Chapter 132: Chapter 132
Dominic’s ears were still ringing when he stumbled out of the car. The luxurious machine looked like it had crawled straight out of hell. Smoke curled from the hood, glass spider-webbed across every surface.
It had taken the brun, but no amount of armor mattered when the person he loved most was limp in his arms.
"Celeste..." His voice cracked, barely human. He cradled her tighter, ignoring the blood soaking through his thousand-dollar suit, and dripping warm down his wrists and Rolex.
Her head lolled against his shoulder, and her hair stuck to his chest with blood and sweat. She wasn’t waking. God, she wasn’t!
Rodger caught up. His face was pale, and his voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Boss! We need to move. Now!"
Dominic didn’t need telling twice. He shoved past the chaos, his whole world narrowed to the weight in his arms. Celeste’s weight. Every step, his legs threatened to give out, but he kept moving.
His men stood guard, shooting as Rodger protectively led them to the car left unscratched. Two men joined, and Rodger zoomed off.
When they got to the hospital, he rushed out of the car with her, immediately. His arms were heavy, and trembling, but he didn’t loosen his grip on Celeste. Her weight pressed into his chest, warm and frighteningly limp.
He kicked the glass doors of his private hospital open, as his breath ragged. His jaw clenched so tight that it ached. The sound of the doors slamming begind him echoed like a gunshot.
One receptionist scrambled forward with a clipboard. She wore a professional smile, though her hand shoke. "S-sir, we need your–"
"Where’s the doctor?!" Dominic’s roar shook the walls. He shoved her aside so hard that the pen clattered across the marble floor. "I don’t need your damn papers. I need a doctor. Now."
He surged toward the staircase, only for two security men to step in front of him. They blocked him passage. They did that with no idea of who he was, as if they had the right.
His blood boiled. "Move, now." His voice was deadly low. It was the kind that promised violence. The only thing keeping his fists at bay was the fragile body in his arms. "I said—"
"Mr. Cross!"
A familiar voice cut through the tension. A doctor rushed forward, panting, followed by three nurses pushing a stretcher. Relief and fury crashed through Dominic all at once.
One of the nurses reached out for Celeste. "Sir, let us—"
"Move," Dominic barked again, ignoring her. He strode straight for the doctor.
"Boss, they need to take her now," Rodger’s voice came behind him. He’d barely survived the wreck. Blood rushed down the side of his face, but his voice was steady. He was in a better state than Dominic.
Dominic’s chest heaved. He blinked, his mind scattered, broken. For one moment, he looked like a man who had lost everything. Still, he forced himself to focus. To hold on.
"Right." His voice cracked. It came out quiet, and almost unrecognizable.
He lowered his head, pressing his lips briefly to Celeste’s forehead before laying her gently on the stretcher. His hands lingered on her body for too long, unwilling to let go.
The nurses worked quickly, attaching tubes, checking her pulse, lifting her with practiced urgency.
"Gentle," he warned, breathless, and dizzy. His chest heaved. "You, be gentle with her. You hear me?"
The doctor nodded quickly. "Of course. Move along," he snapped at the nurses.
They wheeled her toward the double doors. Dominic’s body lurched forward. "I need to be with her."
His legs wobbled, his vision split into two. Still, he pushed on, nearly stumbling into the stretcher.
Rodger grabbed his arm firmly. "Boss, boss, stop. You’re bleeding. Let them do their job. Let them take her, while we keep you alive."
"I don’t care about me!" Dominic snarled, shaking him off. His voice cracked at the end, more broken than strong. "I need to—"
He staggered, and the world tilt sideways. The blood he’d ignored since the crash was now a river, seeping from the gash at his temple, soaking into his collar. His body finally betrayed him.
"I need... her," he whispered, slurring.
Dominic swayed. His knees buckled under him like they didn’t belong to him anymore. He lurched forward, his fingers twitching in the air as if reaching for the stretcher. His chest heaved once, then twice, and then everything inside him went black.
Rodger caught him just before his skull cracked against the marble floor.
"Boss!" Rodger grunted under his weight, lowering him with surprising gentleness for a man who carried guns more often than tenderness. He cradled Dominic down carefully, pressing a hand to his bleeding temple. His voice turned sharp as he barked at the staff. "Get another damn stretcher out here, now! The boss is down!"
Nurses scrambled like ants, panic and urgency tangled in the sterile air. One darted away, while another bent low, with her fingers pressed against Dominic’s throat.
"His pulse is weak. He’s lost too much blood!" she shouted, already snapping for supplies.
Rodger’s jaw tightened. He pressed his hand harder against Dominic’s wound. His palm was slick with blood, as he applied pressure.
His own cut throbbed, and his shirt clung wet to his ribs, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed on Dominic’s pale face. "Don’t you dare die on me," he muttered under his breath, almost too low for anyone to hear.
Another doctor rushed back with another stretcher. Together, the nurses rolled Dominic onto it, his head lolling to the side. His lips were still parted as if he had one more plea trapped inside. His suit, once immaculate, looked like it had been dragged through war. Blood soaked into the fabric.
Rodger jogged beside them as they wheeled Dominic down the hall. "Don’t separate him from her!" His voice yelled through the corridor. "They both stay in the same wing, you hear me? Same damn wing!"
"Yes, sir!" a nurse squeaked, nearly tripping over her own feet as she kept pace.
Rodger slowed when the double doors swallowed both stretchers. Celeste was wheeled one way, and Dominic the other.
For a second, the hallway fell into silence again, except for the sound of Rodger’s own ragged breathing and the distant wail of machines.
He dragged a bloody hand down his face, smearing red across his jaw. His shoulders squared. He had to hold it together now. For both of them.
Inside the operating room, Dominic’s world was nothing but darkness. And yet even in that void, one thing cut through. The memory of Celeste’s face. The last thing he’d seen before the darkness took him. Her blood in his arms. Her lips pale, and her eyes closed.
His body might have surrendered, but his mind clung to her with the desperation of a drowning man. Even unconscious, his fingers twitched, as though reaching for her hand.