Fractured Loyaties

The sirens howled into the night, their relentless wail cutting through the city like a blade. Inside the ambulance, red and blue lights flashed across the cramped interior, casting frantic shadows over the chaos unfolding within.

Sarah lay strapped to the gurney, her skin ghostly pale, her breaths shallow and uneven. Blood seeped through the thick gauze pressed against her side, soaking into the white sheets beneath her. A medic leaned over her, barking orders to his partner, his gloved hands slick with red.

"BP's dropping! She's losing too much blood—hang another bag, now!"

Jack sat rigid beside her, drenched in sweat despite the night's cool air. His shirt clung to his back, his chest rising and falling in erratic bursts. His fingers dug into his knees, nails biting into denim as he tried to steady himself. But there was no steadying this. No controlling the way his world was unraveling right in front of him.

Sarah's head lolled slightly, her heavy-lidded eyes barely managing to focus on him. "Jack…" Her voice was nothing more than a rasp, fragile and barely there.

"I'm here," he said quickly, gripping the edge of the gurney as if his hold alone could keep her anchored. "Just hang on, Sarah. We're almost there."

A small, breathless laugh escaped her lips, weak but laced with something sharp. "Didn't… think you cared this much."

Jack's jaw clenched, a vein pulsing in his temple. "Don't joke. Don't you fucking joke right now."

Her fingers twitched, like she was trying to reach for him, but she was too weak. He caught her hand, gripping it tightly, willing his warmth into her ice-cold fingers.

The medic shot him a sharp glance. "Detective, you need to give us space."

Jack didn't move. He didn't blink.

"If she dies—" His voice cracked, raw and unfiltered.

The medic didn't answer, just kept working, his face set in grim concentration.

The ambulance lurched violently as they swerved around a corner, the wheels screeching against the asphalt. The movement jolted Sarah, and a low groan slipped past her lips. The beeping of the monitor spiked—too fast, too frantic.

Jack's breath caught in his throat. No, no, no—

"We're almost there!" the driver shouted from the front, his voice barely registering past the static in Jack's ears.

The world outside blurred past in streaks of neon and streetlights. And then—brakes screeched. The back doors burst open, and the medics sprang into motion.

They wheeled Sarah down the ramp, moving fast, their movements rehearsed and precise. Jack jumped out after them, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him, his breath coming too fast, too ragged.

The hospital doors swung open, bright fluorescent light spilling into the night.

Jack followed—until a nurse stepped into his path.

"Sir, you need to wait here."

Jack barely heard her. His pulse was a drum, his hands still clenched into fists. Behind her, the gurney disappeared past a set of doors, swallowed by the sterile white corridors.

"I need to be with her," he growled, trying to push past.

The nurse's grip on his chest was firm but cautious. "I understand, but you need to let them work."

Jack's hands curled tighter. His muscles burned with the urge to move, to do something. But all he could do was stand there.

"Sir, please—"

Jack snapped.

"Don't tell me to wait!" His voice was a snarl, cutting through the din of the hospital. Heads turned. Conversations halted. Nurses exchanged wary glances.

"She's in there bleeding out because some piece of shit is running around killing people, and you're telling me to stand here like everything's fine?" His chest heaved, his eyes wild.

"Sir, you need to calm down," the nurse insisted, a trace of nervousness slipping into her voice.

"Calm down?" Jack let out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. "Calm down?"

Two hospital security guards appeared, their movements cautious but ready. One was built like a tank, the other lean but sharp-eyed. The bigger one stepped forward. "Detective or not, you need to back up."

Jack's nostrils flared. His breath came in heavy bursts. His hands trembled—not with fear, but with fury. The kind of rage that had nowhere to go, no target to land on.

Sarah was in there because of him. Because of this goddamn case. Because of Greg's murderer.

His fists clenched, his knuckles going white. He needed to hit something.

Instead, he spun on his heel and stormed out.

The night air hit him like a slap—cool and crisp, but it did nothing to douse the fire raging in his veins. He staggered toward the nearest wall and braced his hands against the cold brick, his shoulders heaving. Sweat dripped from his temple, his pulse hammering in his skull.

His stomach twisted.

Guilt settled in his chest like a cinder block.

Sarah was in there because of him. Because of the case. Because they were chasing a ghost and losing—badly.

Jack exhaled sharply, dragging a trembling hand through his damp hair.

Whoever did this…

His fingers curled into his palm.

They're dead.

His teeth clenched, his body coiled tight with barely restrained rage.

Greg's killer was too comfortable .

They were making it personal.

And Jack wasn't going to stop.

Not until he put a bullet in the bastard's head.

___________________________________

A Bar Somewhere in the City

The bar had the kind of atmosphere that swallowed people whole—dim lights, murmured conversations, and the scent of old whiskey seeping into the wooden counters. The patrons weren't here for company. They were here to disappear.

Saline sat at the counter, her fingers wrapped loosely around a glass of tequila, rolling it between her hands without drinking. The golden liquid reflected the flickering neon light above her, casting brief shadows across her face.

