Lucas's consciousness flickered back like a flame struggling against the wind. His chest heaved as he tore the oxygen tube from his nose, trying to rise, searching desperately for Marcus.
The nurse gasped, panic flashing across her face.
"Doctor! Doctor, he's awake—but he's forcing himself!"
The doctor hurried in, voice firm yet edged with alarm.
"Mr. Vane, you're not stable. You've lost too much strength. Lie down and rest!"
But Lucas's body betrayed him. His arms and legs had grown weak from days of bed rest, the world spinning as his knees buckled. He nearly collapsed, if not for two nurses rushing in to catch him and lower him back onto the bed. They pinned him gently but firmly as one called the reception desk for Marcus.
Marcus arrived within minutes, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. He pushed past the staff and reached Lucas's side, only to find his friend clutching at his hand with trembling fingers.
"Bro," Lucas rasped, eyes wet with worry, "you're alright, right? Nothing happened to you?"
Marcus's jaw tightened.
"I'm fine. You took the blade instead of me. The injury should've been mine."
Relief crossed Lucas's face, his lips trembling as he exhaled.
"Good… then it's fine. But I can't stay here anymore. I need to get out of this hospital."
The doctor, standing close, exchanged a knowing glance with Marcus. Finally, he sighed.
"Very well. If you insist, I'll discharge you this evening. But you'll need rest, Mr. Vane. Don't test your luck."
Later that afternoon, Marcus handled the discharge papers, guiding Lucas out and into his car. But Lucas wasn't interested in rest—his eyes burned with determination.
"I want to speak to that boy," Lucas said.
Marcus's brows furrowed. His voice dropped, grim and unyielding.
"No. That tiger-tattooed punk is dangerous, suspicious as hell."
"But he told you the truth," Lucas countered, his tone steady.
Marcus stayed silent, eyes locked on the road.
"Let me see him once," Lucas pressed.
Finally, Marcus let out a sharp breath.
"I already have his boyfriend in interrogation. That's where the answers will come from."
Lucas leaned back, thoughtful. "Then take me there."
Marcus's grip on the wheel tightened. His voice softened, laced with something deeper.
"Lucas… I don't want you involved in this anymore. You've nearly died—because of me. You've bled for me, risked your life more than once. I can't keep dragging you into my hell. You're the only one I've got. My brother, my closest friend. I won't risk losing you."
Lucas's eyes softened at Marcus's words.
"And I'll keep standing by you with whatever strength I have left. Don't push me away."
Reluctantly, Marcus gave in, and together they walked into the cold, sterile walls of the interrogation room.
Behind the glass, the boyfriend sat—nervous, fidgeting, his eyes clouded with fear. Lucas studied him quietly before leaning toward one of Marcus's junior officers, a sharp-eyed young woman.
"He really does love that tattooed boy," Lucas murmured. "But he doesn't know the whole truth. He's blind to the connections his lover's tangled in. His background, though…" Lucas's gaze hardened. "…it's not clean. That kid grew up in a brothel. His childhood was swallowed by darkness."
To be Continued....