Aftershock
My blood turned cold.
Indeed, I didn't know him. But I had heard the name whispered through the cracks of Rowan’s world—low and venomous, like something ancient and cursed. Lucious Davenport wasn’t a man. He was a warning. A ghost in power suits. A name people stopped speaking aloud because too many things went missing when they did.
I pressed further into the corner, heart hammering.
“You have the wrong person,” I said quickly. “I don’t know him. I’ve never even met—”
“You’re the reason he woke up again,” the man said with a faint smile. “And now he wants to meet what’s left of you.”
He reached into his coat.
I bolted.
I didn’t think. Didn’t wait. I ran straight for the door, barreling past him with everything I had. He cursed, stumbling sideways, and I managed two steps into the hallway before a third man grabbed my arm and yanked me back.
I screamed. Fought. Elbowed him in the face.
“Bitch!” he growled.
Then—
Gunfire.
Loud. Close. The sound exploded through the corridor, and the man holding me flinched. A bullet embedded itself in the wall just behind his head.
More shouts followed. Commands barked in voices I recognized.
My heart stuttered.
Rowan.
“Get your fucking hands off her!”
I dropped to the floor as chaos erupted.
Lucious’s men raised their weapons. Rowan’s team flooded the corridor from the far end—guns raised, faces grim. Callum took point, leading them like a wave of black-clad vengeance.
And in the center of it all—Rowan himself.
Drenched from the storm. Gun in hand. Eyes locked on mine.
“Remi!”
“Asher’s in here!” I shouted back. “They’re trying to take me—”
Before I could finish, something crashed behind me.
Asher.
His hair was wild, lip bleeding, and his eyes—God, his eyes—looked fractured. He burst into the corridor from the opposite side, completely disoriented.
“What the hell is happening?” he yelled.
His gaze whipped from the guards to Rowan to the men in black—his mind barely catching up.
“Put the weapon down!” Rowan shouted at Lucious’s man.
But none of them lowered their arms.
“Asher!” I called, trying to pull myself upright. “They’re with Lucious—”
“I know who they’re with!” he shouted, panicked now. “But what are you doing here? Why are they—”
The man nearest me grabbed my wrist again. I screamed.
Rowan took the shot.
One clean hit to the shoulder—Lucious’s man dropped to the ground with a grunt, releasing me.
“Move in!” Callum yelled.
But the others didn’t back down. Guns were raised higher.
Rowan pushed forward, reached me, shoved me behind him.
“Asher,” he warned, gun still raised but not on him, “you need to get the hell out of the way.”
Asher’s eyes flicked from Rowan to me. “I didn’t call them. I didn’t know they were coming—”
“Do you think that matters right now?” Rowan snapped.
And that’s when everything fractured again.
Lucious’s man raised his weapon—toward Rowan.
Asher dove in. “No!”
Someone fired.
And someone fell.
I screamed.
But I couldn’t see who.
Not yet.
Not through the smoke.
Not through the blood.
I was shaking. Scared that someone… Rowan… Asher would be laying in front of me.
Dead.
The scent of gunpowder still lingered in the air. Thick and acrid, it clung to the walls, the floor, my skin. Smoke hovered like a ghost that wouldn’t leave, and somewhere outside, the storm still raged.
But in here—
Silence.
Until I saw him.
Rowan.
He stumbled forward from the corridor, hand pressed tightly to his side, crimson blooming fast through his shirt.
“Rowan!”
He collapsed to his knees, breath caught between a groan and a curse. I caught him before he hit the floor.
“Oh God—okay, okay, I’ve got you,” I murmured, guiding him down slowly.
His skin was cold. His body trembled. Blood seeped between my fingers as I pressed my hands to the wound.
“You’re going to be fine,” I said, even though my voice shook. “Just hold on.”
He gave me a tight, crooked smile. “Been through worse.”
“You were stabbed in the abdomen last year.”
“Exactly. Still counts.”
I bit down the panic bubbling in my throat and turned to the guards storming in. “Get me a med kit. Towels. Anything to put pressure—now!”
Callum barked orders and within seconds, one of them was kneeling beside me, handing over gauze and thick, clean towels. I pushed them against the bleeding, my hands already slick with red.
“Stay with me, Rowan.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he muttered. “Especially not with you this mad.”
“Shut up.”
He grinned. Then winced.
I pressed harder.
That was when I noticed movement in the corner of the hall.
Asher.
He sat slumped against the wall, holding his arm. His shirt was torn, the shoulder grazed and bloodied. He looked pale, his eyes unfocused, but he was alive.
And still breathing.
Two of Rowan’s men were already on him, guns drawn, shouting for him to keep his hands visible.
“No—” I called out. “Wait.”
Rowan tried to sit up, struggling through pain. “He drugged you, Remi.”
“He also saved me,” I snapped. “He took a bullet trying to stop Lucious’s men.”
Rowan's expression hardened. “That doesn't erase what he did.”
“He’s not well,” I said. “He’s spiraling. You can see that. Arresting him isn’t going to fix this. He needs help.”
Rowan looked up at me, eyes narrowing. “You’re defending him?”
“I’m telling you he’s not a criminal,” I insisted. “He’s a patient. And I should know—I’m a neurosurgeon, remember?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “You’ve always had a thing for broken people.”
I ignored that. “Please. Just let him be treated. You can watch him every second, put guards on the door. But don’t throw him in a cage for something he didn’t fully understand.”
Rowan stared at me, bloody and exhausted. And then—he smiled. A tired, almost sad smile.
“I don’t understand you, Remi.”
“I know,” I whispered. “But I think you’re starting to.”
He exhaled, leaning his head back against the wall. “Fine. Medical hold. No cuffs.”
I looked over at the guards. “Make sure he’s taken to the ER. Monitored. Not restrained unless he fights back.”
They hesitated.
“Do it,” Rowan ordered.
The tension loosened just enough for my lungs to start working again.
I turned back to Rowan and lifted the edge of his shirt again. “We need to get you to the hospital. You’ve lost too much blood.”
“You’re bossy when I’m injured.”
“And you’re bleeding on me.”
He groaned, but let me press the gauze again. “You know, this isn’t how I pictured us reuniting.”
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s focus on not dying first.”
He chuckled again—weak but real. “Deal.”
But the sound was fading.
His eyes fluttered once, twice, and his grip on my wrist loosened. The blood soaking through the gauze was warm, constant. I’d done enough emergency rotations to know the signs—his blood pressure was dropping, and fast.
“Stay with me,” I whispered, leaning over him. “Rowan—don’t close your eyes. You hear me?”
“Just… tired,” he mumbled, head lolling slightly.
“No,” I said firmly, gripping his jaw gently. “You do not get to pass out on me right now. You dragged me into your world, remember? You don’t get to leave me in it.”
A stretcher slammed through the hallway, wheels squeaking as paramedics rushed in.
I barely moved back enough for them to lift him. I w
as still holding pressure on his wound as they strapped him in, the medic checking vitals and cursing under his breath.
“BP’s crashing.”
“Let’s move!”
I followed them out. There was no question. I was going too.
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