Page 31 of The Medic (Dominion Hall #6)

SLOANE

T he world split open with the sound of screeching steel and rushing air.

One moment, we were in motion. Then came the feeling of weightlessness. A breathless, terrifying pause. Like the universe held its breath.

And then we fell.

My scream caught in my throat, sharp and silent, as the horizon tilted and the glittering Intracoastal Waterway rushed up to meet us. Charlie’s hand reached for mine, his fingers grazing my skin with desperate warmth, but that comfort couldn’t last.

The impact with the water was a violent, jarring slam. It felt like crashing through glass into another world. My lungs seized. The seatbelt bit deep into my chest. Water exploded through every seam, swallowing the inside of the vehicle in seconds.

Darkness flooded in, suffocating, wrapping me in its embrace.

Oh, my God. This is the end.

Terror clawed at my chest, raw and primal, as the car sank into the water’s depths. I didn’t know how deep it was here, but my mind couldn’t process that information. Not when my life was flashing before my eyes.

Bubbles streamed past my face, silver and frantic. My lungs burned, begging for air I couldn’t give them, and my heart thundered, a wild, trapped thing.

Charlie twisted toward me, blood blooming at his temple, eyes desperate.

He reached for me, fumbled for the seatbelt.

I clawed at mine, nails breaking, panic blinding me as the water pressed tighter, whispering I’d never surface again.

Water surged past my collarbones, into my ears, my mouth. I gasped reflexively and choked.

I wasn’t ready to die. Not like this.

I’d been Sloane Carrington—spoiled, untouchable, curated to perfection—but now I was just a girl, drowning in fear and regret, clawing for one more chance to fight.

Then the window shattered.

Shadows moved outside, swift and deliberate, like predators circling. My pulse spiked, hope and dread tangling as I pressed my palms against the doorframe. Were they Charlie’s brothers? Dominion’s men, come to pull us from this nightmare?

Hands broke through the water, gloved and unyielding, wrenching the door open with a metallic screech.

I flinched, my body curling inward, but they weren’t gentle—they seized my arms, dragging me into the abyss.

My scream bubbled uselessly, water flooding my mouth as I thrashed, my legs kicking against nothing.

What the hell is happening? I need air. Right now.

A scuba mask was shoved over my face, the seal rough on my skin, and oxygen flooded my lungs, sharp and chemical.

I gasped, choking on the sudden air, my vision blurring as the mask fogged with my ragged breaths.

I bit down. It didn’t matter. Someone squeezed my jaw open. A regulator jammed between my teeth.

Who were they?

My mind screamed the question, but my body was theirs, limp and trembling as they hauled me through the water. Their wetsuits gleamed like oil, their movements precise, mechanical. Almost as if they’d done this a hundred times before.

Department 77. It had to be.

Marshall’s trap hadn’t ended with the crash—they’d been waiting, lurking in the depths like sharks scenting blood. My stomach twisted, nausea rising as I realized they’d planned this, every second choreographed to steal me from Charlie, from safety, from the life I’d just begun to claim.

I inhaled—salt and rubber and panic—and everything went black.

Flashes. That’s all I remembered next. Like shards of broken dreams.

Lights above me, hazy and flickering. Pressure on my ribs. Someone counting. My name, distorted through water and static.

Then—Charlie. His voice calling me from far away. Or maybe it wasn’t his voice at all. Maybe it was just the memory of him, echoing in the hollow chamber where my heart used to be.

I woke on a sofa, soft but unfamiliar, every muscle aching, my head pounding like the tide against stone.

My first thought—before I could blink, before I could breathe—was that I didn’t want to wake up if Charlie wasn’t in this world.

Not ever.

The terror of that possibility hit harder than the crash. Harder than the water that had swallowed me whole. A silent scream bloomed in my chest. What if he hadn’t made it? What if he’d gone down with the car, trapped and broken and alone?

A sob crawled up my throat but didn’t make it out. I pressed a hand to my heart like I could feel for him there—like his pulse might echo inside mine.

I’d thought I was strong. I’d thought I could handle anything. But the idea of a world without Charlie Dane ripped something open in me I didn’t know I had. Because he’d become my gravity. My compass. My reason.

And if he was gone ...

God, please don’t let him be gone.

The air was still. Heavy. And something cold touched my forehead.

A cloth. Someone was dabbing my skin with a damp towel. My lashes fluttered. I tried to lift my hand, but it felt too heavy. My throat burned.

“I thought I lost you,” a voice said.

Not Charlie.

Marshall.

I blinked hard, forcing the fog away, and sat up too fast. The room spun. My body lurched sideways, caught only by the strong grip of the man beside me.

I shoved his hand away.

“You,” I rasped. My voice was shredded. “What did you do?”

He didn’t flinch. Just sat beside me in slacks and a button-down, sleeves rolled, the picture of calculated concern.

