The front doors shattered inward with a boom that rattled the fluorescent lights overhead. Glass rained like deadly confetti, and the Iron Vipers poured in—twenty-plus thugs in mismatched armor, faces hidden behind cheap rebreather masks, rifles raised. The ER erupted into chaos: patients screaming, staff diving for cover, alarms blaring like the world was ending.
And me? I grinned like an idiot.
"Party's here early!" I shouted over the din, voice bright and sarcastic as I drew my pistol. "Hope you boys brought gifts—preferably your surrender!"
*Real smooth, Liam,* my inner voice snarked. *Twenty armed psychos, and you're cracking jokes. But hey, if I'm going down, might as well go sunny.*
Vanessa didn't flinch. She grabbed a metal tray from a nearby cart, hefting it like a shield, eyes blazing with that unbreakable steel I'd already clocked. "Get the patients to the back!" she barked at the interns, voice cutting through the panic like a scalpel. Then, to me: "Guard dog, earn your pay!"
Hot damn. Strong didn't even cover it.
The first Viper lunged toward the nurses' station, rifle barking. Bullets chewed into the counter, splintering wood and plastic. I rolled behind a gurney, popping up to snap off three shots—center mass on the leader. He dropped, clutching his chest plate.
"One down!" I called cheerfully. "Nineteen to go. Who's next?"
Adrenaline sang in my veins, amplified by that fresh stat boost from the warehouse kid. Strength +3 felt like I'd chugged rocket fuel—muscles coiled tighter, reactions razor-sharp.
Two more charged me, knives flashing. I sidestepped the first, pistol-whipping him across the mask—crack like a melon splitting. The second swung low; I caught his wrist, twisted, and drove my knee into his gut. He folded like cheap paper.
But they weren't alone. A group broke toward the pediatric wing—kids' cries piercing the gunfire.
System pinged urgently: [Side Quest Active: Protect Innocents from Immediate Threat. Failure invites severe consequences.]
No shit. As if I needed motivation.
Vanessa moved like a storm. She smashed the tray into a Viper's helmet, denting it and sending him staggering. Then she grabbed a fallen thug's stun baton, flicking it on with a crackle of electricity. "Not in my hospital," she growled, jabbing it into another attacker's side. He convulsed and dropped.
I stared for a split second—sweat glistening on her neck, scrubs clinging to her curves as she fought, breasts heaving with exertion, thick thighs powering each strike. Fierce. Powerful. Sexy as hell.
*Focus, perv,* inner sarcasm snapped. *Worship later. Survive now.*
I vaulted the counter, tackling a Viper aiming at her back. We hit the tile hard, rolling. His knife grazed my shoulder—hot sting of blood—but I pinned him, elbow to throat until he went limp.
"Thanks," Vanessa panted, appearing beside me, baton still humming.
"Teamwork makes the dream work," I quipped brightly, winking even as pain flared. "You handle close-up like a pro. Ex-military?"
"Nursing in war zones counts," she shot back, smirking despite the chaos. "You?"
"Orphan special—street fights and bad decisions."
We back-to-backed instinctively, her warmth pressing against me—scent of vanilla, sweat, and adrenaline flooding my senses. Her ass brushed my hip as she spun, sending a jolt straight to my dragon.
*Down, boy. Wrong timing.*
The fight blurred into a brutal dance. I took down eight—non-lethal where I could, because code. Pistol clicks empty; switched to fists and knife. Vanessa held her own, stunning three, disarming two with moves that screamed hidden training. Patients safe in lockdown rooms. Staff barricaded.
Last Viper standing—a big bastard with a shotgun—roared and charged the peds wing door.
I intercepted, tackling him low. We crashed through a supply cart, vials shattering. He got a punch in—stars exploded in my vision—but I headbutted his mask, cracking it. Vanessa finished it, baton to the neck. He dropped twitching.
Silence fell, broken only by distant sirens and groans.
System chimed triumphantly: [Side Quest Complete: Hospital Defense. Innocents Protected.
Reward: +4 Strength, +3 Endurance, +2 Agility. Wealth Bonus Incoming (Bounty Claim).
Mercenary Code Upheld.]
