Page 36 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Webb

T he lights in the ICU never went completely dark, but they didn’t stay harshly bright either.

Overhead fluorescents were often dimmed or turned off during the night, replaced by the soft glow of monitors and low-level lighting that kept the space functional without overwhelming it.

Even in the quietest hours, the room felt gently lit—enough for nurses to work but muted to give patients a chance at rest. Machines beeped in quiet, persistent rhythms, and nurses moved from room to room like shadows on well-worn paths.

Gabby had been moved into her ICU bed after the surgery, pale and still beneath the thin hospital blanket.

They’d removed her spleen, set and cast the small fractures in her left leg and right wrist, and patched up the cuts and bruises littering her body.

Her injuries looked brutal in the harsh light, with the bruises blooming deep across her ribs and the small split near her brow stitched neatly.

But it was her silence that scared me most.

The doctors were still concerned about elevated intracranial pressure, likely related to a chronic subdural hematoma.

Although the skull fracture hadn’t caused bleeding within the brain itself, the risk of swelling remained significant.

And the fact that she still hadn’t regained consciousness was a growing concern for all of us.

She looked like she was resting like she could open her eyes at any second and crack a joke about the room service. But she didn’t.

I sat beside her, holding her hand lightly, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles while machines whispered and ticked behind me. The door eased open with barely a sound, and Remy slipped inside, eyes wide and alert, the glow of his phone casting a faint light across his face.

“You’re going to want to see this.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket—once, then again, and then in rapid succession. Texts, notifications, and alerts were pouring in faster than I could keep up.

“What the hell?”

Remy handed me his phone. “She posted it. All of it.”

I glanced down at my screen and saw a feed from X, Gabby’s account bold at the top.

She had posted a thread—long, detailed, and ruthlessly precise—laying out everything she knew about Colin Maddox.

It included names, dates, locations, financial trails, illegally obtained permits, and even buried whistleblower reports.

This wasn’t vague suspicion or subtle implication, the corruption was laid out in full. Documented. Unmistakable. Undeniable.

At the end of the thread was a final message: “ I’ve sent everything to every major news outlet. If they don’t run this, you know which ones have been bought. Pay attention. And don’t let them bury the truth. —G.V. ”

I stared at the screen, my pulse pounding.

“We’ve been so focused on finding Gabby,” I realized slowly, “we forgot to actually focus on her. On what she might’ve already set in motion.”

Remy nodded, scrolling through what was on his screen.

“It’s everywhere now—TikTok, Facebook, Instagram.

Mirror posts, screen captures, subreddits, Discord servers—Gabby’s thread has gone viral, spreading like wildfire across every platform.

This wasn’t a desperate last-minute move, she planned it.

She timed the release down to the second.

She knew there was a chance she wouldn’t make it out—and she made sure the truth would, even if she didn’t. ”

My stomach turned. “Which means she’s in even more danger now.”

Gladys stepped closer to the bed, her good hand resting on the rail. “What do you think he’ll do?” I asked, eyes on her.

Her lips tightened, and her gaze dropped to Gabby’s face. “Colin doesn’t react. He plans, and then he comes back swinging.”

“So, he’s hiding right now.”

“Most likely. But when he surfaces, it won’t be subtle. He doesn’t like to lose. He’s going to be calculating every move.”

I stood slowly, pulling on my jacket. “Then I need to go. I need to get ahead of this.”

But before I could take another step, Gladys turned and caught my arm. Her fingers were cold and surprisingly strong.

“Do you love her?” she asked.

The question hit harder than I expected. I blinked at her, thrown off not just by the words but the depth behind them.

“I—yes, I love her.”

She didn’t let go. “Are you in love with her, or do you love her?”

I frowned slightly. “What difference does it make?”

She looked back at Gabby with such gentleness it cracked something in my chest. “Being in love is all about the feeling—the fire, the rush, the beautiful chaos that sweeps you off your feet. But truly loving someone is different. It’s about staying power.

It’s patience and quiet strength. It’s showing up, protecting them, and fighting for the relationship even when everything feels hard. ”

I didn’t answer right away. My mind was spinning, trying to make sense of it all.

What I felt for Gabby—yes, there was fire, that undeniable spark—but there was more to it than that.

It was something steadier, something deeper.

It had started the moment she looked at me with those innocent but assessing eyes and didn’t flinch at what she saw.

From that instant, something unshakable had begun to take root.

“I don’t know yet,” I finally replied honestly. “But I know I love Gabby. And I know that I’d do anything to keep her safe. That has to mean something.”

Gladys looked at me for a long moment, then nodded once and let go of my arm.

“That’s enough for now. Go and finish this. Do it for her.”

I touched Gabby’s hand once more, gave her fingers a final squeeze, then turned and walked out of the room with fire in my chest and a target on my back.

Maddox had made this personal. Now, it was my turn.

I was heading down the hall, still replaying Gladys’s words in my head, when the elevator doors opened, and Eddie stepped out. He was dressed down—hood pulled low over a cap, plain jeans, worn boots—but his sharp eyes found mine instantly.

