Chapter 339 Blood And Memory
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Fragments streaked behind his eyes: rooftops, summer sun, a small girl shouting the name “Rowan.”
Each call tore at his soul like nails on raw nerve.
“I–I’m all right, Rowan. You don’t need to worry, really.”
Yet as the words left her colorless lips, Quinn forced a lopsided, carefree smile, as if pain were an illusion and the streaming blood belonged to someone else.
“The bleeding won’t stop. I’m getting you to the hospital–now!” Han had knotted his silk tie around her shoulder in a shaky tourniquet, yet crimson still welled through the fabric, running in hot rivulets between his fingers.
With one swift motion, Han swept Quinn into his arms. As he turned, squad–car sirens wailed and the first wave of officers skidded to a halt beside the shattered ss.
Marching in with the uniforms was Julius, suit rumpled, eyes wild.
He never expected the sight that punched the breath from his lungs–Han clutching the woman he loved, her arm dangling lifeless while scarlet droplets traced a morbid path to the ground.,
The once–white blouse clinging to her left shoulder had turned a grim, soaking red.
That stain flooded Julius‘ vision, the same drowning crimson that had enveloped him the night his mother took her life.
Terror surged through him, cold and electric, in a single vicious heartbeat.
His entire frame began to shake, a tremor he could neithermand nor conceal.
“Quinn!” He stumbled toward her, nearly tripping over debris, desperate to reach her before fate imed another person he cherished.
If she vanished from this world, he wondered, what purpose would remain for him to keep breathing?
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Chapter 339 Blood And Memory
<b>+5 </b>Free Coins
Quinn felt the chill spreading, as though ice water reced her blood; even her eyelids sagged, heavy as lead.
She understood with clinical rity that the creeping frost was simply hemorrhage.
A moment earlier, she thought she’d heard Julius shouting her name.
The voice had sounded shattered, as though forged from pure terror.
<i>What </i><i>frightened </i>him <i>so </i><i>deeply</i>? <i>The </i><i>possibility </i><i>I </i><i>might </i><i>truly </i><i>die</i><i>? </i>
She tried to pry her eyes open, to assure Julius it was only a shoulder wound, nothing more.
Yet hershes felt stitched together, impossible to lift.
“Julius, move! I’ve got to get Quinn to the hospital!” Han barreled forward, shoulder–checking Julius out of the way with bruising force.
Julius staggered two steps, disoriented, then saw Han sprint toward the waiting sedan with Quinn cradled against his chest. Shock fused to resolve, he lunged after them.
The officers hurried to Leander and Serena, weapons still raised, eyes sweeping the
area.
One officer asked, “Mr. Fane, Ms. Fane, are you all right?”
“Of course we’re not all right!” Serena snapped. “Do you have any idea how terrified I’ve been? Your department is utterly useless!”
Leander, however, lowered his gaze to the pavement, fixated on the scattered beads of blood only steps away.
They were Quinn’s.
If she hadn’t taken that bullet, he would be lying in a pool of his own blood.
<i>Why </i><i>did </i><i>hearing </i><i>her </i><i>call </i><i>me </i><i>by </i><i>that </i><i>tender </i>name<i>–</i><i>seeing </i>her <i>shield </i>me–twist a <i>knife </i>
<i>inside </i>
<i>my </i>chest?
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Chapter 339 Blood And Memory
The ache grew until his skull throbbed.
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s
He fought to master the pain, but the agony radiated from his temples down every
nerve.
He pitched forward, both palms mped to his temples as though he could hold his skull together. A raw, guttural cry tore from Leander’s throat–half scream, half plea–echoing through the corridor.
A uniformed officer lunged toward him, worry etched deep between his brows. “Mr. Fane, what’s happening? Are you hurt?”
Leander answered only by curling tighter, knuckles whitening as he fought the pounding inside his skull. Waves of pain rolled over him, each one worse than thest, until breathing itself felt like shrapnel.
<i>The </i><i>bullet </i><i>never </i><i>touched </i><i>me</i><i>. </i><i>So </i>why <i>does </i><i>my </i><i>chest feel </i><i>like </i><i>it’s </i><i>being </i><i>ripped </i><i>apart</i><i>? </i><i>It </i><i>shouldn’t </i><i>have </i><i>been </i><i>Quinn </i><i>standing </i><i>in </i><i>that </i><i>line </i><i>of </i><i>fire</i>. <i>I </i><i>should </i><i>have </i><i>taken </i><i>the </i><i>hit</i><i>–</i><i>dly </i><i>—if </i><i>it </i><i>meant </i><i>shielding </i><i>her </i><i>from </i><i>a </i><i>single </i><i>ounce </i><i>of </i><i>pain</i>. <i>Why </i><i>does </i><i>it </i><i>hurt </i><i>this </i><i>much</i><i>? </i><i>Could </i><i>I </i><i>really </i><i>be </i><i>her </i><i>brother</i><i>—</i><i>could that </i><i>be </i>why <i>every </i><i>throb </i><i>feels </i><i>like </i><i>my </i><i>own </i><i>heart </i><i>betraying </i><i>me</i><i>? </i>
The doors to the operating theater swallowed Quinn and the gurney beneath her, stainless–steel panels rolling shut with a final metallic thud.
Han and Julius stationed themselves outside, silent sentries beneath the harsh corridor lights.
Han stared at the dark crimson smeared across his palms–the warmth had already cooled, yet he could still feel it pulsing, as though Quinn’s heartbeat were trapped inside his skin.
His hand trembled.
Years in the army had taught him to keep breathing while blood poured and bullets whined. Wounds, even death, were upational habits–not horrors. Yet the instant a round punched into Quinn’s side, terror, pure and unfiltered, flooded his lungs. He dreaded the possibility that she might crumple and never rise again.
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