Chapter 698: Natalya’s Guilt
Gunfire erupted. I beca a storm of motion—ducking, weaving, striking. My gun barked twice, dropping two more n. A third charged
with a baton. I sidestepped, slashing his wrist. The baton clattered to the ground. My elbow shattered his nose. A bullet to his gut finished him.
The remaining n tried to flank . I didn’t give them the chance. I moved like a shadow, my knife a silver blur, my gun an extension of my will.
Bullets found their marks—chests, throats, foreheads. Knives sliced through flesh and bone. The street beca a slaughterhouse. In minutes, twenty-five bodies lay motionless on the ground, their blood painting the concrete black.
Silence.
I staggered, my breath ragged, my vision swimming. Blood still seeped from the wound in my chest, soaking through my shirt, dripping onto the ground. The car door flew open—Natalya was there, her face pale, her eyes wild with horror and sothing deeper. Sothing broken.
"I’m sorry..." Her voice cracked, her hands pressing against my wound, her fingers trembling. "I thought—I thought you betrayed ."
Tears stread down her face, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Let’s go! I’m taking you to the hospital!" She hauled
toward Igor’s car, her strength fueled by desperation.
She shoved
into the passenger seat, her movents frantic. The engine roared to life as she wrenched the keys from Igor’s corpse.
"Don’t sleep," she ordered, her voice raw, her eyes burning with desperation. "That’s an order... Or I won’t forgive you!"
I managed a bloody smirk, my vision fading at the edges. "Don’t worry, Boss..." I coughed, flecks of red on my lips. "I’m fine..."
But the darkness was pulling
under, heavy and relentless.
Natalya’s grip on the wheel was so tight her knuckles had turned ghost-white, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. "You better be," she whispered, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. She glanced at
again, her eyes wild and bloodshot, tears cutting fresh paths down her cheeks. "You have to be."
Looking at her like that—broken, terrified, clinging to
like I was the only thing keeping her from drowning—I couldn’t help the dark satisfaction curling in my chest. My plan had worked. I’d carved myself into her soul, and now she was bleeding for .
But fuck, it hurt. The knife. She’d stabbed
straight through the heart, and the pain wasn’t just physical. It was like my ribs were crushing my lungs, like my own heartbeat was betraying . For a second, I thought I might actually die. Heart attack? No. Worse. It felt like my heart was being ripped apart from the inside.
I triggered my healing factor—just enough to stop the internal bleeding, to keep my heart from giving out. But I left the wound open, the blood still seeping through my shirt. Natalya didn’t need to know I was healing. Not yet.
She drove like a woman possessed, the car lurching through the streets, tires screeching around corners. She never let go of my hand, even as the orderlies rushed
onto a stretcher. "Nothing will happen to you," she repeated, her voice a frantic chant, as if she could will it into existence by sheer force. "You’re not dying. Not now. Not ever." Her fingers trembled against my skin, her grip desperate, like she was trying to anchor
to the world.
The mont the hospital doors swallowed , the chaos began. Doctors shouted orders. Machines beeped. Tests were run. Then the bombshell: "His heart is bleeding internally. Without a replacent, he won’t make it."
Natalya’s face went pale. "What?" Her voice was a whip-crack, her body vibrating with barely contained panic. She grabbed the doctor’s collar, her other hand pressing the cold barrel of her gun against his temple. "You’re saving him. No excuses. No failures." Her voice broke, just for a second. "If he dies, I’ll burn this hospital to the ground with all of you inside it."
The doctor swallowed hard, his eyes darting between Natalya and the gun. "We’ll need a donor heart. Imdiately."
"Get it," she snarled, shoving him toward the operating room. "I don’t care how. Just save him."
She turned back to , her hands cupping my face, her thumbs brushing away the blood on my lips. "You’re not leaving ," she whispered, her voice raw. "Do you hear ? You’re not leaving ." Her breath hitched, her tears falling faster. "I can’t—I can’t lose you. Not like this."
I wanted to smirk, to tell her I was already healing, that this was all part of the ga. But the pain was real. The fear in her eyes was real. And for the first ti, I let myself feel it.
The second the operating room doors closed, I activated Absolute Hypnosis. Every mind in the room bent to my will. I triggered my healing factor fully, nding every wound, knitting flesh and bone back together. Then I ordered the doctor to wrap
in bandages—just for show—and to act like I was still clinging to life by a thread.
Two hours later, I ended the charade. The doctor wheeled
out; my "recovery" was nothing short of a miracle.
Natalya was waiting, pacing like a caged animal. The second she saw —alive, breathing, hers—she collapsed to her knees beside the stretcher. Her hands shook as she reached for , her voice a broken whisper.
"You’re alive. You’re alive." She pressed her forehead to mine, her tears mixing with the sweat on my skin. "I thought I lost you. I thought—" Her voice cracked. "I don’t know what I would’ve done if—"
I managed a weak smirk, my voice rough but steady. "Told you, Boss. I’m fine."
Natalya let out a shaky laugh, her fingers tightening around mine like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go. "You’re a liar," she whispered, her lips brushing my knuckles, her breath warm and unsteady.
As the orderlies pushed
into the ward, I noticed the shift in the air—the presence of ard n outside the door, all dressed in the sa uniform as Natalya’s bodyguards. My instincts flared. Who are they?
Then I saw him.
An old man stood near the window, his posture rigid, his sharp eyes locked onto . Natalya’s voice softened, a mix of surprise and relief. "Dad... you’re here?"
Reviews
All reviews (0)