Chapter 92: Heartbeat

< Shirley>
I was pacing back and forth outside the emergency room in my friend's clinic, tears streaming down my face uncontrollably.
Dylan was hurt so badly. Thank goodness, I decided to go back to him midway before reaching the airport. Otherwise, I didn't even want to imagine what would have happened to him.
My heart was beating so fast, worried about Dylan. What if something happened to him? The last time he got shot, he was left in the rain, cold on the street, yet he survived. This time, he would survive as well, right? He had to.
I wish I was the one who would get hurt instead of him.
Finally, the red light turned dim, and my friend, Clarissa López, came out. She used to stay in my neighborhood before getting married in Spain. Therefore, we were great friends even though we had a ten-year age gap. Now she ran a private clinic with her husband, James.
"How is he?" I asked once Clarissa removed her surgical mask.
"He has lost too much blood, but he will be alright soon. Thankfully, we just had enough of his blood group in stock. Otherwise, he wouldn't have survived. However, his leg was injured badly, he would need some time to recover from that," Clarissa explained, and I thanked God and her a million times in my head. "And about his shoulder, how did he get that bullet wound?"
I shifted my gaze and gulped before lying, "Some things were misbehaving with me, so when Dylan tried to protest, they took out their guns. We were trying to escape when he was shot in his shoulder and got hurt in his leg." I couldn't tell Clarissa why we were in Spain, so I told her that I came here on a vacation with my boyfriend.
"You should report to the police. I did an unauthorized treatment on him for your sake," Clarissa warned.
"Thank you so much for bringing back his heartbeat," I told her, tears brimming my eyes. Dylan's heart was beating so faintly, in such an irregular manner, it freaked me out so much. I was getting paranoid when Clarissa and her husband brought back his regular heartbeat through defibrillation. "Can I go inside?"
"No, we still need to do the stitches. I just came to inform you that he will be alright. Don't worry." Clarissa gave a squeeze to my hands before going back inside.
I finally let my knees give up and sat on the bench.
How long did we have to stay on a run? I wondered.
I was staring into oblivion when a thought crossed my mind. Now that Dylan was injured, who would protect us? Even all his men here were dead, except Max. And the flight to Portugal?
"Shit," I cursed as we lost our chance to get on the flight with Dylan's friend. Now, what should we do? I couldn't even ask Dylan because he ought to be unconscious for a long time.
I was worried about it when I remembered that Riley gave me an emergency number, telling me to contact it if only I was in grave danger since I wouldn't be able to contact them in the USA. Gulping, I took out that number from the pocket before making my way to the phone booth outside the clinic.
I dialed the number and waited for someone to pick up.
"Hello?" said a very familiar voice.
My eyes widened as I let out, "Ady?"
"Shirley? Why are you calling? And from Spain?" Adrian asked.
"Bro, we are in big trouble. I need your help." I told Adrian from the start about what happened after coming here. Since he was also on a run like us, he was currently in Portugal. We were supposed to meet up there, but things went wrong here. However, my brother assured me that he would be there soon, and we needed to hang on till then.
I went back inside the clinic and waited until the doctors allowed me in. After an hour, I finally entered Dylan's cabin, and my heart wrenched seeing him. Thank goodness, I didn't have to see him like this when he got shot due to Ryan's men in the back of his chest.
Would none of this have happened if Dylan wasn't in the Mafia? Whatever was happening right now was inevitable because we were running away from our father's men. I wouldn't completely blame his Mafia work as it was because of that we both met.
Even so, I wouldn't let him stay in this profession for too long. Otherwise, our lives would always be at risk, even for our future family. I didn't want that.
I sat on the stool beside his head and caressed his hair lightly.
"I wish I could do something to protect you as well," I murmured. Dylan always protected me in every situation. But I always failed.
Everything was going wrong in my life. It's just been so very few days since my mom and dad have died, and now Dylan was in this condition. What must I have done so wrong in my life to deserve all this?
Maybe I lived my life too happily, or maybe because I was exposed to the Mafia secrets. Those documents that I stole from my father's basements contained secrets and I got to know all of them. I must have been a Yakuza queen in my previous life. That's why the three men I loved in my life were in the Mafia.
My dad was a mafia leader, so was my boyfriend, and my brother was an executive. What an irony it was.
