Chapter 131
"Doctor! Hurry!" Isabella's voice was frantic, almost breaking as she turned to look at Efren, who was still frozen in place.
"Efren Britton," Henley called out weakly, breaking the eerie standoff.
His breathing was shallow from blood loss and pain, but his gaze was as sharp as ever, "Don't just stand there like an idiot. Lock the door, Laura."
He glanced at Laura, who looked like she might collapse, "Go to the window. Keep an eye out for any suspicious people or cars following us."
Henley's instructions were clear and firm, snapping everyone out of their shock and panic.
Laura nodded hard, stumbling over to the window and nervously peeking through the gap.
Efren was jolted awake by Henley's scolding. He shuddered violently.
"Damn it, Henley! You're such a jerk!" He stormed to the door, quickly securing the old but sturdy bolt and dragging a heavy toolbox to block it, all while ranting, "You ruined my perfect night! Perfect, you get it? Three women! I just won a ton of money off them! And now you bring this deadly mess to my place! God will judge you! You'll burn in hellfire after you die!"
Henley grimaced in pain, but a taunting smirk tugged at his lips, "God only cherishes loyal servants like me, Efren."
"You'd better use those hands of yours, not yet ruined by booze, to keep me alive. Otherwise, if Vitale finds out I couldn't protect Ms. Lorraine and died in your lousy clinic because of your delays or incompetence, who do you think he'll take his anger out on?"
He paused deliberately, watching Efren's back stiffen, then continued, "Of course, not you. You're not worth it. He'll go after your half-brother, the one who never even looks at you—Jackson."
The name Jackson hit Efren like a red-hot needle.
Henley didn't stop, cruelly tearing open old wounds, "Jackson doesn't like you, does he? He thinks you're a bastard born to a mistress, a stain on the family name."
"But I know you really care about Jackson, your big brother. You adore him. Because when you were three, you fell into a frozen river, and Jackson, who was only ten, didn't think twice before jumping in to pull you out."
"He nearly froze to death himself. And ever since, you've followed him around like a little puppy, right? Even when he hits you, curses at you, treats you like trash."
"Shut up, Henley! Shut your mouth!" Efren spun around, his face flushed with rage.
He looked like a cornered beast, eyes bloodshot, glaring viciously at Henley.
He didn't waste another word, roughly shoving Isabella aside as she tried to press on the wound, making her stumble.
"Get out of the way, you're in my space!" he growled, but his movements were surprisingly quick and skilled.
Efren slipped on a pair of rubber gloves stained with who-knows-what, checked the position and depth of the dagger, and swiftly examined Henley's pupils and pulse.
"No damage to major organs or arteries. You're lucky, you bastard," Efren muttered curses under his breath, but his hands were already preparing tools and suture thread.
He didn't bother with anesthesia, not even asking, and barked at Isabella, "Hold him down! Pin his shoulders and legs. Don't let him move!"
Intimidated by his intensity, Isabella instinctively obeyed, teaming up with Laura, who had just regained her senses, to hold Henley down tightly.
Henley clenched his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead, giving her a slight shake of his head to signal he could handle it.
The next second, Efren gripped the dagger handle and, without hesitation, yanked it out!
Henley's body convulsed violently, a suppressed roar of agony erupting from deep in his throat as blood gushed from the wound.
Efren was quick, pressing a large piece of hemostatic cotton hard against it while his other hand already started threading a needle.
No anesthesia. The faint but distinct sound of the needle piercing flesh was chilling.
Henley's breathing was heavy, his muscles tensed like steel, sweat and blood soaking the sheet beneath him.
Yet he gritted his teeth, not letting out another loud sound after that initial cry, only occasional uncontrollable grunts and rapid gasps.
Isabella turned her face away, unable to watch, her eyes burning with tears.
Only now did she truly grasp the kind of life these people around Vitale led—a life on the edge, always one step from death.
They seemed odd, like lunatics or psychopaths, with ruthless and unpredictable ways, but every single one of them was incredibly tough—and just as dangerous.
The stitching process was long and brutal.
Efren's technique was rough but effective, the stitches tight, like he was mending a torn rag.
When he finished, he smeared a thick layer of homemade herbal paste on the wound and wrapped it tightly with relatively clean bandages.
After everything, he let out a long breath, grabbed a bottle of hard liquor from nearby, took a big swig, then walked to a shelf full of various bottles and jars with faded labels. He picked out a few pills and powders, shoved them into Henley's mouth without explanation, and forced him to swallow with a few gulps of water.
