Todos los capítulos de Contracted Hearts : Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 7

There is a specific smell to a dying man. It’s a mix of copper, antiseptic, and sheer, unadulterated panic. Dr. Elena Vasquez had smelled it a thousand times. It usually didn’t bother her anymore. But tonight, her hands were shaking. “BP is dropping! He’s crashing!” the resident yelled, his voice cracking. “I see it,” Elena said, her voice a dead calm she didn’t feel. “Push one milligram of epi. Suction.” The OR was a blur of blue scrubs and blinding surgical lights. Elena’s gloved fingers worked inside the open chest cavity of the man on the table, her movements precise. She looked at his face—pale, slack, oxygen mask strapped tight. It was Judge William Holloway. Three weeks ago, Elena had been walking home from a late shift when she heard the pop. A single gunshot. She had turned the corner and seen the Judge bleeding out on the pavement, a man in a black hoodie standing over him. Elena had screamed. The shooter had looked right at her, his eyes cold and empty, before

The crimson dress fit her like a second skin. Elena stood in front of the full-length mirror in the luxurious guest suite, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The woman in the mirror had her dark hair swept up, her skin scrubbed clean of the Judge’s blood, and her body draped in heavy, expensive silk that whispered against her knees. She looked like a high-society bride. She felt like a soldier putting on armor. Elena gripped the edge of the marble vanity. Her hands, which had been steady while holding a scalpel inside a dying man’s chest, were trembling again. She took a deep, shuddering breath. *You are not going to break,* she told herself. *You survived the alley. You survived the gunman. You will survive Marcus Blackwood.*She walked out of the suite. The penthouse was a masterpiece of cold, modern luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the glittering Chicago skyline, but the glass was tinted and reinforced. It felt less like a home and more like a fortress.

The black screen stared back at Elena like a void. The silence in the command center was deafening. The only sound was the frantic clicking of Damon’s keyboard and the blood roaring in Elena’s ears. She shoved hard against Marcus’s chest, breaking out of his grip. The heat of his body had been suffocating, a stark contrast to the ice flowing through her veins. "Twelve hours," she whispered, her voice cracking. She spun around to face him, her hands shaking. "We have twelve hours. How do we find her?"Marcus’s face was a mask of stone. "We don't. You go to your room, you lock the door, and you let my team do their job.""Your team?" Elena let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. She pointed at the blank monitors. "Your team just got hacked by a cartel boss, Marcus! They were inside your system. They are inside your fortress. I am not going to sit in a bedroom and knit while my mother is held at gunpoint!""Lower your voice," Marcus warned, stepping closer to her. "No!" Elena shouted, her

"Run," Marcus ordered.Elena didn't need to be told twice. She bolted out of the locker room, her sneakers slapping against the linoleum floor. Marcus was right on her heels, his presence a wall of heat and lethal energy at her back. The hospital corridors were a blur of dark shadows and flickering emergency lights. "Extraction team, converge on the south ambulance bay," Marcus barked into his comms unit. "We are thirty seconds out. Sweep the garage. I want eyes on every corner."They burst through the heavy double doors and into the underground parking garage. The air was damp, smelling of oil, wet concrete, and exhaust fumes. Their black SUV was parked in the shadows, looking like a phantom in the dim light. Marcus held up a hand, signaling her to stop. He drew a sleek, black pistol from a holster under his jacket, his movements smooth and terrifyingly professional. "Stay behind me," he whispered. He approached the SUV, circling it slowly. He checked the trunk, looked under the