Carlo didn't dare waste time debating. Adrenaline surged through him, a primal cocktail of fear and protectiveness. He scooped Scarlett into his arms, her limp form a dead weight against him. Her white dress bloomed crimson around the wound, a horrifying contrast to the innocence it once symbolized.
"Hold on, Scarlett," he grunted, his voice a ragged rasp against the roar in his ears.
He sprinted down the hallway, his legs burning with exertion. Every creak of the floorboard sounded like a gunshot in his heightened state.
He burst through the front door, the cool atmosphere a shock against the oppressive heat of the house.
He scanned the grounds, his gaze darting through the shadows, searching for any sign of Nathan's escape. The gardens were deserted, bathed in an eerie light. With a curse, Carlo shifted Scarlett in his arms, his grip tightening around her waist. He needed to get her to a hospital.