Chapter 13: Blood and Betrayal (And What the Hell Just Happened)

Cady's POV

The gunshot echoes in my head, louder than any sound I've ever heard. My hands are shaking as I hold onto the cleaning supplies, the smell of bleach filling the air. What the hell was that? Did someone just get shot?

Before I can even process what's happening, the older maid rushes into the bathroom, her face pale, eyes wide. "You need to stop. Now. Go back to the room," she snaps, her voice trembling.

I blink at her, trying to make sense of her words. "Back to the room? After what I just heard? Are you kidding me?" I shout, throwing the rag into the bucket of dirty water. "What was that sound? What's going on?"

She doesn't answer. She grabs my arm, trying to pull me out of the bathroom, but I yank it away. I look past her and see the maids rushing down the hall, their faces tense, moving into a semi-barricaded room like it's some kind of drill. Like this happens all the time.

"This happens regularly, doesn't it?" I ask, my voice trembling.

"Go back!" the woman orders again, but I don't listen. I pull away from her, slipping down the hallway as fast as I can. She calls after me, her voice fading behind me, but I keep moving.

I reach the top of the stairs, breathing hard, and stop when I see what's happening at the far end of the entrance. I freeze. My stomach drops.

A man in a hoodie stands at the entrance, holding a gun. Tate's two bodyguards are kneeling on the floor, their hands raised. And standing between them, as calm as ever, is Tate. His arm is bloodied, but he doesn't even flinch.

The man pulls down his hood. My breath catches in my throat. It's him. The guy from that night—the one I think is Tate's younger brother. What the hell is going on? Why would he shoot his own brother?

The older maid finally catches up to me, grabbing my arm. "You need to come back!" she hisses, pulling at me.

But I'm too distracted, too stunned by what I'm seeing to resist. I turn toward her, but the next thing I know, I'm falling. My foot slips, and I feel myself tumbling down the stairs, the world spinning around me.

$$$

Tate's POV

I see her before she falls. It's like I can sense her, the way she's always hovering on the edges of my mind, even when I don't want her there.

I catch a glimpse of her wide eyes just as she tumbles down the stairs, her body rolling like a ragdoll. And the blood—fuck, there's already blood flowing from her head.

"Cady!" I shout, but she's already at the bottom of the stairs, motionless.

I turn back to my brother, standing in front of me, his eyes darting to Cady, too. He's never been able to handle blood, not since we were kids. He's shaking, the gun still in his hand, but I know he's not going to pull the trigger again.

"Fucking stop this madness," I say, my voice sharp. "You really think I'm going to testify in a case that went cold years ago? You're insane. Let it go."

His face twists with anger. "I can't, Tate! You know I can't!"

I see his eyes flicker to Cady again. He's crumbling. He's always been a fucking pussy when it comes to blood, death. Hell, he can't even kill a fly.

That's when I make my move. I grab the gun from his hands, wrenching it away from him before he even realizes what's happening. My bodyguards are on him in an instant, locking his arms behind his back as he struggles to break free.

I toss the gun to one of my men as he rushes in, catching it mid-air. I turn back to my brother, stepping closer, and jab my finger into his chest. "The next time you pull a stunt like this," I say, my voice low and menacing, "I'll forget we share the same fucking blood."

He doesn't respond. He just glares at me as my bodyguards drag him out of the room. The door slams shut behind them, and the sound of his shouts fade into the distance.

Then I hear it—her. Cady. Her soft, weak whimpers reach my ears, pulling me back to the reality of the situation. I turn, and there she is, lying at the bottom of the stairs, blood pouring from the gash on her head. Her eyes are fluttering, but she's still conscious. Barely.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath.

I walk quickly toward her, my gaze narrowing on the maid who's standing over her. I give her a look that makes her shrink back in fear. "What the hell happened?" I growl.

"I-I didn't mean to—she—she slipped, Sir Tate!" the maid stammers, her voice trembling. "I was trying to help her, I swear—"

I don't want to hear it. I snatch the towel from her hands and press it to Cady's head, trying to stop the bleeding. Her eyes flicker, her breathing shallow.

"You better not fucking die on me, Sparky," I whisper under my breath, scooping her into my arms without thinking. Her body is limp, her head lolling against my chest. "Not here. Not now."

I've handled too many deaths on my property before. Too many secrets buried in these walls. I can't have her be one of them.

My arm is still bleeding, but I ignore it. The maid tries to speak, but I shut her up with a glare. "Get the driver," I bark, walking toward the door. "Start the engine."

$$$

Cady's POV

I wake up, groggy and disoriented, the world around me fuzzy and unfamiliar. I try to sit up, but a sharp pain in my head forces me back down.

What… happened?

I blink, trying to focus, and I realize I'm in a hospital bed. The light filtering through the windows is soft, early morning. My head feels like it's been split in two, and my body is heavy, like I've been drugged.

A doctor stands by my side, adjusting something on a clipboard. She glances at me and smiles. "You're awake. That's good. Don't try to move too much, your head injury is still healing."

I stare at her, my mind still foggy. "What… happened? Why am I here?"

The doctor looks at me with this strange, almost admiring look. "You're very lucky to have someone like Sir Tate Mercer looking after you. He was quite insistent that we give you the best care possible."

Sir Tate Mercer? Of course, he was. Who else would it be? But wait… wasn't I supposed to be going home? Didn't he say I could leave? Why the hell am I still here?

Before I can ask any more questions, the door opens, and he walks in. Tate. His arm is bandaged, but he doesn't seem to be in pain. He moves with that same calm, controlled arrogance he always has.

The doctor blushes as she gives him a rundown of my condition. He nods, barely paying her any attention, and sends her out without so much as a glance.

I watch him as he walks over to me, his eyes scanning my face, then my bandaged head. He reaches out, gripping my chin between his fingers, tilting my head from side to side as if he's examining his property.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice steady. Too steady.

"I'm fine," I whisper, my heart pounding. But what the hell happened?