Chapter 2
She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. "I have late-stage leukemia. The doctors say I have at most three months left."
I didn't say anything.
"Harlan's grandson, Shawn Zane, is eight years old and has leukemia too. He needs a transplant, and my bone marrow matches his perfectly."
"So he wants your bone marrow, huh?"
"Yeah. But it's not just a regular donation," Clara said, her voice going cold. "It'd cost me my life."
I frowned.
"Normally, bone marrow donations aren't fatal," I said.
"Normally, no," Clara replied. "But Shawn's case is different. He needs five times the usual amount. With the way my body is now, if they take that much, I'll die."
"You could just say no," I said.
"I already did," Clara replied.
She turned her head and looked at me.
"So now they're coming to take it by force," Clara said.
Suddenly, I heard hurried footsteps outside—lots of people, moving quickly.
Clara's face went pale. "They're here."
She grabbed my wrist, her grip shockingly strong for someone so ill.
"My daughter is in the children's activity room on the third floor. She's wearing a red coat, with two little braids. Her name is Nina Lynn. Please, no matter what happens, get her to safety first."
I glanced down at her hand.
Her knuckles were jutting, veins bulging, and her nails had a purplish hue.
Her hand was trembling, but her grip was deathly tight.
The footsteps in the hallway were getting closer.
I heard someone shout, "Clear out the twelfth floor. Anyone who's not supposed to be here, leave now!"
I set my delivery box down on the floor.
"That's way more than enough," I said.
I pulled the towel from around my neck and wiped my hands, my voice calm.
"Besides protecting your daughter, this money is enough to keep the Zane family out of this hospital for good."
Clara froze.
She opened her mouth, but before she could get a word out, the door burst open.
Three men in black suits stood in the doorway. The one in front, about thirty-five, wore gold-rimmed glasses and had his hair slicked back, not a hair out of place.
He glanced around the room, stopped on me for a second, then locked eyes with Clara.
"Ms. Lynn, Mr. Zane sent me to ask you one last time. Are you going to agree to tomorrow's surgery or not?"
Clara didn't even look at him. She just turned her face toward the window.
The man with the gold-rimmed glasses gave a smile that sent a chill down my spine. "Ms. Lynn, you're a smart woman. You've got at most three months left, but Shawn still has decades ahead of him.
"Give him your bone marrow, and the Zane family will take care of your daughter for life. If you refuse, they'll take it anyway—but your daughter will be left with no one to look after her."
"You're threatening her," I said.
The guy with the gold-rimmed glasses looked me up and down.
Delivery uniform, sneakers, gray towel hanging around my neck.
He gave a crooked smile. "Who are you? Delivery guy? Lost, huh?"
"Nope," I said. "I'm exactly where I need to be."
I stepped forward, blocking his way to the bed.
"She doesn't want the surgery. Are you deaf or something?" I said.
The smile on the guy disappeared.
The two men behind him moved in, fists clenched.
"Kid, you'd better watch yourself," the guy with the gold-rimmed glasses said coldly. "This is the Zane family's business. It has nothing to do with a delivery guy like you. Do yourself a favor and walk out now. Forget you ever saw anything."
"No." I stared him straight in the eye.
"And I suggest you and your men get off this floor right now."
The guy with the gold-rimmed glasses paused, then let out a laugh.
His laugh dripped with disdain.
"Do you even know who I am?" he asked.
"Nope, and I don't care," I replied.
"I'm Ethan Sully, head of security for the Zane Group," he said, jabbing his finger into my chest. "Nobody in Riverveil has ever talked to me like this."
I glanced down at his finger pressing against my chest.
Then I looked up, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Move your finger," I said, my voice low.
Ethan's smile froze on his face.
The two men behind him came at me, one from each side.
I didn't back down.
With my left hand, I grabbed the guy on the left by the wrist and yanked him straight into the doorframe. At the same time, my right foot shot out, catching the other guy in the back of the knee. He dropped, one knee slamming to the floor.
Two seconds.
Two professionally trained security guards—down for the count in just two seconds.