Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 140940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
The doctor planned to give us a more thorough report tomorrow.
Then, there was the bullet that struck his abdomen. The thought of it possibly damaging his liver or spleen was enough to send shivers down my spine.
The final bullet had been lodged in his shoulder. Fortunately, the dense networks of nerves and blood vessels were unharmed.
They shot you five times. That could not have been a coincidence. Did they know who you were?
The fact that Maxwell still hadn’t woken up yet could be due to the anesthesia, the shock his body was enduring, or the medications meant to keep him sedated and pain-free.
Regardless, the nurses had urged my mouse to be patient, explaining that waking up after such traumatic injuries and surgeries would take time and that they wanted to ensure he was stable and not in pain when he finally did awaken.
You better get up, Maxwell. My mouse will not be okay if you do not.
I moved my gaze back to the dim outline of my mouse.
A deep sense of helplessness settled over me.
Please, God.
Maxwell had to pull through. It would be the only way my mouse would get to piece back together the fragments of the life she had that bullets had shattered.
She wiped away tears with her hands and watched him some more, whispering something.
Was she talking to God like me?
Would both of our prayers be heard?
In that bathroom, Emily had faced down masked men with unwavering courage, shooting and stabbing, slamming and kicking.
It was hard to pay attention to my own battle. I’d been so in awe of her.
But now she sat there, crumbling under the weight of Maxwell’s fight for life.
I had warred with many adversaries, but this helplessness in this moment was a foe that I had no weapon against.
Wake up, Maxwell.
Why did humanity have to be so fragile?
Especially in my life—one entangled in the web of crime.
Littered with danger.
Where loyalty was often paid in blood, and betrayals settled with bullets.
Every day precariously balanced on the edge of a knife, with death—the Devil’s assistant—a constant, uninvited companion lurking in the shadows.
God. . .we have lost too many. Please. . .spare us this pain.
Already, the echoes of my past decisions haunted my conscience.
Pavel’s ghostly image flashed through my mind.
No. Maxwell cannot die. The idiot would definitely enjoy spooking me for the rest of my life.
I gave up on praying to God, and focused on my old friend.
Death. . .
He was always waiting, patient and indiscriminate. And he didn’t care about your plans, your dreams, or your fears.
He was the one true equalizer.
Death, Maxwell is not for you. Not now. You must wait.
The nurse on my right applied a pressure bandage to my side and spoke, “Almost finished, sir.”
I grunted and put my gaze on my mouse.
She now clutched Maxwell’s hand tightly in hers.
Earlier, I had to yell at Emily to allow her own wounds to be tended by the staff. She had reluctantly agreed, but made the nurses treat her in Maxwell’s room.
The whole time her gaze never left his still form as the medical team worked to assess and treat her injuries. They cleaned her abrasions with meticulous care, dressed her lacerations, and ensured no internal injuries were overlooked.
I tried another option.
Devil, if you spare Maxwell. . .I promise to give you many more souls this year.
I thought of the cartels.
I swear your hellish empire will rise. Bodies will pile in your name.
My jaw clenched.
Call off your assistant.
“There we go, sir.” The nurse finished bandaging my side and sighed. “Would you like something for the pain?”
“No.”
Any dulling of the senses might take me away from this reality.
I couldn’t afford to drift.
I needed to be present for Emily.
For my sons.
What will we say to Paolo, when he does not see Uncle Maxwell for breakfast in the morning?
I gritted my teeth to hold in the sadness rising within my core.
The nurses gave me a nod and left.
My new phone vibrated in my pocket.
I pulled the device out and placed it next to my ear. “Yes?”
“Kazimir.” Misha’s voice came through, strained and unlike his usual firm tone. It was laced with an unmistakable tremor, the kind that spoke of tears held back by sheer fucking will.
That told me that this would be a difficult call with my cousin.
Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes and kept my words steady. “Maxwell is out of surgery.”
“Has he woken up?”
“Not yet.”
“Ava and I are on the plane now. We take off as soon as the damned pilot finishes his checklist. In fact, if he takes any longer. . .”
Ava’s soothing voice sounded in the background as if she were calming him down. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but I did hear him loudly exhale.
Whatever she had said, it had helped.
Misha sighed again. “Three planes already left full of men and weapons.”