Chapter 6

Omar hesitated, gripping his phone tightly, his voice unsure as he spoke. “B-But, Boss—”

Ezra's patience was extremely limited. He didn’t have time for objections. “Are you questioning my decisions, Omar?” His voice pierced the phone like a sharp instrument.

Immediately, Omar shook his head, though his boss couldn’t see him. “No, boss. But what if our enemies track down your beach house? I’m just being cautious.”

Ezra clenched his jaw, his grip on the phone tightening to the point where the device nearly cracked under the pressure. “Come here right away and bring that damn doctor! I don’t give a damn about my safety. Bring our men if that makes you feel better!” he barked, his fury barely contained.

A sigh came from the other end of the line before Omar answered. “Understood, boss. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Ezra didn’t wait for him to hang up. He had already ended the call, his focus shifting back to the unconscious woman lying on his bed.

Her hands were ice-cold in his grasp, her body wracked with fever. The heat radiating from her was alarming. He had already wrapped her in two thick blankets, but instead of helping, she trembled even more. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, and her face contorted in discomfort.

He carefully wiped her sweat away, his movements uncharacteristically gentle. He hadn’t even changed out of his bloodstained clothes—his priority had been tending to her.

His gaze traced the bruises and cuts littering her fragile frame. Deep gashes lined her arms and legs, a clear indication of the torment she had suffered. But what worried him the most was the gunshot wound near her chest. Had the bullet grazed her heart? He had managed to stop the bleeding temporarily, but he wasn’t a doctor. He was only used to patching up his own wounds, not someone else’s.

“F*ck,” he muttered under his breath, frustration laced in every syllable. His fingers tightened into fists as he took in her battered state. "What the hell did you go through?"

She stirred slightly, a soft whimper escaping her lips.

Ezra inhaled deeply, trying to suppress the foreign emotion clawing at his chest. He didn’t like this feeling—this unrelenting need to protect someone he barely knew. It was unfamiliar, unsettling, and dangerous.

Why the hell do I care so much?

His entire life had been spent eliminating obstacles. If someone wasn’t useful to him, they didn’t deserve his attention. And yet, here he was, watching over a nameless woman as if she were the most important person in the world.

Ezra exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “Shit, I need a cigarette,” he muttered. But he didn’t move. His hand was still wrapped around hers, as if letting go would make things worse.

For the first time in years, he felt powerless.

Ten minutes had never felt so agonizingly long. The wait was unbearable. Every second that ticked by was another second she spent suffering.

“You’re making me sound like a damn unstable man, woman,” he grumbled, his free hand brushing stray strands of hair from her sweat-drenched face.

She whimpered in response, as if understanding him.

Ezra’s ears perked up when he heard the distant hum of a helicopter. He bolted to his feet, striding towards the window just as the aircraft touched down on the sand outside.

Without wasting a second, he stormed out of the room. The rush of wind from the helicopter blades whipped against his face, but he paid it no mind as he approached Omar and the doctor.

Omar barely had time to register his boss’s approach before Ezra grabbed the doctor by the collar. “Move faster! You walk like a f*cking turtle!” he snapped, dragging the trembling man toward the house.

Omar sighed but wisely chose to keep his mouth shut. He had worked for Ezra long enough to know that arguing was a death wish.

When they reached his bedroom door, Ezra suddenly froze.

Shit.

The woman was still naked beneath the blankets.

With a growl, he turned to Omar and the doctor. “Stay here and wait for me. If either of you steps inside without my permission, you better start praying for your lives,” he warned before slipping inside and locking the door behind him.

Moving quickly, he grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of boxers, carefully dressing her. His movements were precise, his hands surprisingly steady despite the raging storm inside him.

No one else was allowed to see her like this. No one.

Once satisfied, he unlocked the door and gestured for them to enter. Omar stepped in first, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

His gaze darted between Ezra and the unconscious woman, confusion written all over his face. "Boss... who is she?"

Ezra ignored the question, turning to the doctor instead. "Take care of her. She has gunshot wounds on her right leg, left shoulder, stomach, and chest. Remove the damn bullets. Now."

The doctor nearly jumped at Ezra’s sharp tone, scrambling to set up his tools. Even Omar, despite his years of training, found himself moving quickly to assist without being asked.

Ezra hovered beside the bed, his watchful eyes never leaving the woman. Every time she flinched so much, his entire body tensed.

“She’s lucky to be alive,” the doctor murmured as he inspected her wounds. “The bullets came dangerously close to some of her vital organs.”

Ezra’s jaw twitched. “Then be gentle,” he ordered through gritted teeth.

The doctor flinched. His hands trembled slightly as he began extracting the bullets. He had worked for Ezra for years, but nothing could prepare him for the suffocating pressure of being watched like a hawk. Every time the woman winced, Ezra shot him a glare so menacing that it made his hands sweat.

Omar, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. “Boss, I think you need to leave. The doctor can’t focus with you breathing down his neck.”

Ezra’s eyes snapped to him, dark and dangerous. “Don’t tell me what to do, Omar. Unless you want to be sent to the torture chambers along with our ‘guests.’”

Omar swallowed thickly and immediately shut up.

Ezra knew Omar was right, but he refused to leave. He forced himself to stay silent, though every fiber of his being wanted to rip the tools out of the doctor’s hands and do the job himself.

After what felt like an eternity, the last bullet was removed. The doctor cleaned and stitched her wounds before bandaging them carefully.

The tension in the room finally lessened—until the woman suddenly jolted violently.

A strangled scream tore from her throat as her body convulsed, the bed shaking beneath her.

Ezra’s blood turned to ice.

The doctor’s face paled.

Ezra grabbed the front of his coat, snarling, “What the f*ck did you do? Why is she reacting like this?!”

The doctor stammered, eyes darting to the shaking woman. “I-I don’t know! It could be a reaction to the medication or—”

Ezra shoved him back, his patience snapping. “Fix it. Now.”

The woman continued to thrash, her face contorted in agony. Beads of sweat rolled down her skin as her body fought against an unseen force.

Ezra did the only thing he could think of—he climbed onto the bed and pinned her down, holding her trembling form against his chest. “Shh, you’re okay,” he murmured, though his voice was strained. "You're safe."

She didn’t hear him.

Her screams echoed through the room, filled with raw pain.

Ezra clenched his teeth. For the first time in his life, he felt utterly helpless. And he hated it.

This woman—whoever she was—had turned his world upside down in just a few short hours.

And Ezra knew, deep down, that he would never be the same again.