Page 37 of Trapped By the Cartel

I had been alone before, but it was never anything like this.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice stronger this time. Still nothing. I don't know why I expected anything different.

I tried to sit up, wincing at the sudden burst of pain in my abdomen. My hand flew to my stomach, only to encounter smooth skin instead of the familiar bulge of pregnancy. Confusion gave way to a cold dread as I lifted the sheet covering me, revealing a long, angry scar running vertically down my torso.

"What the--" I gasped, horror washing over me as the truth sank in. They had cut me open. To save Stellan.

But where was he? Was he safe? Alive?

Tears stung my eyes as fear gripped me, threatening to consume me whole. I needed answers. I needed Damon, and I needed him right in that moment.

With renewed determination, I ignored the protest of my body and swung my legs over the side of the bed. A wave of dizziness hit me, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through it, using the edge of the mattress to pull myself upright. I also removed any and all tubes going into me.

The room spun briefly before settling into focus once more. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lay ahead. I had to find Damon. I had to find my son.

Each step felt like walking on knives, but I refused to let it slow me down. I stumbled out of the makeshift infirmary, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hallway beyond. Doors lined either side, all closed tight. Which one led to Damon—and hopefully, Stellan too?

I hoped they were together, no matter what had happened.

As I hesitated, trying to decide which door to try first, a low moan echoed through the hall. It sounded like someone in agony. Or pleasure. Either way, it was clear that whoever made that sound was suffering greatly.

Without hesitation, I limped towards the source, pushing open the nearest door. Inside, I found a figure strapped to a chair, their face contorted in pain, sweat pouring down their forehead. They looked vaguely familiar, but my mind was too foggy to place them.

"Who are you?" I asked, approaching cautiously. "Do you know where Damon Vexley is?"

The figure struggled to speak, their lips curling back in a grimace. "El… Elliot," they rasped, recognition flickering in their eyes. "You shouldn't… You need to rest."

It was Hunter—the enforcer who'd barged in earlier. He looked terrible, his usually spiky hair matted and damp, his green eyes wild with pain.

"No," I insisted, shaking my head. "I need to find Damon. Do you know where he is?"

I really couldn't care much about him in that moment.

Hunter nodded weakly, pointing towards the end of the hallway. "Basement… lab... He's there." His voice trailed off, his head lolling forward as another spasm of pain racked his body.

Whatever was happening to him, it didn't look good. But I couldn't worry about that—not when Damon and Stellan might still be in danger. They were my priorities in that moment.

Ignoring the throbbing ache in my belly, I hurried towards the basement stairs, my heart pounding in my chest. Each step sent jolts of pain shooting through me, but I gritted my teeth and pressed on, determined to see this through.

At last, I reached the heavy metal door leading to the basement. With a trembling hand, I grasped the handle and pulled, revealing a dimly lit laboratory filled with strange equipment and glowing vials. In the center of the room, Damon stood over a small table, cradling something precious close to his chest.

"Damon!" I cried out, relief flooding through me at the sight of him.

He turned to face me, his ice-blue eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and guilt. In his arms, swaddled tightly, lay our son—Stellan. He was tiny, fragile, yet perfect in every way.

"He's alive," Damon murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "We made it, love. We're both okay now."

I staggered towards him, tears streaming down my cheeks, and collapsed into his embrace. As we held each other tightly, I finally allowed myself to believe that everything would be alright—that somehow, we would get through this together.

But even as I clung to him, questions remained unanswered. What had happened while I was unconscious? How had they saved Stellan? And why did Hunter seem to be in so much pain?

As if reading my thoughts, Damon pulled away slightly, his expression serious. "Elliot, there's something you should know. Something important."

His tone sent a shiver of unease down my spine. Whatever it was, I knew it wouldn't be easy to hear.

"Elliot," Damon began softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked down at me, those eyes filled with a mix of relief and fear. "You passed out earlier. During your… delivery."

I swallowed hard, my throat still dry and scratchy. I figured that was what had happened, but it still felt weird hearing him say it.

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