Shadows of Loyalty

Chapter 26

Quinn sat in the back seat of the speeding car, his arm around Sasha as she slumped heavily against him. Her skin had gone pale, her eyes fluttering open and shut as if each blink took monumental effort.

“Sasha,” he said softly, brushing her shoulder. “Hey, stay with me.”

She let out a ragged scoff, her lips cracked and tinged with blood. “I’m not sleeping,” she mumbled, eyes half-lidded. “Just... resting my eyes.”

“Yeah, well don’t,” Gary barked from the driver’s seat. “If you’ve got a concussion, the last thing you should do is close your damn eyes.”

“Maybe if your music wasn’t so boring...” she muttered weakly, her voice barely above a whisper, “I wouldn’t be so sleepy.”

Gary huffed. “What? You don’t like Billy Joel?”

“You’re old,” she slurred, her mouth twitching in a smirk. “How old are you, Gary?”

“I’m thirty-seven!” he snapped defensively. “I’m not that old.”

He scrolled through his playlist, then settled on Kiss from a Rose by Seal. The melancholic intro filled the car as the city lights blurred past them.

Sasha made a face but nodded faintly. “Not bad... I can tolerate this one.”

Quinn almost smiled—almost.

“What the hell happened?” Gary asked over the music, glancing in the rearview mirror.

Quinn’s face darkened. “The box was empty. Just a note that said Nice try. Then Ryan and Alicia showed up... they lit the place up with gunfire. We tried to get out, but there was this massive Russian guy waiting by the exit—six-eight, built like a tank. I’ve never seen anything like him.”

“No shit...” Gary muttered.

“He tore us apart. We hit him with everything. He didn’t even flinch.” Quinn looked down at Sasha, her head now resting limply against his chest. “She kept fighting... wouldn’t stop.”

They were halfway to the chateau when Quinn glanced down again. Her eyes were closed.

“Sasha?” he said, nudging her gently.

No response.

“Aleksandra.” He nudged her harder, his voice now urgent.

Still nothing.

Panic flooded his chest like ice water.

“Sasha!” he shouted, shaking her slightly.

Her head lolled to the side. Blood was trickling from her ears and nose now, a thin stream trailing along her jaw. Her chest barely rose.

“s**t—Gary!” Quinn shouted, checking her pulse. “She’s barely got a pulse. Step on it!”

Gary slammed his foot down, the tires screeching as the car shot forward.

The ride was a blur. When they finally skidded to a halt at the chateau, Quinn leapt from the car, scooping Sasha into his arms like she weighed nothing. Her body was limp, her skin cold.

“Open the door!” he barked.

Gary threw the front door open, and they burst into the house. “Kitchen table! Now!” he shouted, clearing a path.

Quinn gently laid her on the cold surface. Her head lolled to the side, and her chest had gone still.

Calvin stormed into the room, eyes widening. “What the hell happened?”

“She’s not breathing!” Quinn cried. He leaned down, placing his ear against her chest. “Her heart stopped.”

Without hesitation, he began CPR. Hands pressing rhythmically against her chest, breath after breath. Gary ripped open her shirt and froze when he saw the discoloration on her skin.

“Stop! Her lungs collapsed!” he shouted. “We need to release the pressure or you’ll kill her.”

He dashed for a nearby drawer and grabbed what he needed—two needles, plastic tubing, alcohol. With a precision that surprised even Quinn, Gary jabbed one needle between Sasha’s ribs, releasing a hiss of trapped air. He repeated the process on the other side.

She gasped.

It was barely audible, but it was enough. Her chest rose—shallow, but there.

“She’s breathing,” Gary said, chest heaving. “Barely. But she’s losing too much blood. We need to transfuse now or she won’t make it.”

Calvin stepped forward, voice grave. “She’s A-negative.”

Gary cursed. “I’m not compatible. I’m B-positive.”

Quinn stood without hesitation. “I’m O-negative. Universal donor. Take it from me.”

“Are you sure? You’ve already lost blood too—”

“Just do it!” Quinn barked.

