CHAPTER 8

Isla gripped the steering wheel tightly, speeding toward the hospital. Ethan was slumped in the passenger seat, his shirt soaked in blood. Adrian sat in the back, applying pressure to Ethan's wound with his torn shirt.

"Stay with me, Ethan," Isla urged, glancing at him.

Ethan smirked weakly. "Are you always this bossy, or is it just when I'm dying?"

"Shut up and focus on breathing," Isla snapped.

Adrian pressed harder on the wound. "Damn it, man. You don't get to flirt when you're bleeding out."

"If I'm going out, I might as well go out charming," Ethan murmured.

Adrian looked at Isla. "Drive faster."

"I'm already pushing it," she shot back, swerving around a corner.

Ethan's hand brushed against Isla's arm. "Hey…"

She glanced at him.

"You drive like a maniac, but I feel safe with you," he whispered.

"Good," Isla said, gripping the wheel. "Because I'm not letting you die."

The car screeched to a stop in front of the hospital. Isla jumped out, running around to Ethan's side as medical personnel rushed toward them.

Expanded Scene 2: The Emergency Room

Isla and Adrian dragged Ethan through the hospital's sliding glass doors.

"Somebody help! He's been shot!" Isla shouted.

A nurse rushed forward with a stretcher, doctors following close behind. Isla and Adrian eased Ethan onto it.

Ethan groaned. "Didn't know getting shot came with so much fuss."

A doctor pushed Isla aside. "Miss, we need space."

Isla hesitated, gripping Ethan's hand, tears running down her eyes.

His thumb brushed against her skin. "Don't run away," he whispered before being wheeled away.

She stood frozen as the emergency doors shut behind him. Adrian placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Come on, we need to sit."

Isla nodded numbly.

Minutes stretched on. A nurse passed by, and Isla jumped up.

"Is he okay?"

"We'll update you soon, miss," the nurse said.

Isla sank back into her chair.

Adrian exhaled. "He's tough. He'll make it."

She nodded, staring at the closed doors.

Isla paced back and forth in the waiting area, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Every time the emergency room doors swung open, her heart lurched, but it was never the doctor she was waiting for. Adrian sat slouched in one of the hard plastic chairs, his hand resting on his bandaged side.

"You're making me dizzy," he muttered.

Isla ignored him, her fingers digging into her arms. "It's been almost an hour. What's taking so long?"

"They're trying to save his life," Adrian said, wincing as he sat up straighter.

She spun toward him. "You're hurt too. You should get checked out."

Adrian waved her off. "I'll live. Ethan's the one who got the worst of it." He studied her, then smirked. "You really care about him, don't you?"

Isla froze, her throat tightening. "I… I don't know what you're talking about."

Adrian chuckled. "Right. That's why you're about two seconds away from storming into the operating room yourself."

Isla opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, the doors finally swung open. A doctor in blue scrubs stepped out, pulling off his gloves.

She rushed toward him. "How is he? Is he okay?"

The doctor held up a hand. "He's stable. The bullet didn't hit any major organs, but he lost a lot of blood. We removed the bullet and stitched him up. He needs rest, but he's going to be fine."

Isla exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging with relief. "Can I see him?"

The doctor hesitated. "He's still under anesthesia, but once he wakes up, you can visit him."

Isla nodded quickly. "Thank you."

The doctor left, and Isla turned to Adrian.

"He's okay," she whispered, a small smile breaking through.

Adrian grinned. "Told you. He's too stubborn to die."

Isla sat down, her hands finally still. But deep inside, she knew that Ethan being out of danger was only temporary. The people chasing him wouldn't stop.

And now, neither would she.

Hours passed before Isla was finally allowed inside Ethan's hospital room. The sight of him lying there, pale and hooked up to monitors, made her chest tighten. His arm was bandaged, and his face looked exhausted even in sleep.

She hesitated at the door before stepping inside, moving quietly to his bedside.

"Hey," she whispered, even though she knew he wouldn't hear her. "You really know how to scare people, don't you?"

She sat down, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. A part of her wanted to reach out, to touch his hand, to feel for herself that he was really okay.

Before she could, the door creaked open. Isla turned, expecting to see Adrian or a nurse.

Instead, a tall man in a dark suit stepped in. His eyes, cold and assessing, landed on Ethan before flicking to her.

Isla's blood ran cold.

She knew that face.

Daniel's right-hand man.

She straightened, her pulse hammering. "Who are you?"

The man smiled faintly. "Just checking in on an old friend."

Isla shifted, positioning herself between the man and Ethan. "He doesn't need visitors."

The man tilted his head, studying her. "You must be Isla."

The way he said her name sent chills down her spine.

"If you know who I am, then you know I'm not letting you near him," she said firmly.

The man smirked. "Relax. I'm not here to finish the job. Not yet anyway." He slid a card onto the bedside table. "But tell Ethan this—he can't run forever. And next time, we won't miss."

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving Isla frozen in place, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy storm.

Isla's fingers trembled as she picked up the card left by Daniel's right-hand man. The crisp white paper held nothing but a phone number embossed in black ink. No name, no message—just an open threat.

She clenched her jaw and shoved the card into her pocket. Ethan stirred in the hospital bed, his eyelids fluttering. Isla immediately turned to him, pushing the fear from her face.

His eyes cracked open, hazy with anesthesia. "Isla?" His voice was rough, weak.

She swallowed hard and forced a small smile. "Hey, you."

Ethan's lips twitched, but then his brows furrowed. He tried to sit up, only to groan in pain.

"Whoa, slow down." Isla gently pushed him back. "You just had surgery, remember?"

