CHAPTER 93: CLINGING TO HOPE

"They're still out there," Paul muttered, his voice low and gravelly as he paced the sterile hospital corridor. He rubbed his temples, fingers digging deep into his scalp as if he could wring out the frustration. His brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed as he turned to face Cecilia, still lying unconscious in her hospital bed. "I should have gotten there sooner." He had reached out to someone from his past, a part of his life he thought he'd left behind for good. It was the kind of connection with strings attached—ones that could strangle you if you weren't careful. But they were efficient. His contact had found the warehouse where Christian was being held in no time. Only, it wasn't fast enough. One damn minute too late. Paul's jaw tightened as the memory replayed in his mind—the empty, cold, desolate warehouse. He clenched his fists, feeling the veins in his neck bulge with the tension of his anger. He hadn't wanted to contact these people, not again. Not after all these years.