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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You’re using criminals to catch cops now?
Ramirez crept forward on aching elbows, the metal biting into his skin with every inch he advanced. The stale air of the ventilation shaft was thick with grime and rust, the silence broken only by the faint groans of the prison’s ancient structure. His heart pounded in his ears as he reached a long shaft stretching over the highest-security wing—the place they called The Pit.This has to be it, he thought. Javier Montoya’s cage.But as he crawled closer, his gut twisted.The shaft above this particular section wasn't like the others. It was reinforced with iron bars, thick and welded to an inner frame—an iron lattice designed to block even the smallest object from falling through. Someone had gone to great lengths to seal this section off from above. Not because of an escape risk—but because of rescue attempts. They had sealed it like a vault.They knew his men might try this. They thought of everything.Ramirez pressed his face to the narrowest gap in the ironwork. He couldn’t see mu