Not Taking Chances

Not Taking Chances
Damien’s POV

Two days after she opened her eyes, they cleared her for discharge.

Not because she was fully healed…far from it. The stitches were there, the bruising around her incision still a slight angry purple, and every time she moved too fast she had to bite her lip to keep from gasping. 

But Isabella being Isabella, she’d spent the last forty-eight hours charming, arguing, and low-key threatening the entire medical staff until they signed the papers just to get some peace.

I didn’t argue. I just made sure everything was ready.

Private corridor cleared. No press, no curious orderlies with phones. Ever since the incident, the press has been lurking around…waiting for any information they could nibble on.

Two black SUVs were idling at the loading dock…tinted windows, reinforced glass, my best guys already in the driver and passenger seats of the lead car. A third vehicle trailing two blocks back as backup. I wasn’t taking chances. Not anymore.

She insisted on walking out herself.

Of course she did.

I stayed close…arm looped through hers like we were on a casual stroll instead of navigating a hospital hallway with armed security at every exit. 

Every few steps she paused, breath shallow, hand pressing lightly against her side. I felt the tremor in her fingers. Saw the fine sweat on her upper lip. But her chin stayed up, eyes forward, that stubborn spark burning brighter than the pain.

“You’re doing that hovering thing again,” she muttered through a tight smile.

“I’m not hovering. I’m… strategically adjacent.”

She huffed a laugh that turned into a wince. “Liar.”

We reached the elevator. Doors slid open. Empty, just like I’d ordered.

Inside, she leaned against the wall…and against me. Her head tipped onto my shoulder for a second. Eyes closed. Just breathing.

I pressed my lips to the top of her head. Didn’t say anything. Words felt too small for what was sitting in my chest.

Down in the basement garage the SUVs waited, engines low and rumbling. The lead driver…Marcus…opened the back door of the second vehicle without a word. I helped her in first, slowly, carefully, one hand on her back, the other supporting her elbow like she was made of spun glass.

She slid across the leather seat with a small groan, then patted the space beside her.

“Get in before you start carrying me again. I’m not a sack of potatoes.”

I climbed in and the door shut with a solid, expensive thunk. Tinted windows sealed us in. The world outside went quiet.

Marcus pulled out smooth and silent. No sirens. No drama. Just the soft hum of tires on concrete, then asphalt, then the open road.

She lasted maybe eight minutes.

Her head was against my shoulder, fingers still tangled with mine. Breathing evening out. Then…gone. Asleep. Deep, trusting sleep. The kind she hadn’t managed in the hospital because every beep, every footstep in the hall had her flinching awake.

I didn’t move.

Just watched her.

The way her lashes rested against bruised skin. The faint freckles across her nose that only showed up in certain light. The small scar on her neck may be from some cut years before I knew her. The slow rise and fall of her chest under the oversized hoodie Agnes had smuggled in yesterday.

My thumb traced the inside of her wrist…over the faint silver chain of the waist bead tracker that had saved her life. I could still feel the ghost of her blood on my hands. Could still hear her scream echo in the warehouse.

I swallowed hard. This one would live with me for a long long time.

I pressed my lips to her temple…soft and silent more to reassure myself that she’s safe and sound.

The city blurred past the windows…the popular L.A. traffic, honking cars, neon signs flickering to life as dusk crept in. None of it mattered.

She was here.

Breathing.

Warm against my side.

Alive.

We pulled into the underground garage of my mansion forty minutes later. Same protocol… Marcus and the second guy swept the space first. Clear. I carried her anyway…scooped her up before she could protest, one arm under her knees, the other cradling her back. She stirred, mumbled something sarcastic about “dramatic entrances,” then tucked her face into my neck and went back under.

I made sure the entire upstairs was empty. Just me and her.

I wanted time…real time…to take care of her myself. No Ellie. No Agnes. No interruptions. 

She was mine alone at this moment, and I intended to give her everything.

Up the steps and into the main building. Lights low, automated. I carried her straight to the living room, settled her on the wide sectional with every throw pillow and blanket I could grab. Tucked her in like she was fragile. Like she might break if I breathed wrong.

She woke up halfway through me changing her bandage.

Eyes heavy. Voice thick with sleep. “You’re really committing to this nurse kink, huh?”

I didn’t laugh. Just kept working…peeling the old dressing carefully, cleaning the incision with saline, applying fresh gauze. My hands shook. Not much. Just enough that she noticed.

“Hey.” Her fingers caught my wrist. “Look at me.”

I did.

She searched my face…really looked. “You haven’t slept properly, have you?”

“Not much.”

“Damien…”

“I couldn’t.” My voice came out rougher than I meant. “Every time I closed my eyes I saw you on that concrete. Blood. Your eyes rolling back. I thought—” I stopped. Swallowed. “I thought if I left the room, even for a second, you’d wake up alone. Or worse…they might kidnap you again.”

Her expression softened as she tugged me down until I was sitting on the edge of the couch, then pulled me closer until I was half-lying beside her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

“I know.” I rested my forehead against hers. “But I’m not taking the chance.”

We stayed like that…quiet, tangled, breathing each other in…until the sun finished setting and the city lights came on outside the floor-to-ceiling glass.

Then my phone buzzed…a message from the same number that called days ago when we were in the hospital.

I got tense instantly. Because I know who it is, and the possibility of the content being an unpleasant one made bile rise in my throat.

She must have felt it too.

“Damien?”

I kissed her temple. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back briefly.”

I slipped out to the kitchen once her breathing evened out again.

Read the message in the dark.

‘Carlos. Confirmed. Under the 6th Street Viaduct. New backers…big ones. Be extra careful, Damien. Don’t go alone.’

I stared at the screen until the words blurred. I had vixen and her crew pull in every available resource they have to track down that bastard. I want to be the one to punish him.

Alone.

I took one last look at her…curled into the couch, breathing slowly and even, exactly where I’d put her. Safe.

Then I turned away.

I was already moving downstairs, phone in hand, before the hallway disappeared behind me. I’d have my men double the perimeter around the mansion. Every alarm will be inspected. No blind spots will be allowed. I’m not taking any chances.

Because Carlos will meet his end tonight.

And this time, I wasn’t sending anyone in my place.