Ethan exhaled sharply. "Right. Warehouse. Gunfire." His gaze moved to her, sharpening. "You okay?"

She let out a breathy laugh. "I should be the one asking you that."

Ethan ignored her and studied her face as if searching for signs of distress. He must have found something because his expression darkened.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice turning serious.

Isla hesitated. She could tell him about the visitor. About the warning. About how the danger was closer than they thought. But he was already battered and broken, and she wasn't sure if he could handle another blow.

So she lied.

"Nothing," she said. "Just a quiet night at the hospital."

Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly, but he was too exhausted to press. He relaxed against the pillows, his fingers twitching as if reaching for something.

Isla hesitated, then took his hand.

His grip was weak but warm, and when he finally drifted back to sleep, Isla stayed right there, her fingers curled around his.

But in the back of her mind, she knew the silent war had already begun.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the hospital window, casting a soft glow over the white sheets. Ethan woke up slowly, his body aching with every small movement.

His eyes landed on Isla, asleep in the chair beside him. Her head rested against the armrest, her arms crossed over her chest, as if she'd been trying to stay awake.

Something inside Ethan clenched.

She shouldn't be here. Not in this mess. Not tangled up in his fight.

But she was.

And somehow, despite the chaos, despite the pain, he didn't want her to leave.

His fingers twitched, and before he could second-guess himself, he reached out, brushing his knuckles against hers.

Isla stirred, blinking herself awake. "Ethan?"

He smirked slightly. "You drool when you sleep."

She scoffed, sitting up. "I do not."

He chuckled, then winced as pain shot through his side. Isla was instantly at his side. "Hey, easy."

Ethan exhaled, his amusement fading. "I need to get out of here."

Isla frowned. "You just got shot. You're not going anywhere."

Ethan shook his head. "You don't get it. They know where I am now. That means they know about you too."

Isla's expression darkened, but she said nothing.

Ethan sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You should walk away from this, Isla."

She crossed her arms. "Not happening."

"Isla—"

"No," she said firmly. "You're not pushing me away, Ethan. Not after everything. You don't get to decide that for me."

Ethan stared at her, his chest tightening.

She was stubborn. Fierce.

And if he was honest with himself… she was exactly what he needed.

"Fine," he muttered, giving in.

Isla smirked. "Good."

She grabbed an apple from the bedside table and took a bite. "Because like it or not, we're in this together."

Ethan shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

God help him.

Because he was starting to believe her.

The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the low hum of hospital activity filled the air, but Ethan and Isla were too caught up in their moment to notice. Just as Ethan reached for Isla's hand again, a sharp knock at the door startled them both.

Isla tensed, her fingers instinctively brushing against the pocket where she had hidden the mysterious card.

Ethan straightened slightly, wincing at the pain, but his eyes were sharp now, alert. "Who is it?"

Before Isla could answer, the door creaked open. A tall, lean man in a black leather jacket stepped inside. His face was shadowed by the low brim of a cap, but the cold glint in his eyes was unmistakable.

Isla stiffened. She recognized him.

Daniel's right-hand man.

"Relax," the man said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not here to finish what we started."

Ethan narrowed his eyes, his body coiled with tension despite his injuries. "Then why are you here?"

The man smirked and reached into his jacket. Isla's heart pounded as she instinctively stepped in front of Ethan. But instead of a gun, the man pulled out a small black envelope and tossed it onto the bed.

"Consider this an invitation," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "Daniel wants to talk."

Ethan stared at the envelope, jaw clenched. "Yeah? I doubt it's going to be a friendly chat."

The man shrugged. "That depends on you." He turned to Isla, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. "Oh, and bring your girl. Daniel thinks she'll be... motivational."

Isla's blood ran cold.

Ethan's entire body went rigid. "If you so much as—"

The man held up a hand. "Easy, lover boy. No threats. Not yet."

With a final smirk, he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Isla picked up the envelope, her fingers trembling. Inside was a simple card with an address and a time. No name. No details.

Ethan exhaled sharply. "This is bad."

Isla nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Really bad."

She met his gaze, and for the first time since all of this began, she saw something in his eyes that unsettled her.

Fear.

Expanded Scene 8: The Dangerous Choice

Ethan stared at the invitation in Isla's hands, a storm raging behind his eyes. His pulse thundered in his ears as the weight of the situation pressed down on him.

Daniel was playing a game, and they had just become his pawns.

Ethan shifted, trying to sit up properly despite the pain. "We're not going."

Isla shot him a sharp look. "We don't have a choice, Ethan."

"The hell we don't." His voice was tight with frustration. "If we show up, we're walking straight into a trap."

Isla exhaled, gripping the card tighter. "And if we don't, Daniel comes for us. For you."

Ethan's jaw clenched. He hated this. Hated that she was right.

Hated that for the first time in a long time, he wasn't just fighting for himself—he was fighting for her too.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Then we need a plan."

Isla's expression softened slightly. "We'll figure it out together."

Ethan looked at her, really looked at her. She had every reason to walk away, every reason to leave this nightmare behind.

But she stayed.

And for the life of him, he couldn't understand why.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he made a decision.

"If we do this," he said quietly, "you stay behind me. No matter what happens, you don't get involved."

Isla lifted her chin stubbornly. "You don't get to make that decision for me."

Ethan exhaled, his grip tightening into a fist. "I can't lose you, Isla."

She froze.

For a long moment, the weight of his words hung between them, thick and suffocating.

Then, slowly, Isla stepped forward. She reached out and touched his face, her fingers light against the roughness of his stubble.

"You won't," she whispered.

Ethan's breath hitched.

For the first time in years, he wasn't just fighting for survival.

He was fighting for something much, much more.

And that terrified him.