Chapter 2 - The Shadows of Kensington
Moving a two-hundred-pound man in acute hemorrhagic shock went against every medical instinct I possessed, but leaving him on the open floor was a death sentence. The wide-open gates meant his attackers—or worse, their cleanup crew—could return at any second.
"Sophie," I hissed, my hands slippery with his warm blood as I checked his airway. "Where is the master bedroom? Somewhere with a heavy lock?"
"Upstairs," the little girl whimpered, clutching a stuffed bear with stained paws. "Daddy has a panic room behind the closet."
I gritted my teeth. "Help me pull his shoulders."
Using a heavy woolen throw blanket from the couch, I rolled Roman Blackwell’s massive frame onto the fabric, careful not to disturb the long kitchen knife wedged deep into his left upper quadrant. It was acting as a plug; if that knife shifted even a fraction of an inch, his abdominal aorta would blow, and he would bleed out in under thirty seconds.
Together, using every ounce of strength forged through years of double shifts and physical labor, I dragged him across the polished marble, into the elevator, and up to the sanctuary of his panic room.
The heavy steel door sealed shut behind us with a satisfying hydraulic hiss.
Under the sterile white lights of the hidden room, I could finally see the true extent of the damage. His pulse was thready, hovering around forty beats per minute. His skin was clammy, ice-cold, and turning gray.
"I need sterile water, clean towels, rubbing alcohol, and thread," I told Sophie, keeping my voice firm and reassuring. "Check the medical cabinets."
The panic room was built like an emergency surgical suite—Blackwell was a man who lived a life prepared for violence. I threw off my diner apron, washed my hands with surgical scrub, and opened an emergency kit.
I couldn't remove the blade without proper blood transfusions ready, so I performed an emergency packing. I carefully packed sterile gauze tightly around the entry wound, applying localized pressure to compress the surrounding vessels while leaving the steel immobilized. I rigged an IV bag of saline solution from the wall cabinet, driving the needle into a thick vein in his forearm to push fluids and keep his blood pressure from completely collapsing.
Hours bled together in the quiet room. I sat on the cold floor beside him, constantly monitoring his pulse, wiping sweat from his forehead, and keeping Sophie wrapped in a warm blanket beside us.
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Just as the first light of dawn trickled through the mansion's security cameras, the giant on the floor stirred.
His dark eyes snapped open with lethal, terrifying speed. Before I could speak, his large hand shot out like a steel trap, wrapping around my throat, pinning me down against the tile floor.
