get your priorities straight, buddy.” Michael tensed as Ricky shifted a bit from the opening, his body swaying in anticipation of an attack.
“No,” he spat, “You killed my family.”
Michael felt his heart stop. He knew he had never killed anyone, but he realized right then that this man must have had family members killed in the attack.
“You’re one of the victims’ family members?” he asked quietly.
Ricky nodded. “My parents were Turkish immigrants to the United States. They were back home visiting family when they were killed in the explosion…” he paused, lifting his gun up to Michael and taking aim, “All because of you.”
Before he could finish his sentence, Michael released his gun from his hands, reached over, swung the door closed, and sent Ricky flying back from the force. When he pulled it back open, Ricky was lying on the ground, his gun a few feet away. He launched himself at the older man, but the agent sent a kick from where he lay straight to Michael’s jaw, and the unexpected impact sent him reeling back. The gun fell from his hands and onto the floor, next to the chair that Lucas had just been tied to.
Ricky pushed himself up and dove after him, landing on the younger man with a thud. He tried to wrap his arms around Michael to render him powerless, but Michael managed to pull an arm free and swung a powerful right hook into the agent’s nose. He fell back, blood streaming down his face as he clutched at the broken nose, then pushed forward as Michael went to stand up and kicked him right in the ribs. Michael’s breath whooshed from his lungs as he felt the wind get knocked out of him, and Ricky used the pause to grab at his neck.
There was a sudden shadow of movement in the window, and Michael looked up to see Catherine land in a crouched position, her gun raised at Ricky.
“Don’t you fucking touch him.” She cocked the gun and pointed it right at Ricky.
His hands went up instinctively, and he sneered as he looked back and forth between the two lovers.
“Or what will you do about it, Missy? Shoot me? I dare you.” He was breathing heavily from the fight, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he flinched a finger.
“Don’t test me.” she replied, stepping next to Michael as he rose to his feet.
“Look, Ricky I don’t want anyone to get hurt, so why don’t we—”
In a sudden flash, Ricky rolled down to the ground and grabbed the gun from the floor. The movement startled Catherine, and she pulled the trigger without hesitation, her aim in his general direction. At the same moment, Ricky lifted the gun toward Michael’s heart, releasing the bullet from the chamber with a bang. The shot from Catherine’s gun went wide and landed in Ricky’s shoulder. He screamed and his aim faltered, the death shot meant for Michael’s heart going down and straight into his thigh.
In an instant, it was all over. Both men lay on the ground, bleeding from the gunshot wounds that pierced their bodies. Michael groaned and hissed as he tried to move his leg, while Catherine knelt down and tore off the jacket she had been wearing.
“Don’t move,” she told him.
“Not really an option,” he hissed out through gritted teeth.
She chanced a glance over to Ricky. The gun had fallen away from his hand, and he was bent over in agony in the door frame. His eyes met hers, half lidded and glazed. He was losing blood fast, and she knew if she didn’t help him, he could die.
“Don’t do it,” he whispered, as if reading her mind.
“Help you?” she questioned in a harsh tone.
He nodded and coughed, “No point, I’m just going to get locked up in a cage if I survive.”
She looked to Michael. He was bleeding much slower, the metal having missed any major arteries. She tore the jacket in half, using her teeth to loosen the seams, then went to Ricky and began to wrap his arm.
“Sorry, against my oath.”
He glared at her for a few moments, their exchange silent, and then as she tied the knot, he faded into unconsciousness.
Michael peered over. “Is he dead?” his tone was somewhat hopeful.
She sighed. “No, this will help a bit, but he needs to get to an ER right away. Now let me see you…”
She pulled the flashlight from his pocket and turned it on, getting a better view of his leg. The hole was a bloody mess, but she saw a small glint of metal buried deep in the flesh. Then her breath hitched. “Shit.”
“What?” Michael asked in concern.
She was quiet for a moment then stoically looked into his eyes, “I need to get this bullet out as soon as possible. It’s right next to a major nerve and artery, if you move too much, it will hit one or the other. I’m going to the medical supply room. Do not, and I mean DO NOT move while I’m gone.”
She leaned in and kissed him, then took off into the house toward the supply room. Michael watched her go, feeling cold and tired. He tried to call her name, get her to come back, but slipped into darkness as the blood loss took its toll.
***
Catherine raced down the long, white stone corridors, her footsteps slapping the tiles loudly, sending echoes throughout the empty house. She couldn't lose him—that was her only thought right now. That bullet was dangling his life before her eyes, and she knew at any moment it could burst a vital artery or damage the entire nerve. But she could fix this, she had fixed this multiple times before becoming a brain surgeon. Her days as an intern in the ER had meant hours extracting bullets from victims in New York.
Her head was pounding. Everything in her mind screamed at her to hurry, and anxiety clawed at her to imagine a future without Michael. But she fought it all back—she knew she had this. Years of training had brought her to this moment, and in a calmness she had never felt before, she felt the world slip away. As she reached the medical supply room, she grabbed the gauze, the tweezers, the tools of her trade. She pulled out a cart and threw it all in, then rushed back to the room Michael lay in.
“Ok, I’ve got it. This is going to hurt like a bitch, but you just have to trust me,” she told him as she entered the room.
There was no response. Her eyes narrowed and she looked down, realized he was passed out, his face pale and drenched in sweat.
“Fuck.” She scurried to his side and took his pulse. It was weaker than before.
She took the light and shined it on the wound. The swelling had increased, and so had the amount of blood pouring out.
“No, no, no…” she whispered as she pulled the supplies from the cart.
The swelling had pushed the artery and bullet together. It was starting to burst, and she realized that she had mere minutes before it was completely sliced open, causing him to bleed out. Her glance went to his handsome face, and she felt the tears well in her eyes. She reached down and gently squeezed his cold hand, the warmth having drained from it with his blood. She took a deep breath and held back her emotions; she let the clarity fall over her, and with a nod, she got to work.