Chapter 15 - The Nurse's Venom
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Vincent’s terrified gray eyes locked onto mine. His breathing was rapid, shallow, bordering on a heart attack.
“I’m burning,” he choked out, his hands grasping my scrubs desperately. “Nora, I’m burning.”
“No, you’re not,” I said fiercely, pressing my forehead against his. “I am touching you, and I am not on fire. Feel my hands, Vincent. Feel the cold.”
I pressed his hands flat against my chest, right over my furiously beating heart.
“I am here. I am not leaving you. You are the King of this city, and you are going to stand up and fight for me,” I commanded, pouring every ounce of my will into his shattered mind.
The physical contact, the absolute lack of hesitation in my touch, acted like a defibrillator to his soul. The glassy, paralyzed look in his eyes shattered. The fire reflecting in his pupils was replaced by a dark, terrifying clarity.
Vincent Mercer woke up.
He stood up, pulling me behind him in one fluid motion. He didn't look at the burning curtains. He drew the heavy .45 from his shoulder holster.
The foam cloud was beginning to clear. Marco was wiping the chemicals from his eyes, picking his gun back up from the floor.
“Kill them both!” Elena shrieked, backing away toward the door as the flames spread to the Persian rug.
Vincent didn't hesitate. He raised his weapon and fired.
Two shots rang out. Marco’s chest caved backward, and he collapsed onto the floor, dead before he realized the ghost had returned to life.
The remaining mercenaries raised their rifles, but the heavy steel doors of the penthouse suddenly blew open.
Silas and the tactical team stormed into the room, their suppressed automatic weapons making short, brutal work of Elena’s hired guns. The ambush had been sprung perfectly, though the fire had almost cost us everything.
Within seconds, the living room was secure. The mercenaries were dead on the floor. Silas and his men immediately grabbed the remaining fire extinguishers and rapidly put out the burning curtains, leaving the room smelling of burnt velvet and gunpowder.
Only one enemy remained alive.
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Elena was backed into a corner, her immaculate black coat stained with soot, her eyes wide with terror as she looked at the man she had tried to kill twice.
Vincent slowly walked toward her, his gun lowered, his face an emotionless mask of cold, terrifying vengeance.
