Chapter 121
Emily Windsor's POV
The moment the car door sprang open, I practically tumbled out in a graceless heap.
Night air flooded my lungs, sharp and biting, but the cold shock actually cleared some of the fog from my scrambled brain.
The van had stopped at the edge of a desolate vacant lot. In the distance loomed the dark silhouettes of abandoned factory buildings; closer in was just a row of rusted sheet metal barriers.
I braced myself against the vehicle and dry-heaved twice for show, while my peripheral vision rapidly scanned the surrounding terrain.
To the left: a gravel road that dead-ended at a street with working lamps.
To the right: that row of sheet metal fencing, with a gap in the middle where someone had kicked a section askew.
"Hurry the hell up. What are you stalling for?" Marco drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.
I hunched over and shuffled a few steps toward the sheet metal barrier, pretending to look for somewhere private.
"Don't go too far—"
I didn't give him a chance to finish. I suddenly bolted upright and sprinted toward that bent gap in the fence with everything I had.
"Shit!"
Behind me came the violent slam of a car door and heavy footfalls hitting the ground.
Marco's curses were torn to shreds by the wind.
"You crazy bitch! Stop!"
I didn't dare look back. My canvas flats skidded on the gravel, my soles screaming with pain from every sharp stone.
I twisted sideways to squeeze through the gap in the fence. My shirt caught on a jagged edge and tore, a hot sting blooming along my arm.
Past the barrier lay an even larger expanse of empty ground. At the far end was a two-lane highway where occasional headlights sliced through the darkness.
If I could just make it to the road. If I could just flag down one car—
A gunshot exploded behind me.
The bullet whizzed past my ear and embedded itself in an abandoned utility pole ahead, spraying splinters. My eardrums rang, my legs nearly buckled, but survival instinct drove me forward.
"Take one more step and I'll shoot your leg!" Marco's voice was closer now.
I didn't care.
The highway was twenty feet away.
Fifteen.
Ten.
Headlights grew brighter—a sedan approaching fast from the left.
I opened my mouth to scream for help, but my foot caught on a loose chunk of brick. I lost my balance completely and staggered onto the pavement.
The shriek of brakes, the scream of tires grinding asphalt, and a second gunshot all erupted at once.
The metallic gleam of the hood seared the last image onto my retinas.
A massive impact slammed into me from the side. I felt like a ragdoll being swatted away. The moment my body went airborne, all sensation of pain vanished, replaced by a weightless, absurd stillness.
Then the fall.
My head struck the ground. The world went completely black.
Consciousness returned slowly, like crawling up from the bottom of a bottomless well.
Hearing came back first. The rhythmic electronic beeping of machines. The faint hum of an air conditioning vent. And a sound I'd almost forgotten—the steady, reassuring rhythm of someone else's breathing.
That breathing was very close.
I forced my eyes open. My vision blurred for several seconds before focusing on the white ceiling overhead.
An IV line extended from the back of my hand, connected to a bag of clear fluid. A heart monitor blinked quietly beside me, tracing green waves.
I turned my head.
Luke sat in the chair beside the hospital bed, one hand propped against his forehead, his posture exhausted.
He wore a black turtleneck and looked much thinner than I remembered. His cheekbones were more pronounced, his jawline carved sharp as a blade.
His other hand was holding mine.
Tightly. As if letting go meant I'd disappear.
"Luke?"
My lips moved. The sound that came out was hoarse as sandpaper.
His head snapped up.
Those eyes—the ones I'd replayed in countless desperate midnight hours—were now threaded with red veins, the shadows beneath them deep as bruises.
But the instant they met mine, all the exhaustion and darkness in them shattered, replaced by an emotion so scorching and overwhelming it felt like drowning.
"You're awake." His voice was ravaged, and the hand holding mine trembled.
I stared at him. My brain hadn't fully rebooted, but tears came first.
Not silent tears. The kind of breakdown that happens when you've held it together too long and finally find an outlet.
I opened my mouth, tried to say something, but every word tangled in my throat and dissolved into broken sobs.
"He locked me up… wouldn't let me leave… Mr. Rogers is dead… he said Lily was dead too… I thought you were also…"
I was incoherent, tears and snot streaming down my face in a complete mess.
Luke didn't speak.
He just leaned forward and pulled me into his arms.
His body temperature ran cool, almost cold, but the solid feeling of being caught—of being held—was the first real thing I'd felt in months.
One hand cradled the back of my head, pressing my face into the curve of his neck. The other moved slowly up and down my back in steady, calming strokes.
"It's over." His voice vibrated through his chest, low and grounding. "It's all over, Emily."
I cried harder.
Lily stood in the doorway for a moment, then silently backed out without even letting the door click.
I don't know how long I cried. Eventually the sobs subsided and I was left hiccupping against him like an exhausted child.
Luke released me and pressed the call button.
The doctor arrived quickly and ran through the exam just as fast. Pupils, blood pressure, bone scans—the whole routine. The verdict: soft tissue contusion in my right calf, minor shoulder dislocation already reset, mild concussion requiring forty-eight hours of observation. No life-threatening injuries.
After the doctor left, Luke sat back down and reached up to wipe the remaining tear tracks from my face. His fingertips were rough, but his touch was gentler than I'd ever known him to be.
Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead.
Dry. Faintly warm. Like a solemn vow.
"Luke." I grabbed his sleeve, my nose still stinging. "What happened? How did I get here?"
He straightened and poured me a glass of lukewarm water, watching me take small sips before answering.
"After the car hit you, the driver ran." His tone was flat, but when he said "the driver ran," his jaw tightened. "The person who hit you called 911 and an ambulance. They brought you to this hospital."
He paused.
"I have people at this hospital."
I blinked, then understood. He had assets embedded in more than one hospital in New York. The moment my name appeared in the ER registration system, the information went straight to him.
I set down the glass and gripped his hand like I wanted to fuse his knuckles into my fingers.
"Don't leave me again." My voice still shook. "Luke, I don't care what plans you still have or how many enemies are out there. Don't leave me alone again."
He looked down at me. In those usually stern eyes floated something faint—regret, maybe, or heartache.
"I won't."
He tightened his grip on my fingers.
"I swear to God, Emily. From today on, you and I stay together. Always."
He said it without smiling, without any particular expression, but somehow I believed him.
The way you believe the sun will rise. The way you believe rivers flow to the sea.
My nose stung again. I buried my face in his palm.
The hospital room door got kicked open a crack.
Lily squeezed in sideways carrying an insulated bag. She saw me clinging to Luke while he bent over me, foreheads nearly touching, and stopped mid-step.
"Should I have knocked?"
She set the bag on the bedside table and unzipped it. Inside were two containers of steaming porridge and a few small side dishes.
"Eat something first. You haven't had a proper meal in almost two days."
I sat up, eyes still red, but before I could reach for the bowl, Luke had already taken it. He stirred it with the spoon, tested the temperature, and lifted it to my lips.
Lily watched this scene unfold. Her expression grew increasingly peculiar.
"All right, all right." She crossed her arms and leaned against the window, voice dripping with disdain. "This is still a hospital, you know. Could you two dial it back a little? When the nurse comes in to chart vitals and sees this, she's gonna think she walked onto a soap opera set."
Luke continued feeding me porridge without changing expression or even looking up.
"Get out."
Lily rolled her eyes and headed for the door. Halfway there, she stopped and glanced back at me.
There was no teasing in that look. Only the relief of having survived something terrible.
"Emily. Welcome back."
The door closed softly behind her.