What were you doing? You should have also joined the Mafia, poked my subconscious.
I rolled my eyes and released a deep sigh, staring at Dylan's face.
I took his hand in mine, caressing it. "I will make sure you get out of these Mafia clutches."
———
I was sleeping peacefully when I felt a hand on my head, caressing it lightly. I smiled, recognizing that gentle touch.
I raised my head to find Dylan giving me a faint smile. He was half-seated, probably someone else helped him sit up and changed his bandages. "How do you feel?" I asked.
"Alive," he answered, earning a flat look from me. "What? I really thought I was going to die—"
"Dylan Sarcastic Lewiston, I swear I'm going to punch you square in the face if you as much as think of dying, let alone uttering it," I warned, and he gave me a sheepish look.
"I know I'm not getting rid of you that soon," Dylan said and I shook my head in disbelief.
I blinked furiously, trying to push back the tears that threatened to fall. "You have no idea how I felt when your heartbeat went faint," I told him.
Dylan shifted his gaze in shame.
"It's not your fault. You were just trying to protect me, and I would do the same thing if I were in your place, so you should understand too from my perspective. Put yourself in my shoes. Would you want to leave me behind?" I questioned.
He lowered his head. "I'm sorry."
"You should know that your heartbeat is connected to mine. If it stops beating, mine will stop too. And if it still doesn't stop, I will make it stop."
"Don't talk like that," he mumbled, fiddling with his fingers.
I heaved a sigh, well aware that he was being crushed by guilt now. But he needed to know he can't push me forward to move on while throwing himself in the gallows. "It's okay. Next time, don't ask me to leave you behind."
He nodded and flashed me a cute smile, which melted my anger completely. "What about you, love? How are you?" he asked with concern flashing in his eyes.
"Miserable," I responded. Just then my stomach growled. "And hungry," I added.
As he tried to laugh, it must have jabbed the wound in his shoulder which made him wince.
"Does it hurt, baby?" I inquired.
Dylan bit his lips and shook his head. "I'm fine."
"Let me call—"
"Don't. We need to leave soon, so I have got to get used to the pain," he said.
I arched an eyebrow. "What? You are not going anywhere until you get well."
Dylan caressed my cheek and said, "As much as I would love to get some rest, we really can't afford that, love. I'm sure within a few hours there will be someone who would come looking for us because they should know by now that I'm injured. Eventually, they would come looking for me here as well."
I sighed with no other choice. "Fine."
"By the way, where are we?"
"At my friend's clinic."
"What?" Dylan shrieked. "Why didn't you tell me so sooner?" I furrowed my brows in question. "The first places they will come looking are your acquainted nursing homes. Why didn't you think that?"
My eyes widened. But I tried to keep my calm. "But where else should I have taken you? Who would have treated you with no ID?"
Dylan sucked in a breath. "Yes, that's right. I'm sorry." My heart sank at how hopeless he looked. "It's just that… I'm so stressed. I don't know what to do. I— I don't know what will happen if we get caught."
I placed a hand on his other shoulder and made him look into my eyes. "Baby, it's going to be alright," I tried to assure him in a soothing voice. I made him rest his head on my shoulder and stroked his hair. "We are just going through a bad phase, and bad times won't last forever just like good times don't. It will be over soon. We will be able to lead a normal life again."
Dylan nodded slightly.
"But if you don't leave the Mafia, these bad times won't ever end. You can never be happy by snatching someone else's happiness," I told him, trying to talk him into leaving the Mafia. I was ready to poison his mind about the Mafia if I needed to. I would do anything to secure him.
"Fine," he said.
"No, it's not fine. You need to leave—" I paused, realizing what he had just said. "What?"
"I will quit the Mafia," he let out, and my heart leaped in delight. I was so happy that he agreed. "But only after we are done dealing with our father's men," he added as a condition, and I nodded.
"Just you watch. I'm going to kick their asses and make you quit this cursed Mafia world as soon as possible," I told him and he chuckled.
"Sure."
Just then a nurse entered the room and said, "Ms. Hamilton, some men in black suits are looking for you and Mr. Lewiston. They have some unfinished business to deal with you two."
Dylan and my breath hitched and we both cursed, "Shit."