Chapter 3 - Chapter 3 - Blood in the Corridor
The peaceful quiet of the observation room shattered instantly. Rafe was a different creature in a fraction of a second; the vulnerability vanished, replaced by cold, lethal focus. He dropped her wrist, grabbed his shirt, and stepped in front of Tessa as if to shield her with his own massive body, even while bleeding internally.
"Stay behind me," Rafe ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Before Tessa could grab her trauma bag, the heavy metal door shuddered under a massive physical impact. Someone was trying to break through the lock. Rafe didn't hesitate. He yanked the heavy steel oxygen tank free from the wall bracket, using it as an improvised weapon, positioning himself directly beside the doorframe.
With a deafening crash, the door flew inward, splintering the heavy wooden frame. Two masked men lunged into the room brandishing silenced submachine guns, their eyes locked on Rafe. But they had underestimated who they were dealing with. Before they could level their barrels, Rafe moved with terrifying, explosive speed. He drove the heavy steel cylinder directly into the chest of the first intruder, sending him flying backward across the hallway.
The second man raised his weapon, swinging the barrel toward Rafe’s exposed flank. Panic flared in Tessa’s chest—not for herself, but for him. Without thinking, she grabbed a heavy stainless-steel tray stacked with surgical instruments and hurled it with all her might, catching the attacker squarely across the side of his head. The man staggered, disoriented for a split second, and that was all the opening Rafe needed. He closed the distance with two massive strides, wrapping his giant hands around the attacker's throat and slamming him against the concrete wall until the man slumped unconscious to the floor.
Heavy footsteps pounded down the corridor a moment later, and Malcolm burst around the corner, his pistol drawn, flanked by three more of the syndicate’s elite guards. He took in the scene—the two unconscious gunmen bleeding on the floor, Rafe standing tall despite his torn stitches, and Tessa unharmed holding a medical tray.
"Boss! Sector four is compromised," Malcolm barked, scanning the wreckage. "There’s a cleaner squad inside the ventilation network. They aren't local thugs; these are professional hitmen from the Syndicate’s rival faction."
Rafe exhaled a slow, controlled breath, though fresh blood was beginning to seep through his bandage, staining his shirt a dark crimson. He looked down at Tessa, his eyes burning with an intense, protective fire. "Are you hurt?"
"I’m fine," Tessa said, her hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline rush, though her voice remained steady. She dropped the tray and immediately rushed to his side, pressing her palm against his bleeding flank. "You just tore your stitches wide open, you absolute idiot. Sit down before you bleed out on my floor."
Rafe let out a low, gravelly chuckle that rumbled in his chest, allowing her to guide him back down onto the edge of the exam table. "You have a habit of ordering me around, Ms. Ward."
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"Someone has to, because clearly your guards are slacking," Tessa retorted sharply, already tearing open a suture kit. She looked up at Malcolm, who was standing nervously near the door. "Malcolm, secure this entire wing. No one enters, no one leaves, and if a single drop of blood gets on my clean floors, I'm billing your boss for industrial cleaning supplies."
Malcolm blinked, looked at the terrifying crime lord he served, and then nodded respectfully to the nurse. "Yes, ma'am."
