Chapter 2 - The Red Thread
The sterile odor of antiseptic and ozone hung heavy inside Trauma Room Three.
Grace stood in the corner of the room, her hand pressed against her mouth to stifle her quiet sobs.
Two gulleys of plastic tubing connected Adrian’s arm to Ethan’s tiny, pale wrist. Adrian sat in a stainless-steel chair beside the hospital bed, completely still, staring down at the little boy. A dark leather bag gathered his blood before passing through a rapid-warmer machine and pumping it directly into Ethan’s veins.
The color was slowly returning to Ethan’s lips. The heart monitor’s frantic beep-beep-beep began to steady into a rhythmic, reassuring tempo.
"His vitals are stabilizing," the surgeon whispered, wiping his brow. "The warm transfusion is stopping the vascular collapse. It’s... it’s a miracle."
"It’s science," Adrian corrected flatly, never taking his eyes off Ethan’s face. "And blood."
The doctor nodded nervously and stepped out to confer with his surgical team in the hallway, leaving the three of them alone inside the sealed room.
Ethan stirred. His long dark eyelashes—so much like Adrian’s—fluttered open slowly. He blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, his small head turning on the white pillow.
"Mom?" Ethan’s tiny voice rasped.
Grace rushed to his side instantly, dropping to her knees by the bed, taking his small, unencumbered left hand in both of hers. "I'm here, baby. I'm right here. Don't move."
"My tummy doesn't hurt as much," Ethan whispered, his eyes wandering toward the tall man sitting on the other side of his bed. He looked at the thick tube running from the man’s arm to his own. "Mom... who is that man? Is he a doctor?"
Grace froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She looked up at Adrian.
Adrian was staring at his son. For a man who had commanded thousands of syndicate soldiers, who had negotiated multi-million-dollar land deals in Geneva and survived three assassination attempts, he looked entirely overwhelmed. His hand, resting on the bedframe, twitched slightly.
"He's..." Grace choked on her own breath. "Ethan, this is..."
"I'm a friend of your mother’s," Adrian interrupted softly. His tone was entirely different from the cold monster who had cleared the hallway minutes earlier. It was quiet, tentative, almost reverent. "My name is Adrian."
Ethan squinted at him, studying the sharp lines of Adrian’s face with innocent curiosity. "Why are you giving me your blood?"
"Because you needed it," Adrian said, his silver eyes softening in a way Grace had never seen in all the months she had known him in Chicago. "And because I have plenty to give."
"Are you a superhero?" Ethan asked innocently, his small voice echoing in the quiet room. "The nurse said only a superhero could match my blood."
A faint, bittersweet smile touched the corner of Adrian’s lips. He looked across the bed at Grace, whose eyes were filled with fresh tears.
"No, little guy," Adrian whispered, looking back at Ethan. "I’m definitely not a superhero. But I promise you... nobody is ever going to hurt you again."
Suddenly, the heavy glass window of the trauma room shattered inward with a deafening CRACK.
Grace screamed, dropping to the floor and throwing her body over Ethan’s bed.
A single high-caliber sniper round tore through the double-paned glass, embedding itself into the steel heart monitor three inches above Adrian’s head. Sparks flew through the air, and the room went pitch black as the emergency alarms began to wail at maximum volume.
"DOWN!" Julian screamed, bursting through the shattered door with a drawn suppressed pistol. "Pasadena perimeter compromised! The Vance syndicate tracked the emergency alert!"
Adrian didn't flinch. In one fluid, terrifying movement, he ripped the transfusion line from his arm, pulled a piece of medical tape over his bleeding vein, and reached across the bed. With effortless strength, he scooped Ethan’s small body into his left arm, wrapped his right arm around Grace’s waist, and lifted her off her feet, hauling them both behind the reinforced concrete partition of the bathroom wall.
Outside, the crack of suppressed gunfire echoed through the main lobby.
"Adrian!" Grace shrieked, clutching Ethan against her chest as dust rained down from the ceiling. "What is happening?!"
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Adrian pulled a sleek, customized black semi-automatic pistol from a hidden holster inside his leather vest. He racked the slide with a cold, metallic sound that chilled Grace to her very core.
"My old enemies," Adrian said, his silver eyes flashing with murderous intent in the dark. "They thought I came to California alone. They were wrong."
