Page 113 of Wicked Sinner
His blue eyes focus on mine with visible effort. "Bridget..."
The gunfire is tapering off now, and I can hear someone shouting that the sniper is down. But Caesar's breathing is getting shallower, his eyes starting to unfocus.
"We need to get him to a hospital," I say, looking around frantically. "Now!”
"Boss, we've got the SUV ready," someone calls out. "We’ve called Dr. Ackley. She’ll make sure no one at the hospital asks questions.”
They lift Caesar carefully, and I climb into the car beside him, keeping pressure on his wound despite the blood soaking through my fingers. His skin is getting cold, too cold, and his breathing is shallow and rapid. His eyes are closed, and I think for a moment that he’s lost consciousness.
His eyes open again, but they're unfocused, glassy. "Love you," he whispers, so quietly I have to lean down to hear him.
"I love you too. So much. And when you're better, we're going to talk about everything, okay? About the divorce, about our future, about?—"
But he's not listening anymore. His eyes have closed again, and this time they don't open when I call his name. He didn’t hear me, I realize, and I stare down at all of the blood, wondering if the bullet hit something vital. The wound is too low to be sure. And I’m not a doctor. All I know is that there’s so much blood.
"No," I whisper, my voice breaking. "No, no, no. Don't do this. Don't leave me now."
The SUV is speeding through the Miami streets, lights blurring past us. Tristan is on the phone from where he’s sitting on the other side of Caesar, coordinating with the doctor, giving updates on Caesar's condition. But all I can focus on is the man lying too still beside me, his face pale as death.
I should have told him sooner. Should have told Tristan to fuck off, that we’d leave in a minute, and said the words when hewas conscious to hear them, when I could see the relief and joy in his eyes. Instead, I thought we had time. I thought I could say it later, at the perfect moment, when we were alone.
Caesar saved me tonight, just like I knew he would. He rescued me because he loves me—because somewhere in the middle of this complicated, impossible situation, we found something real.
And now I might lose him before I ever get the chance to tell him that I don't want a divorce. That I want to stay married to him, not because I have to, but because I choose to. Because despite everything—the kidnapping, the forced marriage, the dangerous world he's brought me into—I can't imagine my life without him in it.
I’d be safer without him, probably. But I wouldn’t feel what he makes me feel, ever again. And I can’t let this man go—this man who wants me despite how wrong I am for him, how everything about me is all wrong for his world—now that I’ve finally realized I can’t see a future where he’s not there.
"Please," I whisper, pressing my lips to his forehead. "Please don't leave me. I just found you."
We just found each other, it feels like, that day we spent together away from all of this. I can’t live with that being the only memory I have of us trying to be what we need to be for each other.
But Caesar doesn't respond. His breathing is getting shallower, and I can feel his life slipping away beneath my hands.
The SUV screeches to a halt as we pull up to the hospital, and suddenly there are people everywhere—paramedics, medical equipment, urgent voices giving orders. They transfer Caesar to a stretcher and wheel him toward the door, his men following as I jump out of the SUV after him.
I try to get closer to him as they hurry toward the elevator, but someone stops me. Tristan, I realize.
“Let them handle it,” he says firmly. “He’s in good hands. We’ll get an update as soon as there’s something for us to know.”
"I'm his wife!" I protest, fighting against the firm hand on my arm, "I need to be with him!"
"The best thing you can do for him right now is let Dr. Ackley save his life."
Through the closing door, I catch one last glimpse of Caesar's pale face before he disappears into the elevator. And all I can do is wait, and hope that I haven't lost the man I love before I ever got the chance to really have him.
The waiting room is sterile and cold. I pace back and forth, my hands still stained with his blood, replaying every moment of the evening over and over in my mind. Tristan, surprisingly, waits with me, calling his wife to update her on the situation before settling into a plastic waiting room chair.
I can’t help but feel guilty. He was there to save me. Maybe I should never have given him hope that this would work. Maybe I should have run after that first attack, somehow gotten so far away he wouldn’t have found me, even though in the back of my head I know that would have been a lost cause. It feels like this is somehow my fault, even though I know logically that it wasn’t, and that if Caesar hadn’t come for me, I’d be enduring torture right now, possibly even losing the baby eventually from the shock of it.
That wouldn’t have been a good outcome either—but I can’t stand that he might be dying right now because of me.
"Bridget." Tristan's voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. He's still here, still covered in blood from the warehouse, somehow looking calm despite it. "You should sit down."
"I can't." My voice comes out hoarse, raw from crying. "I can't just sit and wait."
"He's strong," Tristan says quietly. "He’s gotten through plenty in his life, from what I’ve heard. If anyone can survive this, it's Caesar."
I want to believe him. I need to believe him. Because the alternative—a world without Caesar in it, one where I never get to tell him how to feel and where I have to raise our child without them ever knowing him—feels too horrible to contemplate.
