Page 18 of The Chief (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #3)

CADE DIDN’T move until the door sealed shut behind the med team, and behind the pair of captains who’d just dragged Grigor’s body out of the office. Blood still streaked the marble floor in a jagged arc, a grim trail leading toward the hall. Cade had ordered them to leave it.

Let it stay. Let it stain. Let everyone in this house see what betrayal looked like.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. His arms still locked around Elise, her body cradled against his chest like if he held her tightly enough, the blood wouldn’t matter. Like he could will the damage undone.

She was too still.

Not unconscious. Not limp. Just... too calm.

Too quiet. Cade had memorized the way she moved, the rhythm of her body pressed to his.

Even when she slept, she had presence, a subtle tension in her limbs, the faintest shift in breath against his skin.

But now, her body seemed unfamiliar in his arms, like she was fading beneath the surface, slipping somewhere he couldn’t follow.

The warmth of her blood soaked through his shirt and onto his forearms, and even then, she didn’t stir.

That stillness terrified him more than the bullet had.

Because it was a silence he couldn’t break.

Dr. Vale’s voice cut in from somewhere behind him. “Let me in, Cade.”

He didn’t respond. Not right away. His fingers stayed pressed to the wound beneath her ribs—low, missing the ribs, but deep.

A through-and-through, he realized as his hand moved briefly along her back, where more blood slicked the fabric.

The bullet had torn straight through her.

No fragments, no ricochet, no need to dig for shrapnel.

Easier to repair and a hell of a lot less dangerous than it could’ve been. That alone might’ve saved her life.

The fabric of his ruined shirt was soaked with blood and sticking to her skin, both front and back.

She was trembling—barely—but it was there, that faint vibration against his forearm.

Her body fighting to stay. And that was something, because this wasn’t a catastrophic wound.

Not chest, not gut, not something that would steal her from him.

It was clean. Shocking. Painful. But survivable.

Her soul wasn’t slipping away. It was digging in. Refusing to back down. Just like her.

“Cade. I need to exam her.”

Only then did he lift his head. Not all the way. Just enough to speak.

“You let her experience one second of pain and I swear to God, I will end this entire room. I don’t care if you’ve stitched arteries in war zones or treated kings. I’ll put you on the floor myself. She’s mine. You hurt her, and nothing will save you.”

“I won’t hurt her,” Vale said calmly, stepping closer with his bag. “But she needs to be on the gurney and I need to start an IV. She may need blood.”

“Give her whatever she needs.” Cade met his gaze, his voice lethal.

“But no anesthesia until I say. She’s been through enough.

I want her aware. If she slips under too deep, I’ll never know if she’s fading too fast. You keep her right here with me, Vale.

Conscious. Responsive. Unless it’s a choice between her pain and her life, you don’t touch her without clearing it through me first.”

Vale didn’t argue. Just gestured to the gurney someone had wheeled in behind him. Cade rose cautiously, with Elise still in his arms, and carried her across the room. He laid her down himself. Gently. As if she were porcelain and not blood-slicked and gasping.

Her lashes fluttered.

“Cade...”

His head dropped immediately beside hers. “Right here, baby. I’ve got you.”

Her hand reached blindly, brushing his chest with the barest whisper of touch, light enough to stir the tension bracing every muscle in his frame.

The contact sent a burn through his chest, rage and relief crashing together as her fingers curled into his shirt.

It wasn’t just a touch. It was a claim. A plea.

A warning. Don’t leave. Don’t move. Don’t let me go.

Cade stilled beneath it, chest rising slow and sharp as her warmth sank into his skin.

Her voice cracked, small and hoarse, barely more than breath against his skin. ”Don’t leave.”

“Not a chance.”

Vale moved in with practiced speed. He checked vitals, cut away the soaked shirt, and flushed the wound with antiseptic.

Cade didn’t flinch. He kept his hand on her wrist the entire time, catching the unsteady beat beneath her skin.

When Vale insisted on giving her something for the pain, Cade nodded once, eyes locked on her face.

Her gaze swam.

“His voice. It was his voice,” she whispered, dazed. “From the reception. He was there. I heard him.”

Cade leaned in, barely able to hear her. “Where? Where did you hear him?”