She wasn't expecting company.

Which was why when a voice spoke beside her, smooth and controlled, she didn't flinch—but her grip on the glass tightened.

"Didn't take you for a woman who waits."

Saline let out a quiet breath before turning her head. Nash Mercer.

"You didn't take me for a lot of things," she murmured, lifting her glass but not drinking. "Like someone patient."

He slid onto the stool beside her, moving carefully, his weight subtly favoring one leg. She noticed.

"Took you long enough," she said.

"Being shot in the leg renders one almost unable to walk properly," he replied dryly, signaling the bartender with two fingers.

Saline smirked. "That's what happens when you piss off an entire underground syndicate."

Nash exhaled through his nose, a ghost of a chuckle. "You say that like they weren't already trying to kill me."

Saline turned slightly, resting her elbow on the counter as she studied him. "The Union's never been this chaotic."

"You're welcome."

She tilted her head. "You find this amusing?"

"I find it necessary," Nash corrected, accepting the drink the bartender placed in front of him. He didn't drink, just let the glass sit between his fingers. "These people built their empire on the backs of the weak. They forgot what fear feels like."

Saline hummed, taking a sip of her tequila. "And you're here to remind them?"

"Something like that."

A brief pause.

Then Nash's voice lowered, edged with something sharper. "Why did you want me to find you?"

Saline exhaled slowly, setting her glass down with a soft clink. "I needed to see if you were still alive."

Nash didn't even blink. "That's not why."

She inhaled once, slow and measured. "I need you to help Maya."

"No."

The answer was immediate.

Saline shook her head. "You don't even know what I'm asking."

"I don't need to." Nash finally took a sip from his drink, his gaze sharp over the rim of the glass. "Whatever trouble she's in, it's hers to deal with."

Saline straightened slightly. "You don't even ask why?"

"I don't care why."

Saline exhaled, rubbing a thumb against the rim of her glass. "Then do it for the kid."

Nash scoffed. "What kid?"

"Maya's daughter."

For the first time, Nash's expression flickered—barely, but enough for her to notice.

He leaned back slightly, his fingers flexing against the counter. "Why should I?"

Saline's gaze didn't waver. "Because Maya can't."

"And why can't you?"

Saline hesitated. Then, her voice dropped slightly. "Because I'm being watched. Not right now, but at all times."

Nash exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "That's the problem with loyalty, Saline. It makes you predictable."

Her expression hardened. "I never said I was loyal to them."

"But you're still theirs."

She held his stare, then admitted, "They sent me here to finish you."

A tense silence settled between them.

Then Nash smirked, slow and deliberate. "And yet, here I am."

Saline didn't smile back. "For now."

Nash's fingers drummed against the glass once before he exhaled. "You expect me to drop everything for some kid?"

Saline didn't hesitate. "She's your daughter."

Nash went completely still.

Saline watched the way his jaw tensed, how his shoulders stiffened. He didn't react immediately, but she saw the calculation happening behind his eyes.

"No," he said finally, his voice quieter now, sharper.

Saline tilted her head. "You think I'm lying?"

Nash let out a slow breath. "I think Maya would rather set herself on fire than have my child."

"She was pregnant when she shot you," Saline said, cutting through his disbelief.

Nash clenched his teeth. "Jack—"

"Jack isn't the father."

Silence.

Saline leaned in slightly. "She never told you because she knew what it would mean."

Nash exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Shit."

Saline nodded once. "Still want to say no?"

Nash was quiet for a moment before he exhaled, his fingers tightening around his glass. "Fine."

Saline leaned back slightly, watching him. "Just like that?"

Nash's smirk returned, but it was humorless. "You think I have a choice?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, Nash shifted, his tone turning businesslike. "What's Celeste Laurent doing in town?"

Saline's expression darkened. "Coyote believes another organization is backing you."

Nash let out a low chuckle. "That's funny."

"They don't find it funny," Saline muttered.

Nash exhaled. "Where is she?"

Saline shook her head. "I don't know. She's even more unpredictable than you."

Nash clicked his tongue. "Figures."

Saline studied him before lowering her voice. "But I do know who's tracking you."

Nash arched a brow. "Yeah?"

She leaned in slightly. "Logan Ashford."

His smirk twitched. "Haven't heard that name in a while."

Saline's expression didn't change. "And if you're not careful, you won't hear much longer."

Nash exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "And you're telling me to stay away from Maya?"

Saline's voice was firm. "If you want her and the kid to live, yes."

Nash scoffed. "And how am I supposed to protect her?"

Saline took the last sip of her tequila, placing the glass down with finality.

"Find Celeste."

Nash arched a brow.

"Or," she continued, her tone sharp, "call Detective Jack and tell him his daughter is in grave danger."

Nash didn't react. Didn't move.

But she saw

it.

The way his fingers stilled, the way his breathing shifted.

He wasn't ready to admit it.