Chapter 4 - The Sentinel Awakens
The clock on the wall of the old examination room didn't work, but Claire estimated it was around 11:00 AM when the environment inside the room began to shift.
The portable monitor showed Nicholas’s vitals had stabilized beautifully. His temperature was normal, and his oxygen saturation was holding steady at ninety-eight percent. The blood we had given him had done its work; the gray, deathly pallor of his skin had been replaced by a healthy, golden tan.
Suddenly, Claire felt a sharp, intense pressure around her wrist.
She gasped, looking down. Nicholas’s hand had closed around her arm like a band of forged steel. His dark eyes were open, wide and hyper-alert, darting around the dark, dusty room with the lethal instinct of a wolf waking up in a trap. He didn't look like a man who had just survived a major vascular surgery; he looked like a predator analyzing his surroundings.
"Easy, Mr. Russo," Claire said softly, her voice carrying the natural, soothing authority of an ICU nurse. "Don't move. You have sixty-four internal stitches in your mesenteric artery. If you tear them, you will bleed out before I can get you back to an operating table."
Nicholas’s gaze locked onto her face. The confusion in his eyes lasted for only a fraction of a second before the memory of the night returned to him. He slowly let go of her wrist, his voice coming out as a deep, rough gravelly rasp.
"The nurse..." he murmured. "You... you took me out of the bay."
"I did," Claire said, reaching for a bottle of sterile water and a piece of gauze, gently dabbing his dry, cracked lips. "Dr. Caldwell was trying to let you die. Your rivals had a hit squad coming to ambush your transport. My resident and I stole you from the trauma unit and performed an emergency repair down here in the abandoned east wing."
Nicholas looked around the room, taking in the cracked vinyl, the peeling paint, and the single cell phone flashlight propped against a metal container. A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through his chest, which instantly turned into a sharp wince of pain.
"An abandoned psych ward..." Nicholas muttered, a dark, amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "The King of Chicago saved by a nurse with a cell phone flashlight. What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Claire. Nurse Claire Jenkins."
"Well, Claire... you have a lot of nerve," Nicholas said, his dark eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "Most people run away from the bullets. You ran straight into them to save a man the rest of the world wants dead."
"I don't care about the streets, Mr. Russo. I care about my patients," Claire said, adjusting his blanket. "But right now, we have a problem. The hospital is completely locked down by the police and your men. Dr. Caldwell is telling everyone that I kidnapped you on behalf of the Marcone family. If they find us down here, I go to jail, and you go back to a man who wants you on a slab."
Nicholas’s expression instantly shifted from amused to calculating and lethal. "Marcus... is Marcus upstairs?"
"Yes. A man named Marcus is tearing the emergency department apart looking for you."
"Good," Nicholas said, trying to lift his head, though the pain made him hiss through his teeth. "In my left pocket... my trousers. Is my phone still there?"
Claire walked over to the corner where his bloody clothes were piled. She rummaged through the dark fabric, pulling out a sleek, heavy black satellite phone. It was completely waterproof and undamaged by the blood. She handed it to him.
May you like
Nicholas dialed a short, six-digit encrypted code. He held the phone to his ear, his voice turning into cold, absolute command.
"Marcus. It’s me. Don't speak. Just listen."
