Chapter 4 - The King Awakes
Dr. Whitfield’s eyes bulged with pure, unadulterated terror. The syringe slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering onto the floor. He clawed frantically at the massive hand locked around his esophagus, but Everett’s grip was like an iron clamp.
"E-Everett..." Whitfield choked out, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple. "P-please..."
Everett didn't say another word. With a sudden, explosive surge of power, he dragged Whitfield over the side of the bed and slammed his head hard against the oak nightstand.
CRACK.
Whitfield went limp instantly, dropping to the floor in a heap, unconscious, his nose broken and bleeding onto the polished wood.
Everett swung his legs over the side of the bed. His body was trembling violently, his muscles screaming after eight months of chemical paralysis, but his mind was absolute steel. He ripped the IV line from the back of his hand, tearing away the tape and throwing the bag to the floor.
"Everett!" Willa scrambled off the floor, wiping the blood from her lip. She rushed to his side, catching him just as his knees buckled.
He fell heavily against her, his broad shoulders pinning her against the side of the bed. The scent of him—rich cedar, rain, and cold sweat—enveloped her.
"I've got you," Willa gasped, straining under his immense weight, wrapping her arms firmly around his waist. "I've got you. Take it slow. Your nervous system is flooded with adrenaline, but your muscles are malnourished."
Everett rested his forehead against her neck for a brief second, his ragged breathing warming her skin. "You... you hit your face," he rasped, his hand coming up, his thumb tenderly brushing the blood from her bruised lower lip. His touch was shockingly gentle for a man who had just nearly killed a doctor with his bare hands.
"I'm fine," Willa breathed, looking into his intense gray eyes. "I've had worse from life."
"No one... touches you again," Everett vowed, his voice dropping into a dark, solemn oath. "Not while I draw breath."
He forced himself to stand upright, leaning heavily on Willa’s shoulder as he took his first agonizing steps toward the closet. Every nerve ending in his legs felt like it was on fire, but he refused to falter.
Willa helped him open the heavy walnut doors of his wardrobe. Inside hung row after row of dark, tailored suits, crisp white shirts, and polished leather shoes.
"Get me dressed," Everett ordered softly. "The king cannot meet his executioners in a hospital gown."
For ten minutes, in absolute silence, Willa helped him shed the medical gown and dress in his clothes. She buttoned his dark charcoal shirt, pulled his trousers over his lean frame, and slid his feet into his black leather boots. She tied his dark silk tie, her fingers moving with quiet efficiency.
As she straightened his collar, Everett looked down at her.
"Why did you do it?" he asked softly. "You didn't know me. You could have taken Sterling's money and let them put me under."
Willa met his gaze, her chin held high despite the bruise forming on her cheek. "Because I know what it’s like to be framed by monsters. I know what it’s like when nobody believes you. And because... when I looked at you at the altar, I saw a man who deserved a fighting chance. I don't abandon my patients, Mr. Kane."
"It's Everett," he said, his fingers reaching out to cup her cheek, his thumb gently caressing her jawline. "And you are no longer just a nurse, Willa. You are my wife. In every way that matters."
A warm, electricity shot through Willa’s chest, but the moment was shattered by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway outside.
Walkie-talkie static buzzed outside the locked door.
"Dr. Whitfield? Are you in there? Mr. Sterling just pulled into the driveway. He wants an update."
It was Crowley’s voice.
Willa and Everett exchanged a sharp glance. Everett looked down at the unconscious doctor on the floor, then at the heavy mahogany armchair in the corner.
"Willa," Everett whispered, his voice turning to ice. "Unlock the door. Step behind me."
"Everett, you can barely stand—"
"I don't need to stand," Everett smiled, a dark, terrifying grin that showed why he was the most feared man in Chicago. "I just need them to come through that door."
Willa took a deep breath, walked to the door, and clicked the heavy brass lock. She pulled the door open and stepped back quickly.
Mr. Crowley stepped into the room, holding a radio. "Dr. Whitfield, what is taking so—"
Crowley stopped dead in his tracks.
His eyes widened in sheer horror as he saw Dr. Whitfield lying face down in a pool of blood on the floor.
Slowly, Crowley’s gaze lifted to the center of the room.
Everett Kane was sitting in the grand leather armchair behind the bed. He was fully dressed in his charcoal suit. His legs were crossed, his large hands rested calmly on his knees, and his gray eyes burned with a cold, terrifying vengeance.
"Hello, Crowley," Everett said, his voice dripping with venomous smooth authority. "I believe you were discussing my funeral earlier this week."
Crowley dropped his radio, his face turning gray as paper. "M-Mr. Kane... it... it's a miracle... you're..."
"Shut up," Everett commanded softly.
Crowley’s knees literally buckled with fear. He fell to his hands and knees, stammering frantically. "It was Sterling! He forced me! He threatened my family! Please, Mr. Kane! I was only following orders!"
"Where is my cousin?" Everett asked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"He... he's in the foyer downstairs," Crowley whimpered, sweating profusely. "He brought two armed guards. They came to sign the final papers."
Everett looked up at Willa. "What time is it?"
Willa checked the clock on the wall. "Three fifty-five PM."
Right on cue, a sudden, loud explosion echoed from the front gates of the estate, shaking the entire mansion. The sound of heavy automatic gunfire erupted across the manicured lawns, followed by the roaring engine of an armored SUV crashing through the iron gates.
Marko had arrived.
May you like
Everett stood up from his chair, his movement fluid, strong, and imposing, the lingering weakness discarded like old clothes. He reached down, grabbed Crowley by the back of his neck, and dragged him to his feet.
"Come, Crowley," Everett said coldly, shoving the manager toward the hallway. "Let us go welcome my family."
