Page 111 of Ruthless Savior
If he did, I’m going to make sure those questions fucking hurt.
"They're gone." I carefully move her hand to assess the damage. The wound is in her side, bleeding faster than it should. It doesn’t look like a bullet directly—maybe a graze from a ricochet or a fragment from something splintering. "We need to get you to a hospital."
She lets out a low moan of pain. "The baby?—"
"The baby's going to be fine. You're both going to be fine." I'm saying it as much for myself as for her, trying to will it into being true through sheer force of belief.
But as I lift her carefully in my arms, as I feel how fragile she is against my chest, all I can think about is Siobhan. About how I wasn’t there, how I wasn’t enough to keep her and our child safe. I wasn’t ever enough for her, in any way. And while I never wanted her as my wife, she didn’t deserve to die.
I failed to keep them alive. I failed at the one thing that, above all else, I should do.
History is repeating itself. I'm going to lose them both, and this time it will destroy me because this time I love her. This time she's not just an arranged bride—she's the woman I chose overmy father’s will, over my desire for him to be proud of me, to love me.
She’s the woman that I’ve realized I’d burn everything down for if it meant I could keep her safe.
And I didn’t tell her. I haven’t told her. Even now, I can’t make the words spill from my lips. I don’t think I know how to sayI love you. I can’t remember if I ever have.
"I'm scared,” Leila whispers, her voice fainter now, and I feel the sound of it tear at my heart.
"Don't be scared." I press my lips to her forehead as I carry her toward the door, toward the promise of getting her to a hospital, to someone who can help her better than I can, now. "I've got you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
“Promise me you’ll take care of my mom,” she whispers. “If I don’t… if I?—”
"Stop. Nothing's going to happen to you." I feel her get heavier in my arms as I say it, and I realize she’s passed out. Fear coils through me, cold as ice, and I shout for Colin as I step out into the hall.
“She needs a hospital.Now. Get a car—” I start barking orders, already moving past my men, heading for the front door and a vehicle that better be fucking waiting for me to get my wife to someone who can save her.
As I get into the car, still cradling her, all I can think is that this will be the thing Rocco will regret most in whatever remains of his very short life. I don’t care what plans my father has or how strategic I’m meant to be about this.
I’m not going to wait any longer.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
28
RONAN
The sterile white walls of St. Vincent’s feel like a tomb as I pace the surgical waiting room. It's been three hours since they wheeled Leila into emergency surgery, and it feels like a lifetime. It’s too much time to think, too much time to go over every possible terrible outcome while I wait for someone to walk out of those doors and toward me with news.
When I’m not catastrophizing over Leila’s fate, I’m imagining how I’m going to kill Rocco. All the ways a man can die, and how to draw it out. My jaw hurts from grinding my teeth together, and I can tell I’m making the others in the waiting room nervous, but I’m beyond caring.
I keep thinking about what I could have done differently. If I could have been faster, better, if I should have done something else to protect her. If this was my fault, if my neglect, my failure in some way contributed to Leila lying on that operating table right now instead of safe in a bed, as I promised her she would be.
I promised her.
I’ve gotten one update so far—that what seems to be ricocheted pieces of bullet fragments are lodged in Leila’sabdomen. The surgeon was concerned for the pregnancy, especially with the need for surgery, but they said they’re monitoring her closely.
Monitoring. It sounded so clinical, so simple. Meanwhile, I’m frantic, a powerful man reduced to nothing more than another loved one waiting for news, with nothing I can do to help or speed things along.
As soon as I know how the surgery went, I’m going after Rocco. I’ve already called Colin and told him to start coordinating, looking for information on where those men came from. If Rocco is in Ireland, or back in Boston still. Either way, his life is now a clock ticking faster than it was before toward his end.
I look up at the sound of shoes clicking on the tile, and my eyes widen in shock. My father is striding toward me as if he owns the hospital itself, in a tailored suit despite the hour, with his silver hair and beard neatly groomed. Behind him trail two of his personal bodyguards, men I've known since childhood but who answer to him, not me.
"How is she?" Padraigh asks without preamble.
I blink, startled that he’s asking about Leila. There’s no real concern in his voice, but still…
“She’s in surgery,” I manage. “She’s…” I break off, unable to finish the sentence. I still haven’t told him about the baby, and this isn’t the time that I want to do it. I don’t want to hear whatever he’ll have to say about it.
