Page 27 of Rescued by Four Alphas (Claimed by the Four Alphas #2)

T he explosion rocks the walls around me, and dust rains from the ceiling like dirty snow. I grip the edge of the metal shelf so hard, but the pain tearing through my abdomen makes everything else fade to background noise.

"What the hell was that?" Marianna whispers, her hands frozen halfway through tearing open a package of gauze.

I can't answer because another contraction slams into me, and my vision blurs at the edges. I bite down on my lip so hard I taste copper. The metallic tang mixes with the antiseptic smell of the storage room and creates a cocktail that makes my already churning stomach revolt.

"I don't care what it was," I gasp when I can finally speak. "The babies... oh God, they're coming now."

Gunfire erupts somewhere above us, the rapid pop-pop-pop echoing through the ventilation system. Marianna's face goes pale, but her training kicks in. She drops to her knees beside me to push my hospital gown up.

"I can see the head," she breathes. "Dahlia, you need to push with the next contraction."

"I can't do this here." Tears stream down my face. "Not like this. They're too early."

"You don't have a choice." Marianna's voice turns firm and authoritative. "These babies are coming whether we're ready or not."

The next contraction starts low in my back and crashes forward until it consumes every nerve in my body. I bear down with everything I have, my body taking over with an instinct older than the sounds coming from my throat, that don't sound human.

"That's it! I can see the shoulders," Marianna encourages, her hands positioned to catch. "One more push, Dahlia. Just one more."

I push until stars explode behind my eyelids, until my lungs burn from holding my breath, until I'm sure I'm going to split in half. Then, suddenly, there's a release so intense that I nearly black out from relief.

The baby doesn't cry.

My heart stops beating in my chest. The silence stretches like a rubber band about to snap, and panic floods my system with ice-cold terror.

"Is..." I can't finish the question.

Marianna works quickly, clearing the tiny airway with her finger, then turning the baby over and rubbing her back. The seconds tick by like hours. Then, like a miracle, the most beautiful sound in the world fills the cramped storage room.

"She's breathing," Marianna says, tears making her voice thick. "She's small, but she's breathing."

My daughter. My little girl. Marianna wraps her in clean gauze; it's all we have.

Then, she places her on my chest. She's so tiny, so perfect, with a cap of dark hair and the tiniest fingernails I've ever seen.

Her skin has a bluish tint that makes my chest ache with worry, but her eyes are open and staring up at me.

"Hi, baby girl," I whisper. "I'm your mama."

She makes a soft mewing sound and tries to turn toward my voice. This tiny person, this miracle, came from me. From us.

But even as I hold her, I can feel the other three babies moving restlessly inside me. My body isn't done. Not even close.

Heavy footsteps thunder down the corridor outside, getting closer. Marianna freezes, her eyes wide with fear.

"They found us," she breathes.

The footsteps stop right outside our door. I clutch my daughter closer to my chest, my heart hammering so hard I'm sure they can hear it through the metal door.

Then the door explodes inward with such force that it bounces off the wall behind it. Armed men in black pour into the small space, their weapons raised and ready. But I only see one face.

Evan.

His hair is wild, his expensive suit torn and stained with what looks like blood. His eyes are blazing with a fury I've never seen before, scanning the room for threats. When his gaze lands on me - on us - his entire face transforms.

The rage melts away, replaced by shock so profound he stumbles backward.

"Dahlia?" His voice cracks on my name. "Are you okay?"

That's when I completely fall apart.

The sobs come from somewhere deep in my chest. It's ugly and raw and desperate. All the fear and pain and terror of the past few days pour out of me in a flood I can't control.

"Evan," I choke out between sobs. "She's here. Our baby girl is here."

He drops his weapon and crosses the room in two quick strides, falling to his knees beside me. His hands shake as he reaches out to touch our daughter's tiny head.

"She's so small," he whispers, his own eyes filling with tears. "Is she okay?"

"She's breathing," I manage. "But Evan, the others… there's something wrong..."

Marianna speaks up from behind him. "She's bleeding from the first delivery. The remaining three babies are showing signs of fetal distress. We urgently need proper medical equipment, including incubators, surgical tools, and IV fluids. Without them, we could lose them all."

The color drains from Evan's face. He turns to the men who came with him.

"Find out where the medical equipment in this godforsaken place is!" he barks at them.

One of the men, older with weathered features, speaks up. "We captured two facility personnel on our way down. Want me to make them talk?"

"Do it," Evan orders without hesitation.

The man disappears, and we can hear shouting from the corridor. Within minutes, he's back.

"There's a fully equipped neonatal unit on the fifth floor," he reports. "Complete with preemie incubators and surgical suites. The elevator shaft is compromised, but there's a service stairwell that's still secure."

"How do we get there safely?" Evan demands.

"My team will clear the route. You carry your woman; I'll have Rivera take point."

Evan doesn't hesitate. He slides his arms under me, one supporting my back and the other under my knees. The movement sends fresh pain shooting through my body, and I gasp.

"I've got you," he murmurs against my ear. "I've got both of you."

