Blood and Love

CHAPTER2

Megan’s heart pounded as she stared at the gun in the man’s hand. He was one of her father’s most trusted enforcers a man named Victor. He was tall, muscular, and known for his brutal ways.

“Megan,” Victor said, his voice cold. “Your father told you to stay away from him.”

Ben stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. His hand moved toward his waistband, where Megan knew he kept a gun.

“Easy,” Victor said, raising his weapon slightly. “I’m not here to kill you, Johnson. Not yet. Just delivering a message.” His eyes shifted to Megan. “Your father said if he sees you with this bastard again, he won’t be so forgiving.”

Megan swallowed hard. “Victor, please”

Before she could finish, Victor suddenly turned the gun to Ben’s leg and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed through the empty warehouse.

Ben groaned, stumbling back as blood seeped through his jeans. Megan screamed and grabbed him before he could fall.

Victor lowered the gun. “That’s the first warning,” he said. “Next time, it won’t be his leg.”

Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the night.

Megan’s hands were shaking as she pressed against Ben’s wound. His face was pale, but he clenched his jaw, refusing to show pain.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” she said desperately.

Ben shook his head. “No hospitals. They’ll find me there.”

“Then where?”

“My place,” he gritted out. “I have a guy who can patch me up.”

Megan didn’t waste time arguing. She helped him into her car, her hands stained with his blood. As she drove through the dark streets, her mind raced.

Her father had sent a warning. But she knew Peter Braxton. He never stopped at warnings.

This was just the beginning.

Megan gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Ben groaned beside her, pressing his hand against the bleeding wound on his thigh. The scent of blood filled the car, mixing with the tension in the air.

“Stay with me, Ben,” Megan said, her voice shaking.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though his breathing was uneven.

Megan didn’t believe him. His skin was pale, and she could tell the pain was getting worse. She pressed harder on the gas, speeding toward Ben’s apartment on the east side of the city.

It felt like forever before they finally arrived. She parked in the alley behind the building, then rushed to Ben’s side. He tried to push the door open himself, but his strength was fading. Megan ran around to his side and helped him out of the car, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“You’re heavier than you look,” she muttered, trying to keep him steady.

Ben let out a weak chuckle. “You calling me fat?”

“Shut up and walk.”

They made it to his apartment on the third floor. As soon as they stepped inside, Megan kicked the door shut and helped Ben onto the couch.

“I’ll call your guy,” she said, reaching for her phone.

Ben grabbed her wrist. “In the drawer,” he said, nodding toward the small wooden table near the couch.

Megan pulled the drawer open and found a burner phone inside. She picked it up and handed it to Ben, who dialed a number with shaky fingers.

“It’s me,” he said when the call connected. “Need you here. Got shot.”

The person on the other end said something, and Ben nodded before hanging up.

“He’ll be here soon,” he told Megan.

Megan sat down beside him, pressing a cloth against his wound. His blood soaked through it quickly.

“Victor could’ve killed you,” she whispered.

“But he didn’t,” Ben said. “That was just a warning.”

Megan shook her head. “My father isn’t going to stop, Ben. He’ll keep coming after you. And next time, he won’t miss.”

Ben reached for her hand, squeezing it despite his pain. “Then we fight back.”

Megan’s heart pounded. She had spent years trying to avoid getting involved in her father’s world. But now, she realized she had no choice.

Her father had declared war.

And she was ready to fight.

Megan sat on the floor beside the couch, watching as Ben fought to stay conscious. His breathing was heavy, his jaw clenched against the pain. Blood still seeped through the cloth she pressed against his leg.

A loud knock on the door made her jump.

“It’s him,” Ben muttered. “Let him in.”

Megan rushed to the door and opened it. A man in his late forties stepped inside. He had graying hair, a rough face, and carried a black duffel bag.

“Damn, kid,” the man said, shutting the door behind him. “You always find trouble.”

Ben smirked weakly. “What can I say, Doc? It follows me.”

Doc who was clearly not a real doctor knelt beside Ben and pulled out medical supplies. He took a knife from the bag and handed it to Megan.

“Cut his jeans,” Doc ordered.

Megan hesitated for only a second before slicing through the fabric. She winced at the wound. The bullet had gone through his thigh, but blood still oozed from both sides.

Doc whistled. “Lucky bastard. Bullet passed clean through.”

Ben grunted. “Feels great.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hold still.”

Megan watched as Doc worked, disinfecting the wound before stitching it up. Ben’s muscles tightened, but he barely made a sound. She held his hand through it, squeezing every time she saw him flinch.

After what felt like forever, Doc finished and wrapped the wound. “Keep it clean. No running, no fighting for a few days.”

Ben snorted. “No promises.”

Doc sighed, packing up his bag. He turned to Megan. “Make sure he listens. He’s stubborn as hell.”

Megan crossed her arms. “I noticed.”

Doc stood up. “I’ll be around if you need me. But try not to get shot again.”

Ben smirked. “No guarantees.”

With a shake of his head, Doc left. Megan locked the door behind him and turned back to Ben. He was already trying to sit up.

“Oh no,” she said, pushing him back down. “You’re not moving.”

Ben groaned. “I need to check on my men.”

“You need to rest,” Megan shot back. “Your men will survive without you for a few hours.”

Ben stared at her. “And what about you?”

Megan’s breath caught. She knew what he meant. Her father was furious. She had disobeyed him again. And now, she had helped the man he wanted dead.

“He’ll come for me,” she admitted.

Ben’s eyes darkened. “Then stay here.”

Megan hesitated. “If I stay, it’ll make things worse.”

He took her hand. “Things are already bad, Megan. If you go back to him, he’ll try to lock you away or worse.”

She knew he was right. Peter Braxton wasn’t the type to forgive. He would see her as a traitor. And traitors didn’t get second chances.

“What do we do?” she whispered.

Ben’s grip tightened. “We get ready for war.”