Chapter 5 - THE TRAITOR’S CURE
The siege lasted twenty agonizing minutes. Gunfire tore through the heavy wood of the bedroom door, splintering the oak but failing to dislodge the barricade. Dominic fired precise, measured shots through the door panels, his face a mask of lethal concentration. Finally, the shooting stopped, replaced by the sound of sirens wailing in the distance—Leo had triggered the silent alarms, bringing Dominic's loyalists from the city.
The immediate threat was over, but as the emergency lights flickered on, casting an eerie red glow over the room, I saw the true cost.
Dominic slumped against the wall, dropping the gun. Blood was pouring down his chest, soaking through the fresh bandages. The exertion had torn the wound wide open, and an artery had ruptured.
"Dominic!" I dropped to my knees beside him, pressing both hands over the gushing wound. The blood was hot and slippery, pulsing rapidly between my fingers. "Hold on, damn it, hold on!"
"Too... much blood," he coughed, his eyes losing focus.
"Shut up and let me work!" I screamed, panic clawing at my throat. I reached into my bag for the hemostatic agent and a pair of surgical clamps. My hands, usually so steady in the trauma bay, were shaking. This wasn't just a nameless patient anymore. In the span of three days, he had become something else. He had protected me.
"I need you to stay with me," I pleaded, digging the clamp into the wound to pinch the bleeding artery. Dominic roared in pain, his body thrashing, but I held firm, sealing the vessel. I packed the wound with coagulant gauze, breathing heavily as the bleeding finally slowed, then stopped.
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Dominic looked up at me, his chest heaving, his eyes burning into mine. "You saved my life."
"That's what you pay me for," I whispered, though we both knew the dynamic had irreparably shifted.
