Page 89 of Retaliation

“Best to take her to a hospital in her territory,” she cautioned, and Phillip knew that would be the right thing to do.

She would still be in harm’s way if she remained in Japanese territory. So, with a nod, he climbed into the back of the stretched town car that pulled up next to him, never easing his grip on Poison’s still form.

As the car pulled away from the curb, he leaned back in his seat, his heart beating painfully against his ribcage as he stroked her bloodstained hair.

After what felt like an eternity, the driver cut the car’s engine in front of a hospital he had never visited before. The driver rushed around and held the door open. Scooting out of his seat, he cradled Poison’s still limp body in his arms as he got out of the vehicle.

With each step to the looming emergency room doors, dread filled his lungs as Poison’s breathing was near impossible to detect against his body. Tears threatened to resurface, and he had to blink them back.

What if he was too late? What if he didn’t stop himself in time? What if… he couldn’t let himself finish his trail of thought.

Just as everything threatened to overwhelm him, a doctor came rushing out of the doors, other medical staff on his heels, pushing a stretcher. The doctor tried to take Poison from his arms, but he couldn’t let go. He needed to protect her. It was his fault she was here in the first place.

“Scorpion,” the doctor said, a hand resting on his forearm.

He looked at the contact and back at the doctor, his face matching his own pain.

“Please let me take care of Poison. I promise no further harm will come to her,” he said, and Phillip’s mind cleared, allowing him to take her from his arms.

“You know who I am? Who she is?” he asked the doctor, who answered with a soft smile.

“She’s family, so yes, on both accounts,” he whispered, laying her on the stretcher and rushing back through the doors.

Phillip breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental

note to thank Kitiara for suggesting he bring her here.

“Female, thirty-one years of age. Blood type O-negative. Vital signs are unstable,” the doctor announced to the nurses around him, checking Poison’s eyes with a small flashlight. “What are her injuries?” the doctor asked, looking at him.

He tried not to look away; shame washing over him as he tried to list everything he had done.

“Sprained right ankle,” he stated, trying to keep emotion from his voice. “Broken left arm, possible fractured jaw, broken nose and blunt force trauma to the abdomen. So possible internal bleeding.”

Hearing himself voice the damage that he had done sent a wave of nausea to take hold of him, and cold sweat beaded on his brow as they rushed down a hallway.

“You heard him,” the doctor said to a nurse. “Prep OR two and get Doctor Schultz in there.”

They neared a set of doors, and one of the nurses stopped him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but this is as far as you can go,” she said, and Phillip had the feeling she’s had a lot of practice saying that sentence.

“No,” he pleaded. “I need to stay with her.”

He tried to move past her, but she stepped in his way.

“Sir, she needs to go into surgery. You can wait in the seating area. We will update you as soon as possible,” she insisted.

“No,” he begged, tears forming in his eyes as the doctor pushed Poison through the doors. “I need to be with her.”

“We will take care of her,” the doctor called over his shoulder as they disappeared through the doors.

He fell against the wall. Years of pain, anger, and longing came crashing to the surface, crushing his heart under its weight as he sank to the floor, the doors swinging shut and blocking his view of Poison with a final hollow thud.

His heart raced as he sat on the edge of his seat in the sterile, hospital waiting room. Each passing second felt like an eternity as he anxiously awaited news of Poison’s condition, feeling utterly helpless.

As he sat there, his mind consumed by worry, the young doctor approached him in the waiting room. Phillip’s heart leaped in his chest as he rose to meet him, a desperate hope shining in his eyes.

“How is she?” His voice trembled, his fingers fidgeting nervously as he waited for the doctor’s response. The weight of uncertainty suffocated him with each passing moment.

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