Chapter 5 - The Direct Vein
Clara stared at the ruined blood bags, her hands shaking violently.
If she pumped that tainted fluid into Leo's veins, he would be dead in seconds.
Leo let out a pained cough, his chest heaving as he struggled for oxygen.
"Clara," he whispered weakly, his eyes barely open.
She threw the poisoned bags to the floor and grabbed the sterile tubing from the medical cart.
There was no time to wait for a doctor or call for help.
She sat on the edge of the bed and tied a tourniquet tightly around her own arm.
She winced as she pushed the thick needle into her own vein, then did the same for Leo.
She opened the valve, allowing her fresh, unfiltered blood to flow directly into him.
They sat together in the absolute darkness, connected by a fragile plastic tube.
Slowly, the violent trembling in Leo's chest began to subside.
His breathing deepened, and the dangerous fever began to break.
He turned his head to look at her, his eyes filled with a rare, unspoken vulnerability.
"You could have let him kill me," Leo said quietly.
"I don't let my patients die," Clara replied, keeping her voice steady despite her fear.
"You are a terrible liar, Clara."
Before she could respond, heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway.
The bedroom door was kicked open, and blinding tactical flashlights swept the room.
Frank Delaney burst inside with four heavily armed guards.
"Leo! Are you alive?" Frank shouted, rushing toward the bed.
He saw the unconscious assassin on the floor and the blood line connecting Leo and Clara.
"The power was cut from the main breaker," Frank explained quickly.
"We secured the perimeter, but whoever did this had high-level access."
Leo sat up slowly, pulling the needle from his arm with a grimace.
"Clean up this mess, Frank," Leo ordered coldly.
As Frank turned to direct the guards, his suit jacket fell open slightly.
Clara’s eyes darted to the glowing screen of Frank's burner phone resting in his inner pocket.
A text message notification briefly lit up the dark fabric.
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It was a message from Vincent Rourke.
The message read: "Is the boss dead yet?"
