Page 19

Diego

The warehouse is nothing but a battleground now. I can’t hear anything outside of the pounding in my chest, the blood rushing in my ears, as Felix stands there with his gun pressed to Camille’s head. Her eyes are locked on mine, wide with fear, but there’s a spark there—something that tells me she’s not ready to give up. Not yet.

"Diego," Felix sneers, his voice cutting through the chaos. "You really think you can walk out of here with her?” He laughs, low and mocking. "Too bad, you know? The girl’s not going to make it out of here alive. And neither are you."

I’m trying to breathe. I’m trying to think, but all I can focus on is Camille—her face pale, except for the stark red mark on her cheek. He will pay for that.

"Let her go, Felix," I say, the words harsh, my voice tight. "You don’t want to do this."

His smile widens, but there’s no humor in it. "Oh, I think you’ll find I already have, Diego."

The gun in his hand is steady, but I see the twitch in his fingers. He’s not as confident as he wants to appear. He’s waiting for something—waiting for me to break. But I’m not going to give him that satisfaction.

I shift, ever so slightly, my hand resting on the gun at my side, but I don’t draw it. Not yet. I have to be smart. Felix might be a fool, but he’s still dangerous. And I can’t afford to slip up.

"I don’t care about your game," I growl. "Just let her go. We both know you’re not going to walk away from this. You’re already dead."

His face darkens at the challenge, but he laughs again, like I’ve made a joke. "You think that means anything to me? You think I’m scared of you?" He leans in close to Camille, and my stomach tightens. "You’re nothing, Diego. And she—" he pauses, glaring at her with a twisted smile "—she’s just a tool in this whole mess. You can’t save her. If it’s not me, then it will be the cartel that comes after her. And besides, I have my men here with me.”

And on cue, two men come out from the shadows with their guns pointed right at my head.

Shit.

“You're outnumbered and outgunned. Be smart and walk away, Diego.”

I hold firm in my stance.

I see Camille’s eyes shift. There is no fear in her eyes, just a resolve that I fear means she has chosen her fate and she has made peace with it. But then I see the small flicker. Her eyes jerk to the side to where the two men stand and she gives me a nod.

I can’t hear her thoughts but I understand what she is saying.

“I am not leaving without her, Felix. And you can either hand her over or I’m going to kill right now.”

She gives me a nod and she understands.

I hold my nerve, praying that we are in understanding with each other.

“Now, Camille!”

I draw my gun as Camille elbows Felix in the ribs and his grip on her loosens and then she is able to move to the right to give me a clear shot.

Felix’s body jerks, the gun slipping from his hand as the bullet punches through his chest. His eyes widen, shock and disbelief filling them as he crumples to the ground. His last breath escapes in a wheeze, his life snuffed out in a moment of brutal efficiency.

But it’s not over. The two men are shocked for a second as they watch their boss’s dead body begin to gush blood. It only lasts a few seconds but that is all I need to grab Camille by the arm and make a mad dash.

“Come on,” I grit out, voice hoarse. “We’re getting out of here.”

I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears, feel the weight of the situation crashing down on me. Felix is down. But that doesn’t mean we’re free.

But just as we reach the edge of the warehouse, a shot rings out.

I hear it before I feel it—hear the sharp crack of the bullet as it tears through the air. And then, a sickening thud.

I look down in horror.

Camille’s eyes lock onto mine for a split second, wide with shock, and then—nothing. Her body goes slack in my arms, blood pouring from the wound in her side.

“No!” I shout, the word a raw scream of agony that rips through my chest.

She’s slipping. She’s fading. And I’m fucking powerless to stop it.

“Camille, no—” My hands tremble as I scoop her up, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except her.

I force myself to move, every step feeling like a lifetime. The desperation in my chest is overwhelming. I can’t lose her. Not now. Not after everything we’ve been through.

Her blood stains my hands as I carry her to the waiting vehicle. I don’t even think, just move. My mind is a blur of fear and guilt. Every thought screams the same thing—save her. Save her. Save her.

As I slide into the car, my heart pounding in my throat, I look down at her, my chest tight with terror. The bullet wound is deep. The blood is pouring faster than I can handle, and the sound of her shallow breaths rips through me like a jagged knife.

I’m not going to let her die.

