Chapter 1 - The First Cut
The marble floor of the foyer felt like block ice beneath Ava’s knees, but the blood soaking into the denim of her jeans was warm, sticky, and thick.
"Sophie, go into the kitchen," Ava commanded, her voice dropping into a low, steady pitch she didn't know she possessed. "Find a bottle of water and drink it. Don't look back at the doorway. Do you hear me?"
The little girl swallowed hard, her small body trembling so violently her teeth chattered. "Is... is Daddy dying?"
"Not on my watch," Ava whispered, looking directly into the child’s tear-filled blue eyes. "Now go."
As Sophie’s small footsteps faded down the hallway, Ava pulled off her heavy winter coat, folded it into a tight roll, and braced it against Roman Black’s lower back to elevate his hips. Her hands were already covered in his blood.
At twenty-four, Ava had completed three years of nursing school before medical debt from her foster sister’s cancer treatment forced her to drop out. She knew the anatomy. She knew the dangerous geometry of abdominal trauma. The knife was buried four inches deep into his upper left quadrant—dangerously close to the splenic artery, but the angle suggested it had missed the aorta by millimeters.
If I pull it, he bleeds out in ninety seconds, Ava thought, her mind racing through emergency protocols. If I leave it, every breath he takes tears the muscle wider.
Suddenly, a massive, blood-slick hand shot up from the rug, locking around Ava’s wrist with the crushing force of a steel trap.
Ava gasped.
Roman Black’s eyes snapped open. They were not human eyes in that moment—they were the dark, feral eyes of a wounded predator calculating whether she was an executioner or a survivor. His face was a mask of pale ivory and sweat, his jaw so tight the muscle twitched beneath his skin.
"Who... the fuck... are you?" he rasped. The sound came from deep inside his chest, wet and broken.
"I'm Ava," she said, refusing to pull her wrist away despite the pain of his grip. "Your daughter called my diner. You have a four-inch blade in your abdomen, Mr. Black. If you move, you die."
Roman’s dark eyes flicked toward the hallway where Sophie had gone, then back to Ava. "No... hospitals," he choked out, coughing once, a droplet of dark blood flecking his lip. "No... police."
"I already called 911 ten minutes ago," Ava said sternly, leaning down closer to his face. "You're shock-pale, your pulse is over one-forty, and your skin is clammy. You need a trauma surgeon."
"They'll... kill her," Roman grunted, his grip on her wrist tightening until her fingers went numb. "If the cops come... my men come. If my men come... the mole knows I survived. Cancel... the call."
Ava stared at him. The sheer authority in his ruined voice was staggering. He wasn't afraid of dying; he was terrified of what his vulnerability would mean for the five-year-old girl drinking water in the kitchen.
Before Ava could answer, the distant, rising wail of sirens echoed through the cold night air outside the gates of Hawthorne Ridge.
Roman’s eyes widened with genuine panic. "Driveway... secondary gate," he wheezed, his breath growing shallower. "Basement... door behind the wine rack. Take... Sophie."
"I am not leaving you here to bleed to death on a carpet!" Ava yelled, her restraint snapping.
"Then move me," Roman growled, his gray eyes burning with an terrifying, unyielding fire. "Or watch me die right here."
Ava looked at the blood on her hands. She looked toward the hallway where Sophie was peeking around the corner, holding a paper cup. Then she heard the tires of emergency vehicles crunching over the gravel driveway outside.
May you like
She made her choice.
"Hold onto my neck," Ava said, positioning her shoulders under his massive frame. "And if you faint, Mr. Black, I swear to God I'll drop you."
