Chapter Twenty-Two

Dexter

UCLA Nethercutt Emergency Center, 16th Street, Santa Monica…

The antiseptic smell hit Dexter before he even entered Room 342. Standing in the doorway, he took in the sterile environment. The walls were the usual soft gray color hospitals favored. The beeping monitors echoed hollowly through the room as his eyes were drawn to the hospital bed where Violet lay. She looked small and fragile against the stack of pillows. Anger surged through him. The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the tiled floor that played hide and seek on the comfortable leather chair beside the bed.

His heart clenched as he approached but his normally confident stride faltered. The sight of her pale face against the pristine hospital sheets and the nasty bruise blooming along her temple made his hands shake. Various wires connected her to monitoring equipment. Their steady beeping was somewhat reassuring.

The memory of finding her crashed car slammed into him with brutal force. He had a special evening planned to celebrate her court victory since he knew she had been worried about the outcome. Her legal aid had been rather snippy when she told him she took the afternoon off. When he pulled up to her house a half hour after she was supposed to have arrived, and saw her car missing, he’d assumed she had run an errand first. But something felt off. The gnawing feeling in his gut had urged him to take the route she normally took from her offices.

“Fuck no!” His heart skipped a beat when he saw it—her silver Mercedes wrapped around a massive oak tree in an embankment just off Wilshire Boulevard. Steam was still rising from the crumpled hood. His world tilted on its axis.

“Holy shit. No!” The words tore from his throat as he slammed his car into park. He barely remembered to turn it off before he was out and running. The distance to the scene felt endless.

The driver’s side had taken the brunt of the impact, with the door crumpled like paper. Through the spider-webbed windshield, he saw her motionlessly slumped over the steering wheel. His military training kicked in even as his heart threatened to explode.

“Violet!” Finding the door open, he carefully searched for a pulse. “Come on, love. Don’t do this to me.”

The weak but steady throb under his fingertips nearly brought him to his knees with relief. “Thank fuck!” he whispered and quickly called 911. His voice was steady despite his racing heart as he reported their location and her condition.

“Stay with me, little one,” he whispered, holding her hand to maintain contact and keep checking her pulse until the paramedics arrived. “I’m here, love. I’m here.”

Now, sitting beside her hospital bed, Dexter caught her delicate hand in his again. Her skin was warm as he pressed his lips to her knuckles and leaned back in the chair. His heart thundered against his ribs as he closed his eyes, no longer able to fight the tidal wave of emotions threatening to drown him. The rational part of his mind—the part that guided him through decades of careful, measured decisions—was being systematically dismantled by something far more primitive and powerful.

Violet . Just thinking her name sent a jolt through his system.

He had always scoffed at the notion of instalove, dismissing it as the stuff of romance novels and teenagers’ fantasies. Love, he believed, was something that grew slowly, carefully cultivated over time like a delicate garden. Yet here he was, a man in his forties, being brought to his knees by a woman he had known for a couple of weeks.

Perhaps that was the beauty of it. His heart, weathered by years of guarding itself, had finally decided it was time. Like a lock finding its perfect key, everything inside him recognized her. There was no point in analyzing it anymore, no benefit in questioning the when or how. The simple truth was that he, Dexter Flint, was falling in love with Violet—irrevocably and deeply.

A knock at the door preceded Dr. Sarah Chen's entrance. The petite trauma surgeon carried Violet’s chart. “Ah, I see they couldn’t keep you away,” she said in a kind voice but with a stern and professional expression. “Mr. Flint, is it?”

“That’s correct. How is she? What’s the extent of her injuries?” Dexter fired off the questions.

“Miss Russo is fortunate. Given the severity of the crash, her injuries could have been much worse. She has a moderate concussion, a cracked rib, and various contusions. We’ll keep her overnight for observation, but barring any complications, she should be able to go home tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Dexter responded in a rough voice. “I assume there aren’t any lasting effects that could arise?”

“She’ll be sore for a week or so, and she’ll need to take it easy while her rib heals. The concussion symptoms—headaches, dizziness, and sensitivity to light—might linger for a few days to a few weeks. She’ll need someone to monitor her for the first 24 to 48 hours after discharge.”

As if on cue, Violet’s fingers twitched in his grip. Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened, revealing confusion-clouded green eyes that took a moment to focus on his face.

“Dex?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m here, love.” He leaned closer, relief washing through him as he looked into her hazy eyes. “How are you feeling?”

She winced. “Like I went ten rounds with a tree and lost.”

Despite everything, a small smile tugged at his lips. If she could joke, she’d be okay. But then his expression grew serious.

“What happened out there, Violet? The scrapes on the side of the car… It wasn’t just an accident, was it?”

She tried shifting position and gasped at the pain. “I... I don’t remember much. Everything happened so fast.”

“Someone clearly ran you off the road.” It wasn’t a question. He’d seen the paint transfer on what remained of her car’s rear quarter panel. “Who would want to hurt you?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t deny his claim but wouldn’t meet his eyes. His jaw clenched. After years of dealing with corporate tycoons and bankers, he knew evasion when he saw it.

“Violet,” he said in a firm, gentle tone. “You just won a major case against Torres Properties. Now, someone tries to kill you? That’s not a coincidence.”

“They might be corrupt, Dex, but they aren’t the kind of corporation to sink to physical violence,” she protested weakly.

“Then who? Help me understand because right now, all I can think about is how close you came to dying.” His voice cracked on the last word, and her eyes filled with tears.

“I can’t... I can’t talk about it. Not yet. Please, Dex.”

