Page 25 of A Forbidden Arrangement

She’s covered in blood, her hair stained red, and for a second, everything stops, my heart still in my chest.

“The blood’s not hers.”

My head snaps back to the man behind me. The gun he’s holding is now pointed at the ground. I place her down as gently as I can before surging up, grabbing him by the collar, and smashing him into the wall.

“It wasn’t me. I was trying to save her.” His words rush out.

“Explain.” Elliot Marlowe is in my grip, and I don’t let him go.

“I was here…ch-checking on my f-family’s plant when I saw her running.” He stutters his words, and I search his face but don’t spot a lie.

I vaguely remember that the Marlowe family does own a manufacturing plant here. I let him go and take a step back so he can explain.

He lifts his hands slightly, keeping his voice calm. “I just didn’t want her getting hurt.”

For a moment, we stand there, the sound of her labored breathing filling the space between us.

There’s a pained whine from below, and I drop, pulling Dahlia back into my arms.

Elliot calls 911, and I don’t move while we wait. The rhythm of her pulse under my fingers is the only thing keeping me sane.

The minutes stretch, sirens rising in the distance, until red lights flash against the walls.

“Sir, you have to let her go.” The paramedic presses firmly on my shoulder, and I want to snarl. “I can’t help her if you don’t let her go.”

My teeth creak, but I back away, letting them do their job, watching like a hawk as she’s lifted onto a gurney.

I grab the ambulance door before it can shut, yanking it open.

“You can’t come in here.”

A snarl curls my lips, more animalistic than human. Like fuck I’m not going with her.

“There isn’t enough room for us to treat her if you get in. If you care about her, then meet us at the hospital.”

“Fuck.”

I slam the door and run to my car to chase after them.

Chapter 13

Xander

The ER baycomes up fast. I slam the brakes, and the car screams across the pavement, tires burning, smoke curling. People scatter out of the way.

A man in a vest runs at me, waving his arms, shouting about where I can’t park.

I don’t slow. Don’t even look at him as I jump out, tossing him the keys mid-stride. “It’s yours.”

He stumbles back, mouth still open, but nothing comes out. I’m already moving past him through the sliding doors.

The waiting room shuts down the second I enter. Conversations die. Heads turn. Nurses freeze mid-step, eyes wide, like they just felt the air shift.

I don’t give them a second of attention. My thumb moves fast, typing a single message to our group chat.

Me:

Room number?