Chapter 8 - The Deal with the Devil
The heavy steel doors of the operating theater slammed shut, locking me out.
I slid down the cold glass wall, pulling my knees to my chest as I sobbed quietly into the empty hallway.
Titan laid his heavy, wet head in my lap, offering a soft whine of comfort.
I had just traded the freedom I fought so hard for to save the life of a mafia boss.
Hours ticked by in agonizing silence while I sat on the sterile floor.
Finally, the surgical doors opened, and Doctor Thorne stepped out, wiping blood from his gloves.
"He is stable," Doctor Thorne announced without a trace of emotion.
I let out a massive breath of relief and rushed past the doctor into the recovery room.
Jared was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a dozen monitors and IV bags.
He looked uncharacteristically fragile without his tailored suit and intimidating presence.
I sat in the chair next to his bed, gently taking his warm hand in mine.
"You shouldn't have taken that bullet for me," I whispered into the quiet room.
Jared's dark eyes fluttered open, heavy with painkillers and exhaustion.
"I told you I would protect you," he rasped, his voice barely audible over the hum of the machines.
He turned his head slightly, noticing the absolute despair written across my face.
"What did you do, Willa?" Jared demanded, a sudden panic flaring in his eyes.
"Doctor Thorne refused to operate unless I agreed to join the Kensington family permanently," I confessed, looking down at the floor.
Jared violently ripped the oxygen monitor off his finger, setting off a sharp alarm.
"You made a deal with Thorne?" Jared yelled, wincing in excruciating pain as he tried to sit up.
"He was going to let you die!" I argued, pushing him gently back down onto the pillows.
Jared grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight despite his severe injuries.
"Thorne doesn't work for me," Jared said, his breathing turning ragged.
"Thorne takes his orders directly from my father, and my father hates anyone he cannot control."
Before I could ask what he meant, the heavy double doors of the recovery room swung violently open.
A terrifyingly elegant older man walked in, surrounded by four heavily armed guards.
He had the exact same sharp jawline and dark, calculating eyes as Jared.
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"Well, well," Silas Kensington said, his voice echoing like thunder in the small room.
"It seems my son has finally found a weakness I can exploit."
