UNDERCOVER TO MY HEART

THE FINAL SACRIFICE

A heavy pool of dark blood spread across the cold, rain-slicked concrete as the bright emergency sirens pierced the midnight air.

Keep your eyes open, Jack! Bella pleaded, her hands pressing down hard on his bloody chest as the rain washed over both of them. You stay with me!

I am trying, Bella, Jack whispered, his voice weak and raspy as he struggled for air.

Four federal medics sprinted across the wet helipad, slamming a heavy folding stretcher down onto the deck right beside them. They ripped open Jack's blood-soaked leather cut, placing a clear plastic oxygen mask over his mouth and nose in three fast seconds.

He has a deep entry wound near his lower ribs! the lead paramedic shouted over the thrumming helicopter blades. We are losing his pulse fast! Load him into the transport now!

I am coming with you! Bella insisted, grabbing the edge of the rolling gurney as the team pushed it toward the roof elevator.

Ma'am, you need to stay back! a second medic barked, trying to step between her and the stretcher.

She is coming! Jack gasped from beneath the oxygen mask, his eyes locking onto Bella's pale face.

The ride inside the speeding ambulance was a blur of flashing red lights, loud siren wails, and screaming heart monitors. The lead paramedic slammed a needle into Jack's arm, hooking up a bag of clear IV fluids to keep his blood pressure from collapsing completely.

Stay awake, President, Bella whispered, leaning close to his ear while holding his cold, calloused hand in both of hers. You survived Vance. You survived the cartel. You are not dying in the back of a truck.

He is slipping into shock! the paramedic yelled, hitting the side window to communicate with the driver. Step on it! He is bleeding out inside!

The vehicle slammed to a sudden halt outside the hospital trauma bay. A full team of doctors in blue scrubs rushed out through the double doors, taking the stretcher and pushing it straight through the swinging doors toward the main operating rooms.

You cannot go past this line, miss! a nurse shouted, holding Bella back as the heavy doors locked shut behind the surgical team.

Bella stood alone in the sterile, bright corridor, staring down at her clothes. Her jacket, her tactical vest, and her hands were completely covered in Jack's dark red blood. She walked over to a small plastic chair near the waiting room window and sat down, refusing to move or wash her hands until she knew he was safe.

Hours turned into long, agonizing days.

On the afternoon of the second day, a high-ranking federal official in a dark grey suit walked down the quiet hallway, holding a thick brown folder under his arm. He stopped right in front of Bella, who had not slept a single hour since the raid.

Agent Bella, the official said, his voice flat and formal.

Is Jack alive? she asked immediately, standing up to face him.

He is still in critical condition, but the surgeons stabilized his internal bleeding, the official replied. I am Deputy Director Miller. I came here to hand you these files personally.

What is this? Bella asked, taking the heavy folder from his hands.

That is the complete exoneration for Jack and the Iron Serpents, Miller explained, pointing to the official federal seal stamped on the front page. Director Vance's private ledger provided total proof of his crimes. The federal government has dropped every single charge against your club. The record is clean. Jack is a free man, and so are his men.

They are not outlaws anymore, Bella said softly, looking through the signed legal papers.

No, Miller admitted, shaking his head slowly. Vance was the villain here. The Department of Justice owes you and Jack a massive debt for bringing him down.

On the third morning, a young nurse stepped out into the hallway, smiling gently as she looked at Bella.

He is awake, Agent Bella, the nurse said. He is asking for you.

Bella sprinted through the double doors, pushing into the quiet recovery room. Jack lay in the center of the bed, a thick white bandage wrapped around his chest, his face pale but his blue eyes bright and clear.

You look like you need some sleep, Bella, Jack said, a faint smile touching his dry lips as he looked at her.

You look like hell, Jack, she laughed softly, tears rising in her eyes as she walked over and took his hand.

Did we win? Jack asked quietly.

We won, Bella replied, pulling the brown folder from her jacket pocket and placing it on his lap. The charges are gone. The club is clean. Your father's name is cleared forever.

Jack stared down at the legal papers, a long, heavy breath leaving his chest as years of anger and pain finally melted away. We did it, he whispered.

What are you going to do now, Mr. President? Bella asked with a warm grin.

I am going to ride my motorcycle back to the garage, Jack said, looking straight into her eyes. And I am hoping you will be sitting right behind me.

I would like that, Jack, she said gently.

Two weeks later, the morning sun shone brightly through the tall glass windows of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms regional headquarters downtown. The office was quiet, filled with row after row of wooden desks and busy agents typing on their computers.

Bella walked down the carpeted hallway, her step firm and confident. She wore a sharp black suit jacket, but her federal badge was missing from her belt loop. She stopped in front of the large corner office that once belonged to Director Vance.

A new senior agent sat behind the big mahogany desk, organizing a stack of official case files.

Can I help you, Agent Bella? the new supervisor asked, looking up from his work.

Bella reached inside her jacket pocket and pulled out a crisp, white paper envelope. She walked up to the desk and placed it flat on the leather blotter right in front of him.

What is this? the supervisor asked, frowning as he picked up the envelope and unsealed it.

That is my official resignation letter, effective immediately, Bella answered, her voice calm and steady.

You have a bright future in this agency, Bella, the supervisor argued, leaning forward in his chair. After what you did at the bank tower, Washington wants to promote you to senior field director. You can have any branch you want.

I did my job, Bella said, shaking her head. I brought the dirty cops to justice and saved my family. But I do not belong behind a desk in this building anymore.

Where are you going to go? the supervisor asked, looking at her with confusion.

Bella smiled, turning her head toward the street window below, where the deep, rumbling roar of a heavy motorcycle engine vibrated through the glass.

I am going home, Bella said.