Chapter 89 The Return Of The Fallen King
Mark’s POV
The back door of the rehab clinic clicked softly behind me.
No nurses shouting my name. No police waiting in the hall with cuffs ready. Just… cold air. Sharp against my skin. Clean enough to sting my lungs.
Maybe I was still dreaming. Maybe withdrawal had found a new way to mess with me.
But then Collins stepped out from behind the generator, hands in his pockets, looking like he had aged ten years in one night.
“It’s done,” he said quietly.
I stared at him. “Done… how?”
He held up a flash drive. “Danielle brought everything. The real footage. The real signatures. The timestamps. The police reviewed it, and—”
“And?”
“All charges were dropped thirty minutes ago. You’re a free man, Mark.”
My breath left my chest like someone punched it out of me. For a second, all I could do was blink at him. I wasn’t used to good news. I didn’t know how to hold it without crushing it.
“Thank you,” I finally whispered.
Two words that weren’t enough. Would never be enough.
Collins nodded once. No smile. Just tired eyes. “Let’s get you home.”
\---
The Hunt Begins
I should’ve known peace never lasted long around me.
We didn’t even make it past the city outskirts before Collins’ phone buzzed nonstop. He kept ignoring the calls, jaw tight, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror too often.
“You good?” I asked, though my stomach was twisting.
“No,” he said. “But you don’t need more stress.”
I was about to argue when headlights flashed behind us. Too close. Too fast.
Then a black van swerved into our lane.
“What the—?”
The world exploded.
Gunshots shattered the windshield. Collins shouted something I couldn’t hear over the ringing in my ears. The car jerked violently. My head hit the dashboard. More gunshots. More glass raining over us.
“Hold on!” Collins yelled.
Like I had a choice.
A tree appeared out of nowhere.
The impact threw my body forward so hard I swear my bones rattled. The seatbelt cut into my ribs. Something wet trickled down my forehead. Blood. running down my face.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. The world spun in slow motion, colors blending into each other.
Collins slumped forward beside me, blood soaking through his shirt.
“Collins,” I croaked. “Hey—hey, stay with me.”
He groaned but didn’t lift his head.
Then my phone rang.
Whoever was calling… they were insane.
I fumbled for it with shaking fingers. The screen swam in and out of focus.
Hospital Landline.
My heart stuttered.
I pressed the phone to my ear. “H-Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Simmons?” a woman asked briskly. “We have a patient here registered under you. Becca Wilton. You need to come immediately.”
My world cracked open.
“What—what happened to her?” My voice broke, raw and terrified.
“I’m afraid we can’t explain everything over the phone. But it’s urgent.”
I didn’t feel the pain anymore. Just cold. Sharp, hollow cold.
“I’m coming,” I said, breathless. “Don’t—don’t let anything happen to her. I’m coming.”
\---
The Hospital
I don’t know how I got there. I don’t know how I ran inside with blood dripping down my face or why security didn’t stop me. Maybe they saw the panic on my face. Maybe they were used to men who looked like their soul had been ripped out.
Nurses swarmed around me.
“Sir—”
“You look hurt”
“Sir, you need stitches—”
“No,” I growled, pushing past them. “Becca. Take me to Becca Wilton.”
They exchanged glances, and something in their faces made my knees weaken.
A younger nurse stepped forward. “Follow me.”
The hallway lights were too white. Too bright. Like they wanted to expose every ugly thing inside me. Each step felt like walking deeper into a grave I dug myself.
We stopped at a door.
She pushed it open.
And there she was.
My Becca.
My girl.
Unconscious. Pale. Tubes running across her body like someone had replaced her veins with lines of plastic. Her hair splayed over the pillow, lifeless. Her lips barely pink. Her chest rising so softly I thought it wasn’t rising at all.
My heart just… cracked.
A doctor turned toward me. He removed his gloves slowly.
“She was fed a slow-working toxin,” he said, voice heavy. “Very advanced… almost impossible to detect. She must have been sick for days without showing symptoms.”
My knees buckled. I caught the edge of her bed before I collapsed entirely to the ground.
“A toxin?” I whispered. “Who—who would—”
“You should sit,” the doctor said gently.
But I didn’t want a chair.
I wanted her.
I knelt beside her bed, ignoring the pain in my ribs. My fingers trembled as I reached for her hand. It was cold. Too cold. Like someone had drained the warmth out of her.
I lifted it to my lips.
“Baby,” I whispered. My voice cracked so hard it hurt. “Please… I’m here now. I swear, I’m here. Don’t leave me. Not like this. Not when I just got you back.”
No response.
Just the quiet hum of machines.
The monitor beeped steadily, each sound stabbing through my chest.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I leaned closer to her ear, my forehead against hers.
“Please, Becca. Fight. I know you’re tired. I know everything hurts. But… fight for me. I’ll get you out of this. I’ll fix everything. I promise. I swear to you. Just—stay. Stay with me.”
My tears dropped onto her pillow. I didn’t wipe them.
The doctor stood quietly, then stepped back as the machine changed.
The beeping slowed.
“Doctor?” I whispered, panic shooting up my spine.
He stiffened. “Her heart rate is dropping.”
“No—no, no, no—Becca, baby, listen to me.” I grabbed her hand with both of mine. “Stay. Stay. Please—stay.”
Beep…
Beep…
Beep…
“Get the crash cart!” a nurse shouted.
Everything blurred. People rushed in. Hands pulling, pushing, moving around her.
But I didn’t let go of her hand.
I couldn’t.
Her face was too pale. Her lips too still. Her chest barely moved under the tubes and wires.
“Becca!” I shouted, my voice breaking open. “Becca, don’t you dare do this to me. Don’t you…”
The monitor choked on its next beep.
One long, flat sound filled the room.
A single line on the screen.
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