Marianna carefully takes our daughter, cradling her against her chest. The baby's cries have grown weaker, and that terrifies me more than anything else.

"We need to move fast," Marianna says. "She needs warmth, and I need to monitor her."

Evan's men move around us like protective shields, their weapons raised as they scan for threats. I can hear distant gunfire, shouts, and occasional explosions.

"How many of Reid's people are left?" I ask Evan as we climb the service stairs.

"Too many," he says grimly. "But not for long."

The room looks like something from a high-end hospital, not a secret government torture facility.

"This is perfect," Marianna breathes, immediately moving to one of the incubators. "Help me get her settled."

She places our daughter in the clear plastic chamber, hooks up the monitors, and adjusts the temperature. Almost immediately, the baby's coloring improves, and her breathing becomes more regular.

"Her vitals are stabilizing," Marianna breathes in relief.

But I don't have time to feel relieved because another contraction hits, stronger than any before. I cry out, my back arching off the examination table where Evan placed me.

"The next one's coming," I gasp.

"I can see the head," Marianna confirms, moving between my legs. "This one's positioned better. Are you ready to push?"

The first boy comes out blue and still, and for thirty terrifying seconds, Marianna works to get him breathing. When his cry finally fills the room, Evan sobs with relief.

"That's our fighter," I whisper as Marianna places him in an incubator next to his sister.

Another explosion rocks the building, closer this time, and the lights flicker ominously.

"How much longer?" Evan demands, his eyes darting between me and the door.

"I can see the head," Marianna says. "Dahlia, you need to push through this contraction."

The pain builds like a tsunami, and I bear down with everything I have. Gunfire erupts directly overhead, and the rapid staccato makes dust rain from the ceiling.

"That's it!" Marianna exclaims. "Here he comes!"

The second boy is much larger than his sister and immediately angry about his early arrival. His cries are more assertive, more demanding, and he kicks his tiny legs in protest when the cool air hits his skin.

"He's got your temper," Evan says with a shaky laugh, but his words are cut off by the sound of heavy boots thundering down the corridor.

The door bursts open, and Leo appears, his vest splattered with blood, and his weapon raised. His eyes sweep the room for threats before landing on the incubators.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes, lowering his gun. "Are those...?"

"Your children," I gasp between contractions. "Three down, one to go."

Leo crosses the room in three quick strides, and he stares at the tiny forms in the incubators. "They're so small."

"They will be fine, “Marianna says.

Another contraction slams into me, this one is different, more urgent. "The last one's coming now!"

Leo immediately moves to Evan's side, both flanking me as Marianna positions herself. "You've got this, baby," Leo murmurs, his hand finding mine. "We're here for you."

The building shudders from another explosion, sparking a shower of sparks from an overhead light fixture.

"Jesus, how close are they?" Evan shouts.

"Close enough," Axl's voice comes from the doorway. He appears like a warrior from hell, his clothes torn, and there's a cut bleeding above his left eye. But when he sees the scene before him, he stops dead in his tracks.

"Holy shit," he whispers. "Are we... did I miss it?"

"You're just in time," I manage before I feel an intense cramp. "Ahhhh...!!"

"Push, Dahlia!" Marianna commands. "Don't get weak now."

I push until stars explode behind my eyelids, and I crush Leo's fingers as my grip tightens around his hands. Axl moves to my other side and holds my shoulders.

"Come on, little man," Axl murmurs. "Your brothers and sister are waiting for you."

The final boy emerges in a rush, but the silence that follows freezes my blood. He doesn't cry or move.

"Why isn't he crying?" I gasp, "He should cry..."

Marianna quickly turns him over and rubs his tiny chest. The seconds stretch like hours as we wait with bated breath.

"Come on, baby," Leo whispers. "Come on."

Then, like a miracle, the smallest, most beautiful sound fills the room. A weak but determined cry.

"There we go," Marianna says, tears streaming down her face. "He just needed a moment to figure things out."

All four of my children are alive and fighting in their incubators. The monitors show their heart rates and oxygen levels, and those numbers mean everything to me. They're here. They're breathing. They're mine.

"They're so beautiful," Evan whispers, standing between the incubators with wonder written across his face. "They're perfect."

"Where's Onyx?" I ask between pants.

"He's securing our exit route," Evan replies, as his radio crackles to life.

"Blackthorn, you need to move now," I hear Onyx's voice through the static. "Reid's bringing in heavy artillery. We've got maybe ten minutes before this whole level is compromised."

"We can't move her yet," Marianna protests. "She's too weak."

"We should..." My words slur, and I can't seem to articulate myself. Something is wrong with me. The room spins slightly when I try to sit up, and there's a strange ringing in my ears.

"Evan," I say, but my voice sounds far away, even to my ears.

He turns immediately, his expression shifting from joy to concern in an instant. "What is it?"

"I feel..." The words won't come. The ceiling above me blurs and shifts, and I can't seem to focus on his face anymore.

"Dahlia?" His voice sounds like it's coming from underwater.

I try to answer, try to tell him something's wrong, but the words dissolve on my tongue as the alarms begin to scream from the monitors attached to my body.