Chapter 5 - The Anatomy of a TrapBy Thursday morning, the tension inside the stone mansion had reached a boiling point. The air felt thick, heavy with the oppressive humidity of an approaching late-summer storm and the invisible currents of betrayal shifting beneath our feet.
Leo intercepted me on my way down the grand staircase to fetch fresh ice for Liam’s water pitcher. His face was grim, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes.
“Marcus didn't come back last night,” Leo said quietly, glancing up toward the heavy oak doors of the master suite. “Which means he’s planning something big. The guards at the perimeter gate reported an unfamiliar vehicle parked down the access road three hours ago.”
“Are we compromised?” I asked, my grip tightening around the metal tray.
“We might be,” Leo replied, stepping closer. “Listen to me, nurse. Tomorrow is Friday. Your week is up, and your envelope of cash will be waiting on the kitchen island. But if things go south today, you take the back trail through the woods. It leads straight to the state highway. Don't look back for Mercer, and don't look back for me.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You’re telling me to abandon my patient?”
“I’m telling you to stay alive,” Leo said harshly. “Liam is a target. You’re just collateral damage he dragged into his war.”
I walked past him without a word, my jaw set. When I pushed open the doors to Liam’s room, I found him sitting up against the headboard, sweat beading on his forehead as he tried to manipulate his laptop with one hand while keeping his weight off his shattered leg.
“You shouldn't be straining yourself,” I said, marching over and slamming the laptop shut.
Liam glared at me, panting slightly. “I’m trying to trace the leak before Marcus locks me out of my own accounts.”
“You can trace things when your fever breaks,” I snapped, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead. His skin was scorching. Infection was trying to flare up again, stoked by the stress and lack of proper rest. “You’re burning up. Lie back down.”
He didn't argue. He let me guide him down against the pillows, his breathing ragged. As I adjusted his IV antibiotics, his hand reached out and caught my wrist—not with the bone-crushing grip of our first encounter, but with a firm, warm pressure.
“Leo talked to you,” Liam said.
“He told me to take the back trail tomorrow if things go south,” I answered honestly, watching his face.
Liam stared up at the ceiling, his jaw tight. “He’s right. You got your money’s worth of danger. Take the cash tomorrow morning and go save your brother.”
“And you?” I asked softly.
“I’ve survived worse than Marcus,” Liam said, though there was a hollow ring to his confidence. “My whole life has been a war zone. I built this empire on blood and betrayal. Dying in a bed wrapped in gauze almost sounds peaceful compared to how I expected to go out.”
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“Well, tough luck,” I said, gently pulling my wrist free and smoothing his blanket. “I don’t like unfinished business. If I keep you alive until tomorrow, I collect my ten thousand dollars. That’s the contract.”
Before Liam could reply, a heavy, dull thud echoed from downstairs, followed by the sharp, unmistakable crack of a gunshot splintering wood.
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