A close call

[Chapter 42]

The gunshot split the silence, ringing out like a death knell in the damp alleyway. Vale's body jerked back, his pristine suit marred by the bloom of crimson spreading across his ribs. But he didn't fall. Not immediately.

Elias barely had time to register the moment before his instincts took over. He lunged forward, slamming his fist into Vale's jaw with enough force to send the crime lord staggering back. But the laughter—low and dark—sent a chill racing down Elias' spine.

"You really think… this ends with a bullet?" Vale rasped, his fingers gripping the wound at his side as though he could will the blood to stop flowing.

Elias didn't answer. There was no time for speeches, no patience for the theatrics that men like Vale reveled in. Collins needed help, and every wasted second pushed him closer to the edge. Elias had seen enough men bleed out in his lifetime to know when the clock was running out.

Collins groaned behind him, shifting against the wall. "Elias… stop playing with your food and let's get the hell out of here."

Vale smirked, his bloodied teeth flashing under the flickering alley light. "Go on, then. Run. Save your friend. But know this… you're only delaying the inevitable."

Elias stood there, his breathing steady but controlled, his gun still aimed at Vale's chest. He could finish this right now—one more shot, and the city would be rid of a monster. But something held him back. Maybe it was Collins, half-conscious but still alive, still cracking jokes. Maybe it was the knowledge that this wasn't the way things worked. Killing Vale here, in a grimy back alley, wouldn't be justice. It would just be another body on the pile, another ghost whispering in the dark corners of his mind.

He made his choice.

Holstering his gun, he turned away. His boots splashed in a puddle as he crouched beside Collins, throwing his partner's arm over his shoulder. Collins was heavier than he looked, dead weight against Elias' side, but he tightened his grip and hauled him up anyway.

"Try not to bleed all over my shirt," Elias muttered, adjusting his grip.

Collins chuckled weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. "No promises."

They staggered toward the street, leaving Vale behind in the darkness. But Elias knew—this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

---

The ride to the hospital was a blur. Elias barely remembered shoving Collins into the backseat of his car, his foot slamming the gas pedal to the floor. He ran red lights, ignored the honking of furious drivers, and barely registered the words Collins mumbled beside him. Something about a debt, something about making it out alive. Elias didn't respond.

By the time they reached the emergency entrance, Collins was barely holding on. Nurses swarmed the car as Elias threw open the door, barking orders before they could even ask what had happened. He followed them inside, his hands still stained with Collins' blood, his mind running through a thousand scenarios at once. If Collins didn't make it—

He cut off the thought before it could take root.

"Sir, you need to wait outside." A nurse blocked his path as they wheeled Collins through the emergency doors. Elias almost pushed past her, but something in her eyes—the firm, unyielding professionalism—made him stop. He exhaled, his hands flexing at his sides.

"Fine," he muttered, stepping back.

And then he waited.

---

Minutes turned into hours. Elias sat in the hospital's waiting area, his leg bouncing restlessly. His phone buzzed on the table in front of him, messages and missed calls piling up. He ignored them all. His mind kept replaying the moment in the alleyway—the sound of the gunshot, the way Collins had sagged against the wall, the laughter in Vale's voice.

He should have finished it. Should have ended Vale when he had the chance. But he hadn't.

He dragged a hand down his face, staring at the blood still dried beneath his fingernails. How many times had he done this? How many times had he sat in a hospital, waiting for news that could change everything?

Too many.

The sound of footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up as a doctor approached, her expression unreadable. Elias forced himself to stand, bracing for the worst.

"He's stable," she said.

The tension in his shoulders loosened—just slightly. "But?"

She hesitated. "The wound was deep. He lost a lot of blood. He'll recover, but it'll take time."

Elias exhaled, nodding. "Can I see him?"

She gestured down the hall. "Just for a few minutes."

He didn't wait for further permission. His boots echoed against the floor as he made his way down the hallway, past rooms filled with patients he'd never know. When he reached Collins' door, he paused for just a second before stepping inside.

Collins was pale, his arm hooked up to an IV, bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. His breathing was steady but shallow. Elias pulled up a chair, dropping into it with a sigh.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then—

"You look like hell," Collins muttered, cracking an eye open.

Elias let out a short, dry laugh. "You're one to talk."

Collins smirked, but it faded quickly. "Did we get him?"

Elias' jaw tightened. "No. Not yet."

Collins studied him for a moment before sighing. "Figures. Bastard's like a cockroach."

Elias didn't respond right away. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "You almost died."

"Yeah, well. You wouldn't let me."

Elias glanced at him, something unreadable in his expression. "I shouldn't have let it get this far."

Collins' smirk returned, though weaker this time. "Don't start getting all sentimental on me, Mercy. You'll ruin your image."

Elias shook his head, exhaling sharply. "Rest up. You're gonna need your strength."

"For what?"

Elias' eyes darkened. "For when we finish this."

Collins chuckled, closing his eyes. "Sounds like a plan."

Elias sat there a while longer, watching his friend breathe. He didn't know how long it would take for Collins to recover. Didn't know how long they had before Vale made his next move.

But one thing was certain.

The game wasn't over yet.