“Word got out,” he said by way of greeting. “Saw the post, figured you might need backup.”

I clasped his shoulder briefly. “I always need backup.”

He glanced past me toward the ICU door. “She in there?”

“Yeah, but she's still out.”

He looked at me more closely then, his gaze catching the exhaustion etched behind my eyes and the tension coiled tightly through every line of my posture. “How bad?”

“Worse than we thought, but she made it through surgery.” I lowered my voice. “That’s where you come in.”

Eddie followed my gaze.

“I need someone watching over her discreetly. Not just her—Gladys and Ira, too.”

He lifted a brow. “You trust the old woman that much?”

“I didn’t at first,” I admitted. “She helped Gabby escape from her own son—hid her, protected her, and risked her life to get her to that hospital. After everything she’s done, I’d be a damn fool not to trust her now.”

Eddie studied me for a beat, then gave a slight nod. “Okay, I’ve got it covered.”

Relief washed through me. “Thanks, man.”

“I’ll sit nearby, move if needed. And I’ll keep any unwanted guests from getting too close.”

With that, I left him there, the silent guardian I knew he could be, and turned my focus to the storm waiting outside.

Tracking Maddox wasn’t easy. Remy had done what he could from the digital side, cross-referencing property records, shell companies, private airstrip logs, and flagged financial activity.

Marcus had pulled in contacts from Florida’s underbelly—contractors who kept their ears to the ground and owed us a few favors.

We identified a property registered under a false name Maddox had used before—an abandoned development out near St. Cloud. It matched Gladys’s description of his current site: unstable ground, large investors, and just remote enough to go unnoticed.

We mobilized fast. Me, Marcus, Elijah, and Jesse went in separate vehicles, fanning out with the kind of precision we’d learned the hard way.

However, when we arrived, the place was empty.

There was no sign of Maddox—no movement, no voices, nothing to suggest anyone had been there in a while. Just the skeletal remains of a project long abandoned, buried beneath layers of money, silence, and swamp soil.

“Son of a bitch,” Jesse hissed, slamming the truck door. “We were close. I know it.”

I stalked to the edge of the property, hands clenched at my sides, trying to piece together where he could’ve gone. How had he slipped away again?

Before we had a chance to regroup, headlights flared at the far edge of the lot as two black SUVs sped in.

“We’ve got company,” Elijah warned, his voice low and sharp.

Four men stepped out, each one armed and moving with the kind of quick, practiced confidence that left no room for doubt they weren’t here to talk.

Then, the first shot rang out, splitting the silence wide open.

We dropped behind the vehicles, weapons drawn, adrenaline surging through our veins.

The next thirty seconds blurred into chaos.

Shouts cut through the night, gunfire cracked back and forth, and the sharp, acrid stench of burning gunpowder filled my nose.

Marcus caught one of them in the leg, and the man went down hard.

The remaining attackers quickly retreated into the trees, covering each other as they fled into the shadows.

“Hold fire!” Jesse yelled, crouching beside the injured man. “We got one.”

The man let out a low groan, clutching his thigh as he collapsed to the ground. Blood was already soaking into the dirt beneath him, dark and spreading, but it didn’t look life-threatening—at least, not yet.

I was already pulling out my phone with a plan in mind. “We’re taking him with us. I know a place where we can go.”

Marcus’s friend Julian owned a small property out on the edge of Lake County. It wasn’t much, just a low house, a sagging barn, and an outhouse out back, but it was secluded, and nobody asked questions out there.

By the time we got there, the sun had started to set, casting long shadows across the empty field. We dragged the injured man inside and secured him to a chair in the old canning shed. Elijah cleaned and wrapped the wound while the rest of us circled him like wolves.

“You don’t wanna talk,” Jesse pointed out, leaning in, “but trust me, if you don’t, you’ll wish you had.”

The guy stayed silent, jaw clenched tight, face pale.

I took a step forward. “You work for Maddox, but that’s not who you’re afraid of, is it?”

A flicker of something crossed his face.

“You’re afraid of Clayton Barris.”

His head jerked up slightly—an involuntary reaction, just a flicker, but enough to give him away. It was a tell, subtle but unmistakable, the kind that only slipped through when someone wasn’t in control of their nerves.

“That’s who’s calling the shots now. Maddox is hiding, so Barris is running cleanup.”

It took another ten minutes, a lot of pressure, and one very convincing monologue from Marcus about swamp gators and anonymity before he broke.

“Barris is unhinged,” the man spat. “Even Maddox knows it, but he lets him run the ground game because no one crosses him.”

“What’s he planning?”

“I don’t know the full thing,” he said quickly. “But I know he’s pulling in guys from out of state for reinforcement. Maddox wants to disappear, but Barris wants blood. He said if that girl talks—if she survives—then everything burns.”

I felt something cold slide into my chest. Gabby had lit the match, and now Barris wanted to turn her into a warning.

We stepped out of the shed, leaving the man cuffed to the chair.

Jesse looked at me. “So, what now?”

“Now we cut the head off the snake. But first, we make damn sure the woman he wants most is never left alone.”