CHAPTER 1: The Night a Stranger Bled in My Home
(Betty's POV)
Sixteen hours.
That is how long I have been inside Life Hope Specialist Hospital. Two surgeries. One patient who flatlined on my table. A family who screamed at me because I could not save their father fast enough.
I am tired.
Not the kind of tiredness that sleep fixes.
The kind of tiredness that sits in your bones. That makes you forget why you became a doctor in the first place.
I unlock my apartment door at almost midnight. My keys feel heavy. Everything feels heavy.
The apartment is dark. Quiet. Just how I left it this morning.
I kick off my shoes. Drop my bag on the floor. I do not turn on the lights. I know this place blind. The hallway. The living room. My yellow couch.
I just want to fall into bed and disappear.
But something stops me.
A smell.
Metal. Warm. Thick.
I freeze.
I know that smell.
Blood.
My heart slams against my ribs. My hand finds the light switch. I flip it on.
The world stops.
There is blood on my floor.
A trail of it. Leading from my front door to my living room. To my couch.
To him.
A man. Slumped against my yellow couch. His shirt is soaked red. His face is white. His eyes are closed.
For one horrible second, I think he is dead.
Then he breathes.
A rattling, broken sound that makes my stomach clench.
I should run.
I should scream.
I should call the police.
But my feet carry me toward him. Because I am a doctor. Because saving people is what I do. Even when I am tired. Even when I am scared.
I drop to my knees beside him.
"Hey," I say, my voice shaking. "Hey, can you hear me?"
Nothing.
I check his pulse. It is there. Weak. Thready. Like a thread about to snap.
I grab my medical kit from the bathroom. My hands are trembling, but I force them to work. I cut his shirt open. The wound on his side is deep. A knife. Jagged. Still bleeding.
"Come on," I mutter, pressing gauze against it. "Stay with me."
He groans. A low, broken sound.
"I know it hurts. But you have to fight."
I do not know how long I work on him. Minutes. Hours. Time stops existing.
Finally, the bleeding slows.
I sit back on my heels. My hands are red. His blood is under my fingernails.
I look at his face.
And my blood turns cold.
I know him.
Not from the hospital.
From the news.
Every channel. Every headline. Every breaking alert for the past week.
WANTED: ADRAIN BLAKE.
BOUNTY: ONE MILLION DOLLARS.
CHARGES: MURDER OF VICTOR DANE.
They say he is a killer. A ghost. The most dangerous man in Manhattan.
And I just saved his life.
I scramble backward. My phone. Where is my phone?
I spot it on the kitchen counter. I crawl to my feet and grab it. My fingers are slippery with his blood. I almost drop it twice.
9-1-1.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
One call. That is all it takes. One call and this nightmare ends. One call and I am safe.
I turn around.
His eyes are open.
Dark. Sharp. Watching me.
He saw my face. He knows where I live. He knows what I was about to do.
I take a step back.
He moves faster than a man with a stab wound should move.
His hand shoots out. His fingers wrap around my wrist. Tight. Unbreakable.
I gasp.
"Let go of me."
He does not.
"If you scream," he says, his voice low and rough, "they will find your body before they find mine."
My heart stops.
My lungs stop.
Everything stops.
The phone slips from my hand. It hits the floor. The screen goes dark.
I am trapped in my own apartment with the most wanted man in Manhattan.
And he is not letting me go.