Gary didn’t waste another second. He set up a direct transfusion—tubing running from a needle in Quinn’s arm into Sasha’s.

Time slowed.

Quinn sat by her side, the slow flow of blood connecting them. His blood flowed into her veins, his eyes never leaving her face. Her breaths were shallow, ragged. She was still unconscious, but alive.

He brushed a strand of blood-matted hair from her face. “Come on, Sasha. Don’t you dare check out on me.”

He sat there for what felt like hours—eyes red, body still. Attached to her by the line of crimson. Praying she’d come back.

Gary stepped back, removing the last of the tubing from Quinn’s arm. He pressed a wad of gauze over the needle mark and taped it down firmly.

“That’s it. You give any more, and you’re going to pass out,” he said firmly, his voice tight with exhaustion.

Quinn didn’t argue. He just stared at Sasha, pale and still on the table. Her breaths came shallow and slow, like the ticking of a clock winding down.

Gary moved swiftly, grabbing a few thermal blankets and carefully covering Sasha’s body. “She’s hypothermic,” he muttered. “Her body temp is dangerously low. If we don’t warm her up, she won’t stabilize.”

He paused, then looked at both Quinn and Calvin with a grave expression. “I won’t lie to you. She’s got maybe a thirty-five percent chance of surviving the night. I’ve done all I can.”

With that, he turned and left the kitchen to clean up, his blood-stained hands trembling as he walked away.

The silence that settled was thick and painful. Quinn barely moved, his eyes never leaving Sasha’s battered body.

Calvin stepped forward. He said nothing at first, only dipped a cloth in warm water, wrung it out, and began gently wiping the blood and dirt from Sasha’s face. His hands were surprisingly tender, his movements careful. Like a father tending to a wounded daughter.

Quinn watched in silence.

After a long pause, Calvin finally spoke, his voice casual but weighted. “So... what happened back there?”

Quinn sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. “The box was empty. There was just a note inside. Said ‘Nice try.’ A trap. Ryan and Alicia were waiting with a team. They opened fire. And then... this massive Russian bastard—must’ve been six-eight, maybe three-fifty—was blocking the exit. Nothing hurt him. Nothing.”

Calvin shook his head slowly but didn’t look up. “No, not that,” he said calmly. “I mean... why did you stop Sasha from taking out Alicia?”

Quinn froze.

He met Calvin’s eyes but said nothing.

Calvin just continued wiping the blood off Sasha’s arms, her collarbone, the side of her jaw, careful not to press too hard.

He spoke again, more softly now. “You know... I had this ex-wife once. Real sweet. Kind. Stable. Everything on paper said she was the right choice. She was... safe. Predictable. I thought that’s what I needed.”

He paused, dipping the cloth back into the bowl.

“Then, one day, I met this woman from the Dominican Republic. Wild. Free. Fire in her eyes. Dangerous as hell. She scared the s**t out of me—but damn, she made me feel alive. Every second with her was electric. Like standing too close to lightning.”

Calvin smiled faintly, lost in the memory. “I loved them both. But in the end, I chose the safe option. The one that made sense. The one that wouldn’t get me killed.”

He rinsed the cloth again and shook his head. “Turns out she was seeing another man. Deep down she was a different person. Tried to kill me. We separated. Never saw the Dominican again. And even now, I still regret that decision.”

He turned toward Quinn, eyes tired but sharp.

Then he looked down at Sasha, brushing a lock of hair from her bruised forehead, tucking it gently behind her ear.

“Oh, and by the way...” he said with a matter-of-fact tone, “the last person who got between Sasha and her target... she shot him. Between the eyes. No warning. No hesitation.”

He turned and met Quinn’s gaze, steel behind his calm demeanor.

“Just saying.”

Then he walked out, leaving Quinn alone in the dimly lit kitchen.

The only sound left was Sasha’s faint breathing and the soft rustle of the blankets as they rose and fell over her chest.

Quinn sat beside her, silent.

And afraid—for her.

For himself.

For what came next.