Chapter 383
[ 514 words ]
Chapter 383:
Melanie’s eyes rolled back in her head. Her body went limp, and she collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap, unconscious before she even hit the ground.
Jarrod didn’t spare her a second glance. He was already on his knees beside Caroline. He wrapped his jacket tightly around her bleeding arm with his left hand, applying firm, steady pressure. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest with his left arm. The raw, murderous rage in his eyes warred with a desperate, heart-stopping fear.
Caroline sagged against him, her head falling onto his shoulder. She closed her eyes, the world fading into a dizzying gray. The first part of the plan was complete.
Jarrod’s jacket, a heavy military-grade fabric, was already soaking through with her blood. He held the pressure on her arm with his left hand, his grip unyielding, while he used his shoulder and his left arm to scoop her up. He rose to his feet in one careful, controlled motion, shielding his immobilized right arm and shoulder against his torso to avoid re-aggravating the hardware he knew was already shifting within him.
𝗠𝘰𝗋𝗲 𝘯𝗼𝘷el𝘀 𝘰𝗇 𝘨a𝗅nо𝗏𝘦𝘭𝘴.𝖼о𝘮
His eyes, cold and hard as chips of flint, swept over Melanie’s unconscious form on the floor. He looked at her not as a person, but as an obstacle that had been neutralized. A piece of trash to be disposed of.
He strode out of the locker room and into the corridor, ignoring the gasps and horrified stares of the nurses who had gathered. They parted before him like water, their faces a mixture of awe and fear.
Dr. Orson Finchley, the Director of Nursing, came rushing down the hall, flanked by two hospital security guards. He was a small, fussy man who had long lived in terror of the Romero name ever since the hospital’s last audit. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Jarrod, his face draining of all color at the sight of the blood and the grim, murderous expression on the Colonel’s face.
“What in God’s name is going on here?” Finchley demanded, his voice thin and reedy.
Jarrod didn’t break his stride. He walked directly toward him, his presence radiating a battlefield authority that left no room for debate.
“Get me a private room,” Jarrod said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Top floor. Maximum security clearance. Now.”
The hospital administrator wilted instantly. He knew exactly who was in front of him; the power Jarrod Romero wielded over this facility was a constant weight on Finchley’s mind.
“Yes, of course, Colonel,” Finchley stammered, his pulse racing. He turned to his assistant. “Clear the VIP suite on the penthouse floor! Get Dr. Julian Croft up there immediately!”
He then pointed a trembling finger back at the locker room where Melanie lay. “And you two,” he snapped at the security guards, “secure that scene. Call the police. Detain her. Assault with a deadly weapon.”
Jarrod was already halfway down the hall, moving toward the private elevators. Caroline stirred in his arms, a wave of dizziness washing over her. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a throbbing pain in its wake.
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