Page 74 of Rescued By Four Alphas
The footsteps stop right outside our door. I clutch my daughter closer to my chest, my heart hammering so hard I'm sure they can hear it through the metal door.
Then the door explodes inward with such force that it bounces off the wall behind it. Armed men in black pour into the small space, their weapons raised and ready. But I only see one face.
Evan.
His hair is wild, his expensive suit torn and stained with what looks like blood. His eyes are blazing with a fury I've never seen before, scanning the room for threats. When his gaze lands on me - on us - his entire face transforms.
The rage melts away, replaced by shock so profound he stumbles backward.
"Dahlia?" His voice cracks on my name. "Are you okay?"
That's when I completely fall apart.
The sobs come from somewhere deep in my chest. It's ugly and raw and desperate. All the fear and pain and terror of the past few days pour out of me in a flood I can't control.
"Evan," I choke out between sobs. "She's here. Our baby girl is here."
He drops his weapon and crosses the room in two quick strides, falling to his knees beside me. His hands shake as he reaches out to touch our daughter's tiny head.
"She's so small," he whispers, his own eyes filling with tears. "Is she okay?"
"She's breathing," I manage. "But Evan, the others… there's something wrong..."
Marianna speaks up from behind him. "She's bleeding from the first delivery. The remaining three babies are showing signs of fetal distress. We urgently need proper medical equipment, including incubators, surgical tools, and IV fluids. Without them, we could lose them all."
The color drains from Evan's face. He turns to the men who came with him.
"Find out where the medical equipment in this godforsaken place is!" he barks at them.
One of the men, older with weathered features, speaks up. "We captured two facility personnel on our way down. Want me to make them talk?"
"Do it," Evan orders without hesitation.
The man disappears, and we can hear shouting from the corridor. Within minutes, he's back.
"There's a fully equipped neonatal unit on the fifth floor," he reports. "Complete with preemie incubators and surgical suites. The elevator shaft is compromised, but there's a service stairwell that's still secure."
"How do we get there safely?" Evan demands.
"My team will clear the route. You carry your woman; I'll have Rivera take point."
Evan doesn't hesitate. He slides his arms under me, one supporting my back and the other under my knees. The movement sends fresh pain shooting through my body, and I gasp.
"I've got you," he murmurs against my ear. "I've got both of you."
Marianna carefully takes our daughter, cradling her against her chest. The baby's cries have grown weaker, and that terrifies me more than anything else.
"We need to move fast," Marianna says. "She needs warmth, and I need to monitor her."
Evan's men move around us like protective shields, their weapons raised as they scan for threats. I can hear distant gunfire, shouts, and occasional explosions.
"How many of Reid's people are left?" I ask Evan as we climb the service stairs.
"Too many," he says grimly. "But not for long."
The room looks like something from a high-end hospital, not a secret government torture facility.
"This is perfect," Marianna breathes, immediately moving to one of the incubators. "Help me get her settled."
