Chapter 5 - THE HUNTED
The world dissolved into a deafening roar of white noise.
My knees buckled slightly, but I caught myself against the doorframe, my fingernails biting into the polished wood.
"Missing?" The word tore out of my throat, sounding less like human speech and more like an animal caught in a trap. "What do you mean, missing, Sarah? She was asleep in her bed! Kate was watching her!"
"The line was breaking up," the nurse stammered, tears springing to her eyes. "Kate said masked men kicked through the front door. She tried to fight them off, but they hit her. When she woke up, Mia’s room was empty. She called 911, and then she called the hospital because she knew you were on duty—"
I didn't hear the rest of the sentence.
Panic—pure, primal, blinding panic—flooded my veins, overriding every rational thought, every ounce of professional training, every shred of caution. My baby. My six-year-old little girl with her bright blue backpack, her collection of pastel crayons, and her imaginary racehorse Moonlight.
I turned around so fast I nearly tripped over my own clogs.
Ethan had ripped the nasal cannula off his face.
He was sitting upright in the bed, ignoring the agonizing pull of his fresh surgical stitches, his face transformed from a pale, exhausted patient into something terrifyingly lethal. The billionaire businessman was gone; in his place stood the apex predator of the Blackwood empire.
"Marcus!" Ethan roared, his voice echoing off the mahogany walls with enough force to rattle the windowpanes.
The lead security guard burst through the open door instantly, his hand dropping automatically to the holster beneath his arm.
"Mr. Blackwood! You shouldn't be sitting up—"
"Shut up and listen to me," Ethan snarled, swinging his legs over the side of the hospital bed despite the dark red stain beginning to bloom across his chest dressings. "My daughter has been taken."
Marcus froze, his eyes widening fractionally. "Your... your daughter, sir?"
"Mia Callahan. Six years old. Dark wavy hair, brown eyes," Ethan recited with terrifying, photographic precision, ripping the IV needle out of his arm with a sharp yank that sent a spray of blood onto the sheets. "Victor’s men. They tracked me here. They figured out she exists, and they're using her to get to me."
"Ethan, stop! You'll tear your stitches!" I cried out, rushing forward to push him back down, but he caught my shoulders with both hands, his grip unyielding.
"Claire, listen to me," he said, his face inches from mine, his dark eyes burning with an intense, terrifying clarity. "Your daughter is my daughter. And I swear to you on my life—on everything I hold sacred—I will burn this entire city to the ground before I let anyone lay a finger on her."
He looked up at Marcus.
"Get the tactical unit on the encrypted channel. Mobilize every regional asset we have in the north district. Check traffic cameras around the university housing block on Oak Street. I want every single Blackwood logistic hub locked down within ten minutes."
"Right away, sir!" Marcus spun on his heel and bolted from the room, barking orders into his radio before he even hit the hallway.
I stood there, trembling from head to toe, the reality of the situation washing over me in suffocating waves. My daughter was in the hands of the same ruthless monsters who had tried to assassinate Ethan tonight.
"We're going," Ethan said, already ripping off his hospital gown and grabbing a pair of dark sweatpants and a black hoodie from the wardrobe by the closet.
"Ethan, you can't walk, you just had major trauma surgery!" I protested, my voice cracking. "You'll bleed out!"
"Then I'll bleed out after I get my little girl back," he growled, pulling the hoodie over his head with a wince of pure agony. He grabbed my shoulders again, looking straight into my eyes. "Do you trust me, Claire? Just once... do you trust me to keep you and our daughter safe?"
For six years, the answer to that question would have been a bitter, absolute no.
But looking at the fierce, unyielding determination etched into his face—knowing that he was willing to tear his own body apart to rescue a little girl he had only learned existed five minutes ago—something inside me shifted.
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"Find my daughter," I whispered, a tear finally breaking free and rolling down my cheek. "And I'll forgive you for everything."
Ethan didn't hesitate. He grabbed my hand, his fingers intertwining tightly with mine, and pulled me out into the corridor toward the private elevator.
