Page 6 of Ruined By Blood
"The blonde from the Marconi wedding?" Noah raises an eyebrow. "Thought you handled that."
"So did I."
We stand in comfortable silence, two men accustomed to violence finding peace in the quiet. Noah doesn't do small talk, which is why I tolerate him more than most. He understands the value of silence.
With a smirk, he slips back inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the distant sounds of the city.
The peace lasts exactly thirty-seven seconds before a scream shatters the night—sharp, terrified, and unmistakably female. It comes from the gardens below.
I don't hesitate. Drawing my gun from its shoulder holster, I vault over the balcony railing. The drop is fifteen feet, but I land with practiced ease, knees bending to absorb the impact. I scan the darkness, gun raised, every sense heightened.
Another cry, weaker this time, guides me toward the eastern edge of the garden. I move silently between hedges and statues, following the sound.
Behind the fountain, partially hidden by ornamental bushes, I find a crumpled form on the ground—a woman, her body curled into itself like a wounded animal.
FUCK.
Blood.
That's all I see at first—a spreading crimson stain against red fabric. The woman from the bar lies crumpled behind the fountain, her dress hiked up indecentlyaround her thighs, one hand clutching weakly at her ribcage.
I'm at her side in seconds, my gun already drawn. The garden lies eerily silent now, but whoever did this could still be watching.
"Can you hear me?" I ask, keeping my voice low as I crouch beside her.
No response. Her chest rises and falls shallowly—alive, at least. I press my fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse. It flutters beneath my touch, weak but steady.
I pull out my phone, keeping my gun trained on the surrounding darkness. Noah answers on the first ring.
"I need you at the south garden. Now. Bring the car around back."
"Problem?" His voice is instantly alert.
"Woman down. Injured. Bleeding." I keep my words clipped, efficient. "Hurry."
While I wait, I shrug off my jacket, carefully draping it over her exposed legs. Her skin is cold to the touch. Shock, probably. My eyes scan the shadows between the sculpted hedges, watching for any movement.
I don't holster my weapon. Instead, I position myself between her and the open garden, becoming a shield. The thick scent of roses mingles with the metallic tang of blood as I keep guard.
Her eyelids flutter briefly, a small moan escaping her lips, but she doesn't wake. Up close, I can see the delicate features of her face, the gentle curve of her neck where it meets her shoulder.
A low whistle cuts through the night, barely audible. Noah's signal. I don't lower my guard—this place taught me long ago that safety is an illusion bought with vigilance.
"Here," I murmur, loud enough for only him to hear.
Noah materializes from the shadows, moving with that silent precision that earned him his reputation. His eyes flick from me to the woman, then scan the perimeter.
"Fuck," he breathes, crouching beside me. "What happened?"
"Don't know yet." I holster my weapon, assessing the best way to move her. "Watch our backs. I need to get her out of here."
I slide one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her shoulders. Her body weighs almost nothing as I lift her against my chest. The front of her dress is soaked with blood, warm and sticky against my shirt.
"South exit," Noah says, already moving ahead to clear our path. "Car's waiting."
The woman stirs in my arms as we cross the garden. Her eyes flutter open—deep blue, unfocused with pain. When they lock onto my face, raw terror floods them.
"No," she gasps, struggling weakly against my hold. "Please, not back to him."