"Not dead, for now," Efren panted, wiping his face with his sleeve.
"Hey, lady," he pointed at Isabella, then gestured to the side, "does your friend over there need me to check on her? She doesn't look right."
Only then did Isabella suddenly remember Laura.
Following Efren's finger, she saw Laura slumped on the floor against the wall, her head tilted to one side, eyes closed, face flushed, and breathing rapid.
"Laura!" Isabella cried out, rushing to get to her.
But the moment she stood up, a wave of intense dizziness hit her out of nowhere, far stronger and stranger than the buzz from alcohol earlier.
The scene before her eyes spun and swayed, the dim yellow light of the clinic blurring into hazy rings.
At the same time, a familiar heat surged from deep in her abdomen, rapidly spreading through her whole body.
Her skin became hypersensitive; even the friction of her clothes sent shivers through her.
This feeling wasn't entirely new to Isabella.
On certain nights when Vitale deliberately teased her without giving relief, she had endured something similar.
But this time, it was more intense, more uncontrollable, like a wildfire raging out of control.
"What's wrong with me?" Isabella gripped a wobbly chair nearby to steady herself, her voice trembling with a hint of unintended allure she didn't even notice.
She shook her head hard, trying to shake off the unsettling dizziness and the growing strangeness in her body.
Henley, leaning against the bed, was weak but still sharp-eyed.
He glanced at the limp Laura, then at Isabella's flushed cheeks, and his expression darkened instantly.
Clenching his teeth, his voice carried suppressed anger and frustration, "You've been drugged. Those scumbags always use dirty tricks like this to create chaos or..."
He didn't finish, but the implication was clear.
During the chaos at the bar earlier, someone had released a drug, and she and Laura had unknowingly inhaled or come into contact with it.
Isabella's heart sank.
The heat was becoming unbearable, like countless ants crawling through her veins, her rational mind battered by a tidal wave of instinct.
She looked at her trembling hands, then at the unconscious Laura, overwhelmed by a flood of panic and shame.
No! This can't happen!
Isabella bit her tongue hard, the sharp pain giving her a fleeting moment of clarity.
Then, under Henley and Efren's stunned gazes, she raised her hand.
A sharp, resounding slap landed hard on her own face!
The force was so strong that clear finger marks appeared instantly on her cheek, burning with pain.
"Ms. Lorraine, don't!" Henley tried to get up in a panic but tugged at his wound, gasping in pain, "Don't hurt yourself! If you do this, and Mr. Luca comes back to see it, he'll lose it. He'll think someone hurt you, and he'll turn the entire Thalassia mafia upside down. A lot of people will die!"
Efren was also startled, quickly nodding in agreement, "Yeah, yeah, this crazy Henley is right. Vitale's super protective, especially of you. Don't hurt yourself. Good thing you're here with me—I'll whip up an antidote right now!"
He scrambled back to the shelf full of bottles and jars, frantically searching.
"But that other lady..." He pointed at Laura, "I can't carry her. She's a bit heavy, sorry."
Henley shot him a cold glare, his eyes full of contempt, "Useless."
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to get out of bed, intending to move Laura to the nearby makeshift exam table himself.
"God, Henley, don't move!" Isabella exclaimed, seeing his attempt, momentarily pushing down the heat in her body and the sting on her face.
She rushed over to stop him, completely forgetting her own condition.
After just two steps, an even stronger wave of dizziness and weakness hit her. Her vision darkened, and she stumbled, nearly collapsing to the floor.
Seeing this, Henley ignored Laura for the moment and reached out to catch her, but the movement pulled at his abdominal wound. A sharp pain made him grunt, freezing mid-action, only able to watch as Isabella swayed dangerously.
Isabella managed to grab a nearby cart just in time to avoid falling.
She gasped for air, her heart pounding wildly and erratically. The burning pain on her cheek clashed oddly with the restlessness in her body, leaving her both alert and confused.
Henley, leaning against the bed, watched her struggle in pain, his own wound throbbing as anxiety gnawed at him.
He knew regular antidotes had limited effect on such cheap but potent drugs, and they took time to work.
Isabella and Laura's conditions might not hold out that long, especially Isabella—her willpower was being drained fast.
He took a deep breath and made a decision.
"Isabella, you need to call him now."
"Call?" Isabella's increasingly foggy mind struggled to focus as she looked at Henley, "Who should I call? The police?"