Chapter 2 - The Whiteout
The heavy SUV plowed through the snow-choked streets of Manhattan.
Visibility was practically zero.
The city that never slept was completely paralyzed.
But Roman Silas did not care about the laws of nature.
He watched the windshield wipers struggle against the heavy flakes.
Every passing second was a drop of blood Clara was losing.
His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white.
He had always controlled everything in his life with an iron fist.
He manipulated the stock market, bought politicians, and erased his enemies.
Yet, sitting in the back of this armored car, he was utterly powerless.
The only thing keeping the woman he loved alive was a blood type they shared.
"Faster," Roman growled.
The driver swallowed hard and pressed the gas pedal, causing the heavy vehicle to skid slightly before regaining traction.
They ran three red lights.
There were no police cars on patrol tonight anyway.
If there were, they would not dare pull over a convoy belonging to Roman Silas.
Finally, the glowing red sign of St. Jude’s Emergency Room appeared through the blizzard.
The SUV did not even park properly.
It slammed onto the snowy curb right at the sliding doors.
Roman kicked his door open before the vehicle fully stopped.
The freezing wind bit into his face, but he felt nothing.
He stormed through the automatic doors with four armed guards trailing behind him.
The emergency room was chaotic, filled with stranded patients and exhausted staff.
Roman bypassed the waiting area entirely.
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He walked straight to the main triage desk.
"Where is she?" he demanded.
