Chapter 5 - Ambush at the Bridge
Smoke billowed into the morning air as a heavy dump truck plowed directly into the lead security SUV, crushing it against the concrete retaining wall.
"Ambush!" Viktor shouted over the tactical radio from the front passenger seat of the medical van. "Hold the line! Protect the primary vehicle!"
Automatic gunfire erupted around them, echoing wildly inside the underground ramp. Bullets slammed into the armored glass of the van with heavy, thudding cracks, spider-webbing the outer layers but failing to penetrate.
Priya gasped, instinctively leaning her body over Owen’s portable incubator to shield him with her own physical frame, her eyes wide with terror.
Weston moved with terrifying speed. He grabbed Priya by the shoulders and pulled her and the incubator down into the reinforced footwell beneath the rear seats. "Stay down! Don't move!"
"Weston!" she cried out.
"I won't let them touch you!" he snarled. Weston opened the small firing port built into the side door, leveled his customized firearm, and squeezed off four precise shots. Through the thick glass, two gunmen in tactical gear fell to the ground.
"Drive through them!" Weston roared to his chauffeur. "Ram the barrier!"
The heavy armored medical van surged forward, its modified V8 engine screaming. It hit a sedan blocking the ramp, shoving it aside with a crunch of tearing metal, and burst out into the bright morning light of the Chicago streets.
Behind them, two dark SUVs sped out in pursuit, their windows down as shooters poured gunfire toward the van’s tires.
"They brought heavy ordnance!" Viktor shouted, firing back through the rear hatch port. "They're trying to disable our axle!"
Inside the back of the van, the sudden violent movements and loud concussions triggered the alarms on Owen’s portable heart monitor. The digital screen flashed red, chirping frantically.
SpO2 dropping: 82%. Heart rate spiking: 210 BPM.
"He's going into respiratory failure!" Priya yelled over the sound of gunfire. "The shocks are collapsing his airway! I need to intubate him now!"
"Can you do it while we’re moving?" Weston asked, turning from the window, his chest heaving.
"I have to, or he dies in two minutes!" Priya shouted.
She stabilized herself against the floorboards, unlatching the top lid of the portable incubator. The van lurched wildly to the left as the driver evaded another ramming attempt from the pursuing SUVs. Priya’s hand trembled for a fraction of a second, but years of high-stress ER training kicked in.
She picked up the tiny infant laryngoscope and a size 2.5 endotracheal tube. "Hold my shoulders steady, Weston! Don't let me slip!"
Weston dropped his weapon, lunged forward, and wrapped his huge, powerful arms around Priya’s waist and shoulders, locking her securely against his chest like an iron vise. "I’ve got you," he growled in her ear. "Do it."
With absolute precision, despite the violent sway of the vehicle, Priya slid the blade into Owen’s tiny mouth, located his vocal cords, and threaded the micro-tube into his trachea. She attached the manual resuscitation bag and squeezed gently.
Compress. Release. Compress. Release.
Owen’s chest rose evenly. Within ten seconds, the red flashing lights on the monitor turned back to a steady, comforting green. The heart rate stabilized at 140 BPM.
"He's breathing," Priya gasped, collapsing back against Weston’s broad chest, completely drenched in cold sweat. "He's back."
Weston looked down at her. His arms were still wrapped tightly around her, holding her safe. For a long second, amidst the chaos and the sound of distant sirens, their eyes met. The raw, fierce admiration in Weston’s dark eyes was electric.
"You are incredible," Weston whispered softly.
A loud thud echoed as Viktor fired a rocket-propelled grenade from the rear hatch, striking the lead pursuing vehicle. The enemy SUV flipped violently across three lanes of traffic, bursting into a wall of flame and blocking the remaining attackers.
"Road is clear, Boss!" Viktor yelled out, wiping blood from a minor scratch on his forehead. "We're clear to the Lake Forest estate."
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Weston didn't let go of Priya immediately. He gently brushed a strand of dark hair away from her face, his thumb lingering against her cheek. "You saved him again."
Priya felt her heart fluttering—not from the gunfight, but from the sudden, powerful intimacy connecting her to Chicago’s most feared man. "We're a team, Weston," she said quietly. "Now let's get your son home."