“This was the only way, Sloane. The Danes would never have let you go willingly.”

I looked down at my body—damp leggings, scratches on my wrists, a bruise blooming near my collarbone.

“Where am I?” My voice broke. “Where’s Charlie?”

Marshall’s mouth twitched. “He fought hard. You should’ve seen it. Almost admirable. But it wasn’t enough.”

My blood turned to ice.

“No,” I whispered. “No.”

He leaned in, elbows on his knees, voice soft like a funeral hymn. “He’s dead, sweetheart.”

Something inside me cracked. I think it was my soul.

“No,” I said again, louder this time. “No, he’s not. You’re lying. You’re always lying.”

“You think I wanted this?” he asked, standing. “You think I planned to take you like this? I gave you a hundred chances, Sloane. A hundred ways to do this clean. You made your choice. And now I’ve made mine.”

I tried to stand. The room tilted sideways. I caught the arm of the sofa.

“You kidnapped me,” I spat. “You drugged me. You’re the goddamn villain in this story.”

He stepped closer. “I saved you. From yourself. From them. From dying in a war you had no business fighting.”

I shook my head, the rage rising fast now. “You don’t get to decide what I fight for.”

He cupped my face like he had a right. “I do now.”

I jerked back. “There’s no way in hell I’m marrying you.”

His expression didn’t change. Not much. Just a flicker of steel behind the softness. “You don’t have a choice anymore.”

My hands curled into fists. “Charlie’s not dead. I’d feel it. I’d know.”

I hope I’d know.

“Believe what you want,” he said. “It won’t change what happens next.”

I turned my face away. Not to hide. To remember. The heat of Charlie’s hands on my hips. The way he whispered my name like a promise. The kiss we shared before I walked into the storm.

If he was dead, he died loving me. And if he was alive? He’d burn the world to find me.

Either way, I wouldn’t break. Not here. Not now. Not for Marshall fucking Preston.

I was a Dane now. Not by name. But by heart. And they don’t bury their own without a fight.

I let the silence stretch, thick as molasses, letting Marshall believe he’d rattled me. Letting him think he’d won.

But in the quiet, something else bloomed. A flicker of clarity. A steadying pulse beneath the grief.

I used to think heat on a tarmac was the worst thing that could happen to me.

I used to complain when the air conditioning didn’t work backstage or when a brand wanted me to endorse some product so out of touch, it felt like social media suicide.

There was a week last year when I cried because a designer pulled my name from their invite list and sent it to someone younger, shinier.

That version of me didn’t know a damn thing.

This—what I’d just lived through—this was real. Cold, dark, terrifyingly real. And the only thought that had gotten me through it wasn’t my mother, or my influencer career, or even survival.

It was Charlie.

His voice. His laugh. The way he always seemed to know what I needed, even when I didn’t. That fierce protectiveness in his eyes when he looked at me like I was something worth keeping safe.

He’d said he loved me. Not in a fancy speech. Just raw. Simple.

I love you, Sloane.

And I hadn’t said it back.

I hadn’t even realized I needed to.

But now I did.

I loved him. I loved him so much it made my chest hurt worse than the crash, worse than the dark water that had swallowed us whole.

I didn’t care where he lived, what he owned, or what my life used to look like.

I didn’t need red carpets or private jets or curated campaigns.

Hell, I’d live in a shack in the woods. A trailer in the desert.

A rusty boat floating on God-knows-what water.

I’d sleep on the floor if it meant waking up to him.

I turned to Marshall, my voice shaking but sure. “You think you’ve won?”

His jaw ticked. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

“No. You’re wrong.” I straightened, even though every muscle in my body screamed. “You can drag me across state lines, throw me in some twisted Department 77 dungeon, but you can’t make me love you. You can’t erase what I feel.”

He said nothing. Just stared like I was an equation he couldn’t solve.

“I love him,” I said, louder now, letting the truth fill the room.

“Charlie Dane. I love him. And not in some fantasy way I can switch off when things get hard. I love him enough to choose him over everything. Over luxury. Over comfort. Over safety. I’d live in a damn cardboard box if it meant being by his side. ”

Marshall’s nostrils flared. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. “You can kill a career. You can ruin a reputation. But you can’t kill this. What I feel for him? It’s already carved into my bones. It’s not going anywhere. And you … you can go fuck yourself.”

He took a step back like my words had scorched him. Good.

His hands clenched into fists, but I didn’t stop.

“You want obedience? Buy a dog. You want a wife? Find someone who’s desperate. Because this girl—this woman—isn’t for sale. Not anymore.”

He stared at me, cold calculation in his eyes. But beneath that? I saw it.

Fear.

Because he knew I meant every word. And somewhere deep down, he knew that even if Charlie was gone, his ghost would still win. Because love like that doesn’t die.

It fights. And I’d fight him with every ounce of strength I could muster.