Frustration surged through him. He could see the fear in her eyes and practically felt her withdrawing into herself. Someone had threatened her—he was sure of it now. What concerned him was that she was trying to protect... who? Him? Herself? Or… her brother, Theo?

“That’s it, Violet. I’m taking you home with me when you’re released,” he grunted in a tone that brooked no argument. “Someone is out to get you, and I refuse to allow you out there with a red target on your back.”

She started to shake her head but stopped with a wince. “Dex, you can’t become—”

“I’m already involved. And it’s not debatable. You’re coming home with me.” He softened his voice as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I almost lost you today. Do you have any idea what that did to me? Seeing your car... finding you like that…” He paused, swallowing hard against the memory. “I know we agreed on an exclusive Dom/sub relationship and haven’t put a label on anything other than that, but I know how I feel. I’m falling in love with you, Violet Russo, and I’m not letting you push me away. Not now. Not when someone’s trying to hurt you.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head. “You can’t, Dex… it’s not… you don’t know me… or who I really am.”

“I know what I need to know. And I can, and I do. I probably have since that first day you marched aboard the GoldenEye Airbus III. Even before I came face to face with you, I could sense you were all fire and determination.” He managed a small smile. “So, you might as well accept that I’m not going anywhere. Whatever’s going on, whatever you’re afraid to tell me—I’ll be here when you are ready, and we’ll face it together.”

She was quiet for so long, he thought she might have drifted off again. Then, so softly he almost missed it, she whispered, “Okay, Dex. I’ll go home with you.”

Relief flooded through him. She still hadn’t told him what was really going on, but he could take an educated guess and knew it had something to do with the case The World Bank was investigating against her family. She also avoided talking about her own feelings, but he’d take it… for now. Having her alive and safe was what mattered most. The rest they could figure out together.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, careful of her injuries. “Now, go back to sleep, love. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

As she drifted back to sleep, her hand remained clasped in his. Dexter’s mind was raging with theories. Someone had tried to kill her today, and they’d failed.

“Or maybe they didn’t,” he mused out loud. “Perhaps this had been a warning.” Frowning, he called Rex, who answered on the second ring.

“What’s up, Dex?”

“Violet was in an accident.” Briefly, he relayed everything he knew. “I need you to hack into the traffic cams, Rex. I want to know what happened. I have a bad feeling about this.”

“You think it’s Rick Hampton?”

“You read my mind, but I need to know if it was an attempted murder or a warning. If the first, they might try again. But they’d have to go through me first, and now that I know what I feel for her, I’d die before I let anyone hurt her again.”

“Yeah, I noticed your droopy eyes every time you looked at her last weekend.”

“I’m not ashamed of it, Rex.”

“Didn’t say you were. Besides, I’m happy for you. I think she’s the perfect match for you… in every aspect. Right. I’ll get going on those traffic cams. Call you when I have something.”

Ending the call, Dexter settled on the chair beside Violet’s bed. The sun had set outside the hospital window, casting the room in shadows broken only by the soft glow of monitoring equipment. In the dim light, Dexter prepared for a long night’s vigil, his thumb stroking absently across Violet’s palm.

Whatever storm was coming, they’d weather it together. He just had to be patient until she trusted him enough to open up and tell him what was really going on with her family.

Because one thing was for certain—he would keep her safe, even if it meant chasing away her family in the process… or having them locked up.

Dexter

One hour later…

Dexter’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He answered immediately when he noticed Rex’s name flashing.

“I’ve sent you the traffic cam footage. You were right; it definitely wasn’t an accident,” Rex said without preamble.

Dexter’s jaw clenched. “How bad?”

“Bad enough. Watch it yourself. But Dex... whoever did this? They’re pros.”

The email notification pinged as they spoke. Dexter’s finger hovered over the video file, a cold dread settling in his chest.

“Thanks, Rex. We’ll talk later,” he said and ended the call.

The footage began playing. Its grainy quality did nothing to diminish the calculated violence of what he witnessed. His hands curled into fists as he watched the red van match Violet’s car speed perfectly before executing a precision maneuver that sent her car spinning.

But it was what happened next that made his blood run cold. A masked figure emerged, moving with military precision, and every gesture screaming professional training. The way he approached Violet’s car, the practiced stance, and the tactical gear, which probably cost more than most people’s monthly salary, told him that this was no amateur operation.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pausing the video on a frame of the masked assailant. This wasn’t some half-baked intimidation attempt by Theo Russo. The man was larger, bulkier, and bore all the hallmarks of Rick Hampton’s organization.

“Why the hell are you involved in this, Violet?” he murmured. “After you spend over a decade keeping your distance from that part of your family’s lives?”

Dexter ran a hand through his hair. Theo was looking for trouble since, in the world of crime, he was no more than a kid playing at being a big shot. He probably thought he could handle things, seeing as he was a mafioso in his own right, except he had no idea he was swimming with sharks who would devour him without a second thought. And because of his negligence, Violet got caught in the crossfire.

It was time to make young Theo see the error of his ways and make him understand exactly what kind of fire he was playing with. Because if anything happened to Violet again, Dexter’s wrath would show no mercy, brother or not.

Dexter’s reflection in the darkened window showed him a face he barely recognized, twisted with a cold fury he hadn’t felt in years.

“Keep your cool, Flint. You need to think strategically. You’re not a gangster, and anger won’t protect her.” His voice sounded dark and dangerous.

He needed to be calculated, precise—more so than the masked professional who had run her off the road. It was time to call in the troops. Max, Jax, Rex, and Axel all had the necessary skills to help him find a way to keep her safe.

“I won’t let them hurt you again, Violet,” he whispered as he leaned over and placed a tender kiss against her cheek. “We have a future together to live and enjoy.”