She didn’t seem to take in his question.

Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, but her lips kept moving.

“I remembered his voice. Not at the wedding… the reception. After the cake. I was walking the hall, trying to breathe, and I heard him. Down the corridor, talking to someone. Not loud. Just… confident. Smooth. The kind of voice you don’t forget.

I didn’t mean to remember it, Cade.” Her breath caught, ragged, the drugs pulling at her thoughts like waves pulling at sand.

“It just stuck. I didn’t know I remembered it until he said it again.

.. and then it was there. Word for word.

Like a loop in my head. It wouldn’t go away. ”

He leaned closer, not just to listen. But to bind her to him.

Every fragmented syllable etched itself into his brain, her voice breaking and spilling with half-formed thoughts, as if her mind couldn’t catch up to the memory tumbling out of her mouth.

Cade didn’t interrupt. Didn’t shush her.

He let her unravel, let her spiral, because each word gave him more to work with. Gave him more of her.

“I didn’t mean to...” she repeated. Her brow crinkled in confusion. “He was laughing. I think. Or maybe not. Maybe that was someone else. It echoed, you know?”

He nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair back from her damp forehead with a touch that belied the storm beneath his skin.

The hair clung slightly to her temple, caught in sweat and blood and the heat still radiating from her skin.

He tucked it gently behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a breath too long, just to feel her warmth.

Just to prove she was still there. Then he let his knuckles trail along her cheekbone, a silent vow in every inch of contact.

“It echoed,” she repeated, almost like a song. Then softer, “But his voice stayed sharp. Like glass.” She blinked, lashes dragging upward. “My feet hurt. That night. Shoes were stupid. Did you know they were stupid?”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth, while his throat burned. ”I know now,” he said.

She let out a sigh, sinking deeper into the gurney. ”I’m sorry, Cade,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything.”

His chest cracked open at the words, the guilt slicing through him sharper than any blade. Fury flared, hot, instant, protective. That she could even think it was her fault? That she could lie there, bloodied and trembling, and believe she’d ruined anything?

He bent his head, pressing her knuckles to his mouth.

“You didn’t ruin anything, amore mio. You did what only you could do. You remembered what no one else heard. You gave me a target. That’s more than most ever manage.”

Her lips twitched faintly. Then silence settled. Her breathing eased. But her fingers never left his. ”I didn’t mean to...” She repeated yet again, softer now, trailing into silence as the medication tugged harder. Her lashes drifted downward.

“You saved yourself,” he said, fierce and intent. “You saved us both.”

Her lips curved, just a little. And then her eyes closed.

Not unconscious. Just resting.

Vale worked fast, stitching the clean wound along her left side with attention to detail. Cade watched every pull of the thread, every press of gauze, every wrap of the final bandage.

When it was done, he sat beside her again, hands still stained with her blood, muscles taut with leftover adrenaline. The gurney was damp beneath her. Her skin felt warm now, not with fever, but with life, subtle, stubborn, and undeniable.

The room had emptied without him noticing. Someone had cleared the discarded gauze and bloodied towels, and yet the smell of copper still lingered thick in the air. The ghost of Grigor’s betrayal hovered in the corner like a curse Cade hadn’t yet exorcised.

Vale gave him a quiet nod on his way out, the kind shared between men who understood that some wounds weren’t stitched with thread. “I’ll set up a room for her. Don’t upset her.”

Cade responded with a death stare, not because he didn’t have words.

God knew he had a thousand roaring through his chest. But because he couldn’t look away from his wife longer than an instant.

From the flutter of her lashes. From the faint indentation of his shirt still etched into her cheek.

From the way her fingers clung to his in sleep, stubborn and steady, like letting go wasn’t in her nature.

Not with him. Not now. His heart thudded against his ribs, a savage rhythm of need and fury and awe.

She was still here. And that changed everything.

And then they were alone.

The silence settled around them like velvet, thick, heavy, charged.

Morning light filtered in through the tall windows behind Cade’s desk, casting long bars across the floor and cutting into the haze of tension that hadn’t lifted since the gunshot.

The bloodstains still darkened the marble, stark red against cool gray.

Cade sat in the stillness, one hand wrapped around Elise’s, the other hovering near her side, never far from the place she’d bled.