His After The Heartbreak (BL) Chapter 173: She is Safe With Me

Chapter 173 – She's Safe With

Declan's POV

I brought her back to the car, walked past the front seat and opened the back door again.

It was cleaner now. Not perfect, but clean enough.

With steady hands, I placed her back down on the seat, laying her gently.

I kept glancing down at her chest every few seconds just to be sure—just to confirm she was still breathing.

She was.

Still weak. Still too slow. But she was breathing, and that was enough for now.

I made sure her head was resting comfortably and reached over to pull the seat belt across her chest—not too tight, just enough to keep her from falling if I hit a bump.

She didn't even flinch. Still out warm.

I closed the door and rushed around to the driver's side. Slid into the seat, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. Without wasting another second, I slamd my foot on the gas and took off, heading straight toward the hospital.

The ride was silent.

Completely silent.

Of course it was. Beatrice was the only one who could've talked—and she wasn't talking anyti soon.

I gripped the steering wheel harder, knuckles white. The silence was creeping into my head, into my bones. Maybe I should've turned on the radio... but I didn't. I just stared ahead and kept driving.

But halfway there, it hit .

I was going to walk into that hospital carrying a half-dead woman, covered in blood, shirtless... and I was going to get questioned.

Worse—arrested.

I could already hear the dumbass questions:

"What happened to her?"

"Why is she bleeding?"

"Why are you covered in blood?"

"Why does the bullet look like it ca from your gun?"

No. Fuck no.

I didn't go through all this chaos just to end up behind bars, trying to explain myself to idiots who don't know a thing.

So I did what I had to do.

I turned the wheel sharply and took another road—one that led to the place I trusted more than any other.

My own damn hospital.

My private one. The one where nobody asks stupid questions. The one where people know better than to waste my ti.

I pressed harder on the gas. The speedoter was flying, but the car still felt slow. So damn slow.

"Co on, move!" I muttered under my breath, slamming my hand on the wheel.

It felt like the faster I tried to go, the slower the car moved. Like ti was dragging its feet on purpose just to piss off.

So I forced myself to stop thinking. No more speed. No more ti. I just focused on the road. One turn after the other.

Then finally—finally—I saw the gates of my hospital.

The security guys recognized my car in seconds. Before I even reached the gate, it was already sliding open. I didn't slow down. Just drove right in.

The mont I parked, I threw the door open and jumped out, rushing straight to the backseat.

She was still breathing.

Barely.

Her chest rose and fell like a dying fla. Her skin was pale, her lips almost white, but that thread of life was still there.

I opened the back door and bent down. Carefully, I slid my arms under her again and lifted her up in a bridal carry. She didn't make a sound. Didn't move.

Motionless, but alive.

I held her close to my chest and turned toward the entrance. A team of nurses had already rushed out with a stretcher, all wide-eyed and panicking.

"Sir, just lay her on the—"

"No," I cut them off sharply.

"I've got her," I said, my voice low but firm. "She stays in my arms. She's safer with ."

They hesitated. Then nodded and stepped back, rolling the bed out of the way like I ordered.

I didn't trust anyone else with her. Not yet. Not after everything that just happened.

"I said she's safe with ," I repeated as I walked through the doors.

And I ant every single word.

I didn't waste ti.

The mont the doors opened, I carried Beatrice inside the hospital with long, fast steps. My arms were aching, but I wasn't stopping.

Her life is more important than any hand ache I'm feeling now.

I just need to do this so that they would be more aggression for to transfer on those fucking betrayers.

A few nurses rushed behind , trying to catch up, trying to ask questions—but I didn't answer anyone. I headed straight to the ergency room, my heart thumping like it was about to explode.

I stopped in my tracks and turned around. People were already gathering behind . Doctors, nurses, staff. All of them staring at with wide, shocked eyes.

I didn't bla them.

It was the first ti I ever showed up to the hospital like this—with soone bleeding in my arms, shirtless, looking like a madman. I wasn't calm. I wasn't my usual self. I knew they were confused.

Hell, I was confused too.

My voice cracked through the quiet hallway.

"Where is the fucking doctor?!"

I was losing it. I could feel my blood rising like a damn volcano.

"Get a doctor before I lose my fucking mind right now!" I shouted again, louder this ti.

In seconds, doctors began pouring in from every direction—running, jogging, walking fast—trying to show their faces, trying to get noticed, trying to help.

But I didn't want just anyone.

"I don't want all of you," I snapped, glaring at them. "I don't want the ones here to impress or win favor. I want the best. The most experienced. Only one person touches her. One."

The crowd froze. Everyone just stood there like statues, unsure of what to do. Then slowly, they started backing away. All except two.

Only two doctors kept walking toward .

Halfway there, one of them paused and stepped back.

Only one was left.

I locked eyes with him. He wasn't scared—but he wasn't fast enough either.

"Your legs are there for a reason," I growled. "Use them. Or I'll co get you myself."

That did it.

The guy broke into a run. Good.

When he reached , he nodded and turned, leading the way fast. I followed right behind him, still carrying Beatrice like she weighed nothing. The halls blurred around as I walked, not seeing anything else—just focused on her.

We got to the ward.

He opened the door, and I placed her gently on the bed. Her breathing was still slow. Her skin looked drained. Her lips had gone dry.

I stood by her side as the doctor quickly put on gloves and moved to examine her.

I didn't say anything else.

I just stood there, watching her. Watching him.

Waiting.

Waiting for him to tell sothing—anything—that would let know she was going to be okay.

Because right now?

She looked like the rest of the unlucky ones.

The ones who got shot and didn't make it.

And I was praying like hell she wasn't going to be one of them.

"Do well not to let her die because I'm going to be sure to pay you back by killing you."