Chapter 32

"Everyone evacuate now!"

Evelyn Roland charged down from the third floor to find the corridor littered with wounded. She stood at the stairwell, her voice cutting through the chaos: "They're right behind us! Anyone who can move, follow me out the back!"

"Evelyn, we can't..."

Little Dog dragged his injured leg, his face smeared with soot from the explosion. Tears glistened in his eyes as he looked up. "The guys who just got sterilized can barely stand. Several are still in surgery getting bullets removed..."

"No time!"

Evelyn yanked the silk scarf from her neck and tied it around Little Dog's bleeding arm. Her nails dug into her palms. "We move now or die. Carry the critically wounded if you have to!"

Voices rose in ragged agreement down the hallway. Members of the Blenheim faction struggled to their feet—some hauling unconscious comrades on stretchers, others limping downstairs arm-in-arm. White-coated doctors wheeled IV stands while nurses followed clutching emergency kits.

The private hospital's neon lights glared harshly against the night.

"Triple the fee—get your director here!"

Evelyn slammed a stack of bills onto the reception desk. The nurse's hands shook as she grabbed the phone. Within minutes, every light in the building blazed to life, the sound of gurney wheels filling the corridors.

"Evelyn! Massachusetts General is on fire!"

Little Dog's shriek made her whirl around. The distant inferno painted her ashen face crimson. A sudden realization struck her like lightning, and she sprinted toward the flames without hesitation.

"Vincent's still inside!"

The night wind stung her cheeks. As Evelyn rounded the second intersection, seven shadowy figures emerged from an alley. The lead man wore a black balaclava, his voice grating like sandpaper. "Running straight to us, sweetheart?"

"Move!"

Her boot knife slid into her palm. The blade flashed—splitting the man's vest open, spilling entrails and blood. She seized his twin pistols and dropped two pursuers with headshots.

At the third gunshot, white-hot agony pierced Evelyn's ribs. The bullet exploded from her back in a fist-sized exit wound. Staggering, she felt the weapons grow leaden in her grip.

"Die, bitch!"

The masked man raised her own dagger, its tip inches from her throat. Evelyn shut her eyes—only to hear a sickening crack. Warm blood splattered her face. When she looked, a headless corpse toppled before her.

"Shouldn't you repay your savior with a kiss?"

A young doctor knelt beside her, surgical scissors already slicing through bloodied fabric. Evelyn turned away, tears mingling with blood at her temples. Her mind reeled with images of Vincent consumed by flames—until the sudden rip of her shirt snapped her back.

"Marry me now?"

"You—disgusting!"

Evelyn flushed scarlet, then convulsed from searing back pain. Dominic Laurent approached carrying an unconscious Vincent, his beard quivering with laughter. "Finally showing some sense, boy!"

In the hospital corridor, Little Dog burst into tears seeing the two wheeled into surgery together. The young doctor forced a pill between Evelyn's lips before scowling at the old man. "Grandfather, her tripled fee—"

"Save them first."

Dominic gripped his grandson's shoulder, scanning the deserted hallway. Not a single Blenheim guard remained—only this blood-soaked boy weeping alone. With a sigh, the elder retrieved a golden syringe from his medical kit's hidden compartment.