2025-02-07 00:37:49Walker sat by Elizabeth’s side, gripping her hand as if letting go would shatter her completely.
Her fingers trembled weakly in his grasp. Her lips parted, but her voice barely emerged. "They… they’re hiding… something…" Walker stiffened. "What?" he whispered, leaning in. "Lizzy, what are you talking about?" Her breath was shallow, her gaze unfocused yet terrified. Dr. Graham adjusted one of the machines, his movements precise—too precise. Walker’s eyes snapped to him. "What is she talking about?" Dr. Graham smiled, but it felt… wrong. Too measured. Rehearsed. "She’s disoriented," he said smoothly. "Not uncommon after severe blood loss." Walker’s grip tightened on Elizabeth’s hand. She wasn’t just delirious. She was afraid. Dr. Graham’s voice cut through his thoughts. "Your wife is unstable, but we’re doing everything we can." Then why did it feel like a bad dream? Nothing added up. "Stress can make things seem worse than they are," Dr. Graham continued, his tone too soothing, like a practiced script. "Why don’t you step out for some air? We’ll take care of her." Walker’s jaw clenched. "No. I’m staying right here." Dr. Graham exchanged a glance with the nurse—a silent conversation passing between them. "Very well," he said. "But remain calm. Your presence is only helpful if you’re composed." Walker didn’t buy it. Every fiber of his being screamed that something was deeply wrong. And he was going to find out what. "Can I see you in my office right now?" Dr. Graham’s voice was light, almost too polite. Walker hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Elizabeth’s side. The moment he stepped away, they could— "Doctor, I don't mind discussing it here," Walker said, voice firm. "Whatever it is." Dr. Graham exhaled through his nose, his lips twitching—almost like a smirk. "That’s against our policy. Once we’re done, you can return to her." Walker’s pulse pounded in his ears. "Doctor, I understand," he said slowly. "But she needs me now more than ever." Dr. Graham studied him for a long moment before turning on his heel and walking away. Walker watched him go, his suspicion growing like a storm cloud. "Why does he feel so... wrong?" Everything about Dr. Graham’s aura was off. He wasn’t just a big man—he was huge. Not in the way of a medical professional, but like a man trained for something else. Something darker. A bodybuilder could pass as a doctor. But Dr. Graham? He felt more like a guard. A warden. Walker swallowed hard. Elizabeth let out a soft whimper, drawing his attention back. He cupped her forehead with his palm—burning hot. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I won’t let anything happen to you, Lizzy. I swear." A deep voice sliced through the air. "Sir, you’re not allowed to do that." Walker turned. Dr. Graham was back, his expression unreadable. This time, he carried a white paper and a pen. Walker squared his shoulders. "She’s my wife." "I know," Dr. Graham said. "But her condition is critical, and she needs rest." Walker hesitated before loosening his grip. Dr. Graham motioned toward a quiet corner. "Please, let’s have a talk." Walker didn’t trust him—but refusing could make things worse. He followed the doctor, his senses sharp. Even as they walked, his eyes flicked around the hospital. Something wasn’t right. A nurse passed by carrying a small box—not quite a first-aid kit, but something close. Walker tracked her movements until she vanished past the elevator doors. Dr. Graham stopped beside a steel cabinet with drawers. Each drawer had something written on it, but Walker couldn’t read the labels. Dr. Graham placed the paper down. "You seem very… protective of your wife." Walker met his gaze. "She needs me." Dr. Graham’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Your name?" Walker hesitated. "Walker Steve." Dr. Graham jotted it down, his grip on the pen oddly tight. "And your wife’s?" Walker glanced at Elizabeth’s bed from across the room, uneasy. "Elizabeth Steve." Dr. Graham nodded slowly. "She lost a lot of blood." "I know." "She’s been scanned. We found a spinal fracture." Walker’s stomach clenched. "Is she…?" "We’re monitoring her condition," Dr. Graham cut in. "Now, tell me exactly what happened." Walker’s breath hitched. His eyes burned, but he forced himself to speak. He told him everything—where the accident happened, how it happened. For a brief moment, he thought he saw something flicker across Dr. Graham’s face. Something dark. Then it was gone. "When did you get married?" Dr. Graham asked. Walker blinked. "What?" "When did you get married?" His tone was eerily casual—like it was just another question. Like Walker’s personal life was some trivial detail, not the reality of his world falling apart. Walker’s patience snapped. "Doctor, was that necessary?" A slow, chilling smile stretched across Dr. Graham’s lips. "Walker, or whatever you call yourself…" His voice dropped, dangerously low. "You don’t come here to tell me how to do my job." Walker’s heart pounded. "Otherwise," Dr. Graham continued, "you can take your patient somewhere else." The words were calm. But the way he said them? Threatening. Walker forced himself to take a breath. He was on thin ice. "Okay, doctor," he murmured, glancing at his wristwatch. The red numbers glowed ominously. 4:00 AM. "Two days ago," he answered. Dr. Graham’s pen scratched across the paper. Walker watched him, every muscle in his body tense. Something was happening here. Something hidden beneath the surface. And he was going to find out what.
