His eyes meet mine as nothing but silence sounds around the room, the alarm like a distant memory. His body crashes to the ground with the pool of blood splashing up around him.
Then just when I think it’s all over, his gun raises from the ground, blood dripping from his fingers. With a weak arm, he aims, and with nothing left to lose, he pulls down on the trigger and shoots.
BANG!
CHAPTER 23
AUTUMN
Thorne’s body crashes to the ground, knocking over the tray filled with the surgical tools as a high-pitched scream is torn through the room. My throat instantly burns and it takes me a second to realize that I’m the one screaming.
I rush around to the other side of the surgical bed, but I’m stopped when the gun is pointed directly at my chest. “Don’t fucking move,” the bastard demands, blood pooling around him like some kind of horror movie, but I don’t stop. How can I? Not when Thorne is on the ground and I have absolutely no idea where he was shot.
The man has no energy as he struggles to hold onto life, so I use that to my advantage, darting toward him and slamming my foot down over his wrist, instantly breaking the bones and leaving him no control of his hand. Using my other foot, I kick out hard and send the gun flying across the room.
It clatters against the metal legs of Ashleigh’s bed, and she flinches as the heavy sobs break from her chest. Though, it’s impossible to tell if she’s crying out of sorrow or pure relief. I’m going to take a wild guess and go with option number two.
Thorne’s pained groans have me dropping to my knees at his side and scanning over him as the tears fill my eyes. Blood seeps from the bullet wound in his thigh as I watch in horror as it begins pooling beneath him.
“No, no, no, no,” I cry, pressing my hands down against the bullet wound, desperate to get control of the bleeding. “Please don’t die. I only just got you. I need you here.”
“I’m not dying,” Thorne groans, his eyes clenching as the pain rocks through him. “But I can’t say the same for this fucker.”
He glances back at Ashleigh’s husband lying helplessly on the ground, and I can’t help but follow his gaze. The man is just moments from passing out and while the medically trained part of me is screaming that I need to save his goddamn life, I can’t bring myself to move. “There’s a special place reserved in hell for him,” I grumble, clenching my jaw and refusing to feel guilt for talking shit about a dying man.
Thorne attempts to sit up, his face turning an awful shade of white as the blood drains from the wound in his thigh. He applies as much pressure as he can as his head rests back against the cupboards.
Ashleigh’s heart rate drops dangerously low and I fear for how much blood she’s losing too. My hands press down on Thorne’s thigh as I glance up at Ashleigh. “HELP,” I call over the sound of the alarm. “WE NEED HELP IN HERE.”
My stare slices to the broken door, my heart racing as I wait for someone to come running through it, ready to help me, but after too long, I realize that I’m on my own.
Thorne meets my eyes with a desperate panic reflected in his own and I shake my head, fearing that he’s about to send me away. “I need you to deliver the baby,” he tells me, meeting my stare straight on and not leaving any room for arguments. “You need to get the baby out and stabilize Ashleigh, otherwise we’re going to lose all three of them tonight, and I refuse to let that happen.”
“I … I can’t,” I tell him. “Your leg. If I let go ...”
“Autumn, you have to.”
“But I’m just a midwife. I can’t perform a surgical procedure. What if …”
He sits up straight, curling his hand around the back of my neck and pulling me in close. “Go and save their lives,” he demands. “I only have a minute or two before I pass out and I need to talk you through this. You can do it, Autumn. Now get up there and do what I’ve trained you to do. The sooner you do that, the sooner you can help me.”
I swallow back my fear and nod while scrambling to my feet, that one sentence holding enough power to keep me going. I race over to the sink and tear off my bloodied gloves before quickly washing my hands and pulling on a new pair. The last thing we need is to be dealing with an infection.
I search the cupboards and find a new set of surgical tools before letting out a shaky breath and making my way back over to Ashleigh, who lays on the surgical bed, wide open and sobbing as her life hangs in the balance. Blood races from the incisions in her abdomen, dripping down onto the bed and running off the edge, sending shockwaves coursing through me.