“You don’t just walk into a cartel and start throwing your smart mouth around—”
“Listen, you arrogant shithead—”
“The family of Valentin Carrera?”
With five words, the brewing argument between Emilio and me stopped cold. Stepping forward, I tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “That’s us.”
The doctor nodded in acknowledgement. “Very well. My name is Dr. Kirkland, and I was the lead surgeon on your…” His voice trailed off as his eyes bounced between the three of us.
“Brother,” Mateo answered, pressing a light hand to my lower back. “He’s our brother.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow and ran a disbelieving eye over my pale skin, blue eyes, and red hair.
Good one, Mateo.
Shaking his head, he continued. “Your brother suffered massive internal injuries to his liver. Those kinds of gunshot wounds are serious because the liver is highly vascularized and close to multiple large blood vessels. If a bullet hits one or more of the large vessels, a victim can bleed to death rather quickly. Even if a major vessel isn't severed, a liver laceration bleeds heavily, and it isn't always easy to get it to stop.”
“What are you saying?” I whispered, a sharp ringing building in my ears.
The doctor offered a sympathetic smile. “Luckily, only a small part of your brother’s liver was damaged, Ms. Carrera. The organ is highly regenerative. We were able to tie it off and repair surrounding damage.”
“He’s okay?”
Patting my hand, he tugged off his scrub hat and nodded. “He’s sedated right now and will be in substantial pain when he wakes up, but yes, he’s going to be okay. Give him an hour or so to recover, and you can see him one at a time.”
In a hospital waiting room in Houston.
In a pair of ugly green scrubs.
I hit the floor on my knees and prayed for the first time since I was fourteen.
* * *
IthoughtI’d prepared myself for what I’d find when I opened the door to Val’s hospital room.
I was wrong.
Wires, tubes, bandages, and his beautiful bronzed skin, now pale and ashen gray almost took me to the floor. Val Carrera stood as a giant among men. He spoke and people scattered. His name was murmured in quiet tones, for fear of conjuring the wrath of a killer.
But to me, he was neither a giant nor a killer. He was the man who’d crossed borders to rescue me. He was the man who almost gave his life to save my own.
Valentin Carrera was my hero.
Somehow, I forced my feet to obey and carry me to his bedside. For far longer than I cared to rationalize, I stood above him, listening to him breathe. In the dingy basement, I’d searched so hard for the slightest breath that the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest comforted me like nothing had since I ran out of Caliente.
Lowering into the chair beside his bed, the beep of the machine synced with my heartbeat as I held his hand and pressed my cheek against the mattress. “Hey, Danger. You scared the hell out of me. What was with the superhero act, huh? You told me you were a criminal and a bad guy—someone people should fear and run from.” Rolling my lips inward, I pressed them against the skin on his arm as tears I had no idea I had left rolled down the other side of it. “There’s no fear, Val. Only love. I’m not running from you anymore. I’m running toward you. Wake up and catch me.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
VAL
“I’m running toward you. Wake up and catch me.”
Why the hell did it feel like I was climbing a ladder in a lake full of quicksand? The higher I climbed, the farther I sank, with each step more and more difficult to take.
She was near. That much I knew. Either that, or I was fucking hallucinating her voice.
“Cere…” My voice broke, the inside of my throat feeling like I’d chewed and swallowed a handful of broken glass.