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The wind howled through the dense thicket, rustling the overgrown shrubs that concealed the entrance to Jett’s hideout. He moved swiftly through the darkness, his breath steady despite the chaos raging inside his mind. The meeting had gone south. He had signed a deal with the Crocs—one he had no choice but to accept. They had set him free after his capture, but at a cost. Now, he was bound to a contract that turned his skills against the very people he once sought to protect. He had never been a saint, but at least he had wielded his knowledge on his own terms. Now, his will was no longer his own.He reached the mouth of the cave, crouching behind a thick trunk, scanning the surroundings. He never entered without ensuring he wasn’t followed. The Crocs had him in their grip, and he knew better than to underestimate their reach. The cave was well hidden, deep in the forest where few dared to venture. Wild vines snaked over its rocky exterior, masking the entrance like nature’s own fortr
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Walker stepped out of the supermarket, his arms laden with the items he had picked up for his wife in the hospital. The revolving glass doors whispered shut behind him as the cool evening breeze brushed against his face. He still couldn't wrap his head around the turn of events—one moment, he was just another customer; the next, he was humiliated, then compensated, and now, walking away with unpaid-for goods. It didn’t sit right with him, but Svet had insisted.Just as he exhaled, trying to clear his thoughts, he heard hurried footsteps behind him. A feeling of unease crept up his spine. Someone was following him.He stopped and turned.There she was.The same woman who had falsely accused him earlier, standing a short distance away, hands trembling, rubbing them together in a nervous plea. Her lips quivered, and tears streamed down her face.Walker’s expression darkened. His fingers clenched around the grocery bag."You again?" His voice was cold, edged with suspicion. "If you’re her
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The entire police department was in chaos.A cop had been beaten, humiliated, and left for dead in the middle of the street. The video was everywhere—circulating online, played repeatedly on news channels, dissected frame by frame by both law enforcement and the public. The image of Officer Oscar struggling, then collapsing, played like a stain on the department’s reputation.A prisoner had escaped, not just slipping through their fingers but taking a patrol car and making a mockery of them. It was a slap to the face.Inside the precinct, tempers flared.“We have checkpoints all over the city, CCTV surveillance, and an entire force dedicated to tracking this guy down!” Ramirez slammed a file onto the desk. “And yet, nothing?!”Another officer, jaws clenched, shook his head. “He’s like a damn ghost. We traced the patrol car—found it abandoned near an uncompleted building. No fingerprints, no leads, nothing.”The NYPD’s higher-ups were livid. The escapee’s face was everywhere, plastered
Looks like you owe this man an apology
The security office was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of coffee and stale authority. Walker sat in the interrogation room, his wrists still stinging from the tight handcuffs. His jaw clenched as he watched the security officers whisper among themselves, throwing him the occasional glance like he was some street rat caught in the wrong place.Outside, in the loading bay of Daad Intercontinental Supermarket, a massive steel door groaned open—the supplier's entrance, a passage reserved for trucks delivering goods straight from the seaport and airport. Svet had just finished his delivery.He stepped down from his truck, stretching his back with a groan before heading toward the security department to finalize his clearance. He wasn’t in a hurry. His work here was done, and all that remained was getting the final stamp on his delivery papers before driving off.Whistling softly, he knocked once on the security office door, then pushed it open.Inside, he slid in casually, humming
No One Is Coming For You
Jett jerked awake to the sharp sting of ice-cold water slamming against his face. His body convulsed from the shock, lungs seizing as the freezing liquid soaked into his torn clothes. The world was a blur—shadows moving, voices laughing, his breath coming in ragged gasps.Then, the fist came.A brutal strike to the ribs. Then another. Jett groaned, head lolling forward, but the pain snapped him awake. His wrists burned from the ropes cutting into them, his legs bound so tight he could barely feel them anymore.A boot slammed into his gut.He would’ve doubled over, but the ropes held him upright."That woke him up," one of the guards sneered, rolling his shoulders. The red scarf around his neck was stained with dried blood—maybe his, maybe someone else’s. Didn’t matter. These men didn’t care.Jett spat blood onto the floor.The laughter around him was casual, like they were playing cards instead of torturing a man. He could barely lift his head, but he caught glimpses—rifles slung lazi
