Thereâs something that swells up in her throat as he reaches for her, the menial amount of strength that encases itself around her hand draws out a sound that sheâd never heard before. Something warped, neatly wrapped in guilt, desperation and relief that he speaks her name. âHey..â Hey⌠donât move okay.â She knew that the likelihood of him remaining conscious for much longer was slim, but until she found a way to get him out of here, it was the last thing she wanted there and then at the base of the stairwell. The door at the top of the stairs swings open and before Jack even has a moment to register who it might be, her own weapon is drawn, caught between bloodied fingers as she releases pressure from Brandonâs wound momentarily to aim instinctively. Slowly, several seconds pass, and the hardened nature that Jack carried with her encompassed the man beneath in a way that nobody could have ever expected, âAre you fucking stupid?â She knows the look - the haunting in the eyes of a young man whoâd never seen so much blood in his life, but she cares so little for anything bar the man bleeding out, that the ice she carries spills over. âClose your fucking mouth and go get someone. Call someone â Isabella Marino, do you know her?â He remains silent, its irritating and itâs all she can do not to fire her own weapon at him to scare him out of the shock. âDo you know her?â  He nods and her gun scatters to the floor as her hands return to the wound in Brandonâs chest. âGo get her, now.â How long it took him to disappear, Jack had no clue.. her attention no longer focused on anything beyond the crimson liquid that ooze between her fingertips and the shallow movement as his chest rose and fell with every breath. âIâm not..ââ Fingertips moved gently across his jaw, trying to lull him away from whatever depths he saw now. Maybe it wouldnât be enough - her voice, her presence.. She bled death, carried it with her everywhere she went and perhaps the greatest irony is that, sheâd never sought to save someone from the mirror image of death that she dished out. âIâm not going anywhere okay. Someoneâs coming.. Help is comingâŚâ
It feels an awful lot like lingering, the fluorescent lights above harsh against porcelain skin that still somehow holds the faint hue of blood. Itâs been washed away, hours prior. Jack had forcibly made herself leave as she watched syndicate members spill into the hospital for news. The only relief she could hold within her, was that her place among the bratva had never been public knowledge - only a select few beyond their ranks understood the part she played in all of this. Even still, it sparked something new within her - a piece of knowledge that she didnât hold before and hadnât even considered. Whatever he did - whoever he was he was tied to the enemy somehow. It itched beneath her skin and made her question why sheâd remained. Curled up beneath a scratchy hospital blanket in the uncomfortable chair of his hospital room, enduring each and every sympathetic look that crosses the room with each nurse that comes to check on him. Theyâd claimed the surgery had gone fine - information that had only ben divulged to her after sheâd claimed to be his fiance and the only family he had with him in the city at the moment. A lie that had spilled from her lips with the ease of water and oil. He stirs and her elbow slips from itâs perch on the arm of the chair, shifting to balance on her knee as she catches her face in her hand, âBrandon?â Her voice almost feels fragile, as if someone else were speaking for her even. âCan you hear me?â It seems, silly -  almost too simple a task to just be there, and she continues to feel the weight of being out of place right there and then. âDo you want me to get a nurse?â
There was a price that came with his job, and no, he doesnât mean the version of work that he does in order to be a service to everyone else thanks to the badge that he wears that allows him to do such, but the job that comes with uncertainty wrapped up in thick stacks of cash. The job that provides as long as he does what is asked. It was something that he knew was trouble from the start but still never shied away from because the reward always outweighed the risk thanks to the skills that he had. These hands could stitch up something quick, wrap one up in a soft white cloth and then help clean away the mess, but they could also do the opposite. They knew exactly what to do to keep someone alive just enough until theyâre unneeded, ready to be unthreaded and to bleed out at the request of someone else. He has seen this before in scenes that have played out in the favor of his employers so much so that heâs grown to be familiar with it, forever thinking of the best possible outcome for himself in these situations instead of the worst because up until now his life was aligned to be that way. As long as he held up his end of whatever fucked up deal that got him in this mess to begin with, he felt as though he was fine. Not untouchable, but it wasnât like people would be looking out for the guy with the first aid kit come time for reckoning. But that also left a lot of room for life to mess with him in other ways, like getting him shot in a parking garage just shortly after telling off his trainer that he never wants speak to her again.Â
So, the shock was still there even as he slept, the realization that he almost lost himself racing off in his mind as he tried to drift off into the spaces of his conscience that felt familiar and warm as he floated along lost memories and dreams, unaware of the cold reality he was in until he could feel himself falling and fading away, jerking himself awake to face it all. He felt himself snap out of it, his first instinct to straighten up in his bed only to be disappointed in how little he could move thanks to the pain in his chest. He could see that his room was plain, bright with fluorescents, with a small TV in one corner with not much else to look at aside from the familiar figure of a brunette at his bedside. She was tucked into a chair and all he wanted to do was reach out and touch her, the sound of her voice coming off smaller than what he was used to, but was welcomed all the same. âYou stayed.â It wasnât the answer she was looking for but he didnât want a nurse right now and his mouth wasnât in the business of saying anything more than what his brain needed as his last few memories came to him in waves. He tried to push himself up again. âWhat...happened?â Aside from the obvious. âHowâd I get here?â
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