Chapter 6 - The Hospital Strike
At 2:40 AM, the peaceful quiet of Brigham and Women’s Hospital was shattered.
In the fourth-floor private suite of the West Wing, nineteen-year-old Caleb Morrow lay in a plush adjustable bed, staring at the sixty-inch television mounted on the wall. He was connected to a state-of-the-art monitoring system, a warm fleece blanket pulled to his chin.
Outside his door stood two men in crisp suits with quiet, deadly expressions.
Caleb had been utterly confused when two black Lincoln Town Cars had arrived at Mass General two hours earlier, transferring him to this luxury suite without a single bill or insurance form to sign. All the head nurse had told him was: “Your sister’s boss has very long arms, kid.”
Suddenly, the lights in the hallway flickered and died.
The emergency red backup lights kicked on, casting long, bloody shadows across the linoleum floors.
Down the hallway, the sound of muffled suppressed gunshots rang out—pop, pop, pop.
The heavy oak door to Caleb’s room burst open.
Caleb scrambled backward against his pillows, his heart hammering against his ribs. "What the hell?!"
A man wearing a black tactical jacket and a ski mask stepped into the room, holding a silenced automatic pistol. Behind him came two others.
"Which one is the kid?" the lead assassin growled, raising his weapon toward the bed. "Driscoll wants the bartender’s brother dead. If the girl has no reason to testify, Vance loses his main anchor—"
Before the man could finish his sentence, a heavy silver tray crashed across his jaw, shattering his nose and sending him stumbling sideways into the IV pole.
Dominic Vance stepped out from behind the bathroom door.
He wasn't wearing his suit jacket. He wore a dark tactical vest over a black shirt, his face cold and merciless. He grabbed the lead hitman by the throat, slammed him against the concrete wall, and twisted his wrist until the silenced pistol clattered to the floor.
Behind Dominic, Frank and three Vance enforcers stormed through the doorway, engaging the other two hitmen in a violent, brutal struggle that lasted less than fifteen seconds.
Caleb pressed himself against the headboard, his eyes wide as saucers. "Who are you?!"
Dominic kicked the unconscious hitman away, unbuckled his tactical gloves, and stepped toward the bed. He looked down at Caleb with deep, penetrating scrutiny.
"You have your sister’s eyes," Dominic said, his voice completely calm despite the broken teeth and blood on the floor. "I am Dominic Vance. I am paying for your kidney."
Caleb blinked. "My... my what?"
"Your transplant," Dominic clarified, pulling a encrypted radio from his belt. "Dr. Chen located a matched donor in Philadelphia twenty minutes ago. The organ is on a private jet right now, landing at Logan Airport at four in the morning."
Caleb’s mouth fell open. He looked at the bodies on the floor, then back at the giant man standing beside his bed. "Josie... where is Josie? Is she okay?!"
"She is at my house, reading your niece a bedtime story," Dominic answered smoothly. "And as long as I am breathing, nobody will ever lay a finger on either of you again."
Dominic pressed the button on his radio. "Frank. Clear the hallway. Tell the hospital administration that a plumbing pipe burst on the fourth floor. Get the surgical prep team ready for Caleb Morrow."
"Understood, Boss," Frank’s voice crackled through the speaker.
Dominic turned back to Caleb, reaching out his large hand. "Get some sleep, kid. You have a long operation at dawn."
Caleb hesitantly took Dominic’s hand, shaking it. "Why are you doing this for us?"
May you like
Dominic looked toward the window, where the rain was finally beginning to clear over the Boston skyline.
"Because your sister gave my daughter her voice back," Dominic said softly. "And there isn't enough money in this city to pay for a miracle like that."
