Page 76 of Bought By Santa

My composure shatters like a dropped wine glass, and I stride toward him, my hands outstretched as if to steady myself. Carolina’s hand on my arm is my lifeline, her presence a comforting reminder.

“What happened?” I growl. “Tell me everything. Now!”

Sergei takes a deep breath, wincing as he speaks. “We were at the warehouse… I thought it was secure, I swear. But they were waiting for us. I… I don’t know how. I’m so sorry.”

“Focus,” I bark, my voice harsh. “How is Jack? Is he…” I can’t bring myself to finish the question.

“He’s alive… for now,” Sergei pauses, his gaze flickering to Carolina before returning to mine, “he’s been shot… multiple times. We were out-manned. I managed to get him in the car and drove us here as fast as I could.”

“It’s not your fault,” I cut him off, my nails digging into my palm so hard I think I break the skin. “How… how bad?”

Sergei hesitates, “He’s lost a lot of blood. Umm, they got him in his chest and abdomen. The bleeding… I don’t know, man. It was bad. Really fucking bad.”

“Where is he?” I demand, my voice a low growl.

“Inside with—”

“Show us,” I snap, already striding toward the entrance.

I barrel through the sliding doors of the hospital, Carolina’s hand tight in mine. The crisp scent of disinfectant hangs heavy in the air, but it’s the underlying hint of iron—the smell of blood—that has my stomach turning in knots. Not because I’m squeamish, but because it could be my brother’s.

Fuck!

Following Sergei, I barely look around until I spot Marco immediately. He’s a tower among men with his broad shoulders set like a barricade before the operating room.

“Room’s secure, boss. No one gets in or out without our say-so.” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it that tells me he’s ready for war.

“Good. Keep it that way,” I command, as I turn to look at Carolina. She’s a pillar of strength beside me, her resolve evident even in the gentle pressure she applies to my hand—a silent promise that she’s here with me, for every breath, every beat of my racing heart.

Time loses meaning as we wait. Doctors and nurses become blurs of white and blue as they rush in and out of the operating room. Each time the door swings open, my heart lurches, half-expecting the worst. Carolina’s touch, light on my forearm, is the only anchor keeping me tethered to sanity.

The voices are a cacophony of medical jargon, but beneath it all, there’s a current of determination that I can’t help but cling to. “He’s fighting,” I hear one nurse say, and something inside me clenches—because that’s what Knights do. We fight.

“Nicklas,” Carolina whispers, her voice slicing through the haze of my thoughts. Her eyes, usually so bright, now mirror the storm brewing within me. But it’s her unyielding stance, the way she faces this chaos head-on that fuels the fire in my chest. “Maybe we should move.”

“Fuck no,” I reply, letting her see the truth in my eyes—I’m not going anywhere. Not when my brother’s life hangs in thebalance, and certainly not when she’s standing by my side, being my rock when I need it most.

“I just meant over there,” she says, pointing at a row of chairs lined against the wall. “So it’s easier for them to get in and out.”

Marco murmurs his agreement, assuring me he’s staying in position.

“Fine,” I grind out, letting her drag me over to the chairs. I pick the one closest, so when I crane my neck, I can still see the door Marco is guarding.

With each passing hour, the tension builds, wrapping around us like a vise.

As the night stretches on, I can’t sit still any longer and instead, I begin pacing the length of the hall. It must look ridiculous as I walk backwards, refusing to take my eyes off Carolina. She’s slumped in her chair, her head resting against the wall as she sleeps softly.

Suddenly, the doors burst open behind Marco.

The doctor’s grim face is the first thing I see as he approaches, and my heart hammers against my ribcage. The sharp scent of antiseptic fills the air as he stops in front of us, his expression unreadable.

“Mr. Knight?” His voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent of urgency that sets me on edge.

“Tell me,” I demand, my throat tight with barely contained panic. At my words, Carolina startles awake. When her eyes find me, she jerks up from the chair and rushes to my side.

“Jack’s condition is severe,” the doctor begins, and Carolina’s hand finds mine, her grip like a lifeline. “He sustained multiple gunshot wounds. One bullet caused a cardiac arrest. We lost him for a minute on the table, but we brought him back. He’s stable now, but critical.”

Fuck! Dead even for a moment—it’s unthinkable. Fury and fear churn inside me, a storm ready to break free.

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