Warm rush again—body feeling invincible. But blood trickled from my shoulder, ribs screaming.
Vanessa lowered the baton, chest rising and falling fast. Sweat dampened her scrubs, making the fabric cling transparently in places—outlines of full breasts, dark nipples pebbled from cold and adrenaline. Thighs flexed as she caught her breath, powerful and glistening.
She was magnificent. A warrior goddess in hospital blues.
"You're bleeding," she said, voice softer now, concern edging the steel.
"Scratch," I replied brightly. "Chicks dig scars, right?"
She rolled her eyes but grabbed my arm, pulling me toward an empty exam room. "Sit. I'm patching you."
No argument from me.
The room was dim, sterile—antiseptic sting in the air mixed with her scent, stronger now. Sweat-slick skin, warm femininity cutting through the bleach. She peeled off my jacket, fingers brushing my chest—electric sparks.
*Easy, Liam. Slow burn.*
As she cleaned the graze—alcohol burn sharp, her touch gentle but firm—I got nosy. Couldn't help it.
"That was some badassery back there. Scalpel threats earlier, baton fu now. What's the story, Vanessa? You moonlight as a vigilante?"
She chuckled low, dabbing antiseptic. Her breasts swayed close—full, heavy, heat radiating. I swallowed hard.
"Long story," she said, eyes focused on the wound. "Joined the nursing corps young—straight out of school. Deployed to border zones. Saw things that'd break most people. Lost friends. Patched soldiers who never walked again."
Her voice stayed steady, but pain flickered in those brown eyes.
"Came home, married young. Thought it'd be normal—house, kid, stability." She taped gauze over the cut, fingers lingering on my skin. "Ex was a cop. Good on paper. But he cracked under the pressure. Drinking. Anger. Bailed when our son was three. Left me with bills, a toddler, and this shithole job."
She straightened, hips cocking—wide, strong. "But we survived. I survived. Worked doubles, fought off creeps in parking lots, kept my boy safe in a world that eats the weak."
Strong. Mentally unbreakable. Physically capable. Raising a kid alone in this trillion-soul chaos.
My respect—and thirst—skyrocketed.
"Sounds like you don't need a guard dog," I said softly, bright tone laced with genuine awe. "You are the alpha."
Her cheeks flushed faintly. "Everyone needs backup sometimes." She met my gaze, close now—breath warm on my face, lips full and inviting.
Adrenaline still pumped. Room felt too small, too charged. Her scent enveloped me—musk of battle, vanilla sweetness, feminine heat.
Inner voice whispered: *Tell her. Praise her. She craves it.*
I leaned in, voice dropping husky. "Vanessa… you're incredible. Those curves—powerful, perfect. Thighs that could crush threats or… wrap around a lucky man. Breasts like—"
Her eyes widened. She stepped back sharply. "Liam."
Shit. Too far. Too fast.
System warning blared: [Boundary Violation Detected. Disrespect Imminent. Pull back—or face reduction.]
A sudden nausea hit—gut twisting, vision blurring. Lifespan tick? Just a hint, but enough to scare.
I raised hands, sunny grin faltering. "Sorry. Adrenaline talking. Got carried away. You're… yeah. Incredible. But I'll chill."
She crossed arms—defensive, but not angry. More… wary. "Flattery's fine. Pushing isn't. I've had enough men thinking they can take."
Guilt slammed me. She was strong, yes—but human. Scarred.
"I get it," I said earnestly. "Code's clear: respect first. Always. Won't happen again."
She studied me, eyes softening slowly. "Good. Because I like the cheerful idiot vibe. Don't ruin it."
Banter returned—lighter now. We cleaned the ER wreckage together, trading sarcasm about the Vipers' poor aim.
But as dawn crept in, cops finally arriving to mop up, my comm buzzed. Anonymous tip: Viper boss escaped custody earlier. Heading here for revenge—with heavier backup.
Vanessa's face hardened as I told her.
"They won't stop," she murmured.
I grinned. "Then neither will we."
But deeper, system pinged a new alert: [Registered Target Desire Update Incoming. Emotional Bond Forming. Proceed with Care.]
And outside, engines growled in the distance—heavy, armored.
The real storm was just beginning.
(To be continued…)