Chapter 12 I Let You Go
Elizabeth stopped struggling. Her body went still, as if she had resigned herself to whatever was coming.
Seeing her compliance, Michael forced more of the drug down her throat. The aphrodisiac worked fast. The moment his grip loosened, Elizabeth's hand darted into her pocket. A flash of steel—she drew a sharp knife and slashed her own arm. Pain ripped through her, clearing the haze in her head.
The onlookers froze. A few with weaker stomachs screamed.
"She's trying to kill herself!"
Elizabeth pressed the blade to Michael's throat, her lips curling into a grim smile. Her voice was hoarse, almost intimate. "Mr. Wilson... how about we die together?"
Michael's bravado shattered. Fear flooded his eyes. If he'd known she'd still fight after being drugged, he would have tied her up first.
"Put the knife down, I'll let you go," he stammered.
She pushed the blade harder. Blood welled along his neck. "Not a chance. You'd come after me again. Do you think I'm stupid?"
The door burst open.
Timothy stood in the doorway, black shirt open at the collar, cigarette between his fingers. He lifted his phone slightly. "Heard someone yell about suicide. I've already called the police."
The men holding Tom released him instantly.
Tom strode toward Elizabeth. "Elizabeth, let me take you to the hospital."
He didn't dare pull Michael away; the knife was already biting into Michael's skin. Elizabeth's left arm bled freely. Her right hand clutched the knife, her fist tangled in Michael's hair. Her gaze found Timothy.
Timothy hadn't expected this scene when he'd stepped out for a smoke. He'd seen her enter the private room with Tom earlier, talking like they knew each other. Now, hearing the screams, he'd come to check—and walked straight into chaos.
His eyes hardened. He bit down on the cigarette, grabbed Michael by the collar, and drove his fist into the man's head. His blows were brutal, precise. The smile on his face was almost gentle, but his arms carried the explosive force of a coiled predator.
No one dared intervene. Timothy's final strike was a savage kick, crushing Michael's groin. Michael folded with a strangled cry, eyes rolling back before he collapsed.
Timothy didn't waste time. He dropped the cigarette to the floor, crushed it under his shoe, stripped off his shirt, and stepped toward Elizabeth.
He wrapped the shirt around her shoulders, crouching to meet her eyes. "Let me take you to the hospital. Give me the knife."
Her fingers tightened on the handle. She bit her lip, trying to focus on his words. The room buzzed with noise. For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating—Timothy's face seemed unreal.
"Thank you," she rasped.
Timothy closed his hand around her wrist and eased the knife away.
Glancing at her arm, he pressed down to stem the bleeding. "Shirt. Now," he said to Tom.
Tom stripped off his jacket without hesitation. Timothy tore the sleeve, binding her arm before wrapping her fully in the fabric. Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her out.
Tom followed, pulling out his phone to call Armando. His jaw was tight, his voice cold. "You'll regret this, Armando."
Elizabeth's voice was barely a whisper. "Tom... I don't want to see Armando right now."
Timothy caught it. "She says she doesn't want to see that bastard," he relayed.
Tom frowned, unsure who she meant.
Her cheek rested against Timothy's chest, feeling the heat radiating from him. "Thank you," she murmured.
Timothy's gaze dropped to her flushed face, her teeth digging into her lower lip.
At the Charm Club parking lot, Armando told his bodyguards to bring Elizabeth back. Sherry's eyes flickered. If Armando truly meant to hand Elizabeth over to Michael, he wouldn't be sending her home.
Two guards stepped into the elevator. Armando's phone rang—Tom.
"Elizabeth tried to kill herself. Michael's been stabbed."
Armando's expression iced over. "Where is she now?"
"On the way to the hospital," Tom replied evenly. "She says she doesn't want to see you. You went too far this time."
"The Johnson Group will no longer work with the Wilson family," Armando said flatly. "And Michael? She's got nerve—pulling a knife like that. Does she want prison?"
He hung up, opened the car door for Sherry, and drove off. As long as Elizabeth was alive, that was enough.
Sherry leaned against him. "What happened with Elizabeth?"
"She's fine," Armando said shortly.
She slid closer, resting her head on his shoulder. "Stay with me tonight?"
Tom moved to follow Timothy's car but froze at the man's sharp, warning glare.
Timothy drove like a bullet, taking her straight to the hospital. The moment he saw her shifting uncomfortably, a faint sound slipping from her lips, he knew the drug was still in her system.
His jaw tightened. He called ahead, ordering a team to be ready. Doctors were waiting when they arrived.
"Hold still," he murmured, keeping her wrapped in his shirt.
Elizabeth was in agony. Timothy's eyes darkened. "Move," he ordered the staff.
They worked fast—cleaning the wound, drawing blood for tests.
"She's pregnant," one doctor said.
Timothy's stomach dropped. The drug's composition was unknown; until the results came back, they couldn't risk giving her anything.
"Clear the room," he said.
Once the nurses were gone, Timothy looked down at her. She was biting at his shirt, her eyes unfocused.
"Elizabeth... let go."
She didn't respond, lost in the feverish haze. He tightened his hold to keep her still. She growled and bit him.
"Damn it!" The pain shot through his arm, twisting his expression.