I press the accelerator to the floor, the tires screeching as I rush toward the hospital, my mind consumed with one thought.

If I lose her, I lose everything.

“Stay with me, Camille,” I mutter under my breath, my voice rough with panic. I can feel her pulse, faint and irregular, against my chest, and it makes everything inside me scream. I won’t lose her. I can’t.

She mumbles something under her breath that I can barely hear. Her eyes flutter open and closed as if she is fighting for her soul to stay in its body.

The road blurs as I push the car harder. Every turn is reckless, every maneuver calculated out of desperation. I can’t let her die in my arms.

The hospital is just ahead. I see the lights, the sign that marks safety. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but focus on getting to her in time.

I pull up to the entrance, not even caring about the parking. I throw the car into park, fling the door open, and gather her carefully in my arms, my feet pounding against the concrete.

“Help!” I scream, my voice hoarse with fear. “She’s bleeding out! She needs help!”

The doctors rush out, but my world is spinning. I can’t let go of her. Not until I know she’s going to be okay.

They take her from me, and I let them. But as they wheel her away, my heart doesn’t follow. It’s stuck in that warehouse, with the blood and the chaos. Stuck in the fear that she won’t make it.

I’ve never felt this way before.

***

The sterile walls of the waiting room close in on me. The harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights above feel like they’re mocking me, casting shadows that make the minutes stretch on forever. I pace back and forth, my hands trembling. I clench them into fists, but that only makes it worse. My skin burns with the need to do something—anything—but all I can do is wait.

The echoes of that gunfire, the sight of her blood staining my hands, play over and over in my mind. I can still feel the weight of her in my arms, the panic that surged through me when I realized she was slipping away. The smell of her blood, the coldness creeping into her skin... it’s haunting me, suffocating me. I couldn’t protect her the way I promised I would.

My throat tightens, my thoughts spiraling. I want to scream. I want to punch something until I can’t feel anymore. But that won’t bring her back. It won’t change what happened.

What if I lose her?

I should’ve said it. I should’ve told her the truth. I should’ve told her that I love her, that I can’t imagine a life without her now. But I never gave myself the chance. There was always some damn reason to hold back, always some part of me telling me that I couldn’t. That this life—my life—wasn’t one she could be a part of.

But now, as I sit here, waiting to hear if she’s going to make it, I realize that I’ve been a fucking coward. I love her. I don’t care how dangerous it is. I don’t care that I’m already too far gone. I love Camille Dupont with everything I have.

My heart pounds in my chest, every second stretching longer than the last. I can’t keep sitting here like this, wondering if she’ll wake up, if I’ll ever be able to tell her.

“Excuse me, are you with Camille Dupont?”

I jump at the sound of the doctor’s voice, my eyes snapping toward him. He’s standing there, his expression unreadable, but I see the relief in his eyes. The smallest flicker of good news.

“Is she okay?” I rush forward, nearly knocking over a chair in my haste. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until I hear him speak.

“She’s stable,” the doctor says, his tone calm, measured. “She’s unconscious, but she’s going to be fine. The bullet missed all major organs. She’ll need time to recover, but she’s out of danger.”

A rush of relief floods through me, so intense I almost collapse. My legs give out for a split second, and I have to steady myself against the wall. She’s alive. She’s going to be okay.

But she’s not awake.

I need to see her. I need to be there when she opens her eyes, when she realizes that she’s safe. That I kept her safe, even when everything was falling apart.

“She’s in recovery right now,” the doctor continues. “You can see her in a few minutes.”

I nod, unable to speak, the tightness in my chest still there, but less suffocating now. “Thank you,” I finally manage, my voice hoarse.

He gives a short nod and walks away, but I don’t move. I can’t. My mind is still racing, my heart still hammering in my chest. The thought of her lying there, unconscious, helpless—it’s almost too much to bear. But I push it down, remind myself that she’s not gone. She’s still with me.

When I do finally make my way down the hallway to her room, my steps are slow, tentative. I’m almost afraid to see her like this, to see the damage that’s been done. But I can’t stop now. Not after everything we’ve been through.

I pause just outside her door, my hand resting on the handle. I want to tell her. I want to say the words that have been building inside me for so long, but I know that will have to wait. For now, all I can do is make sure she knows that I’m here.

With one last breath, I open the door, and step inside.