Chapter Twelve—Stitches
Edward ground his teeth as he threaded the needle through Isabella's skin. The wound reopened when she tried to pull on some slim black pants by the side of the road outside Seattle. It was up to him to stitch her up. His father's insistence that all his children be well trained in combat and emergency medical treatment paid off.
He hated every second of causing Isabella pain, but she was good at keeping her pain tolerance contained. Every time the needle punctured her skin, her hands would fist for a few seconds, other than that, she barely reacted. He wasn't sure he'd have the fortitude to keep quiet in a reversed situation; his brothers could attest to that.
"Explain to me what's going to happen when we get there." Edward needed to hear her talk, to kill the silence while he worked.
"The first crew is already on the premises to assist security and to neutralize the situation if possible. We can only enter the premises wearing coats and masks given to us by The Center. We maintain our anonymity that way, and inside they're chipped so any security within would know we're there to protect and take care of the problem."
Edward shook his head, his lips twisting into a snarl. If something happened to her… "You mean not shoot us on sight."
"Exactly." Isabella looked over at Edward's wristwatch, biting her bottom lip as the needle went in one last time. "We gotta go. Get a vest on before we head over there."
He fucking hated those things, too damn bulky. "Are you putting one on?"
Isabella smirked as she checked out Edward's handy work. "You could've been a doctor with those hands and tiny stitches. Scarring will be minimal. Damn good job."
Edward Cullen didn't preen like a fucking peacock because he received a compliment. Usually. "I asked you a question, Isabella." He knew she was trying to distract him to avoid answering.
She sighed, sending him a withering glare that asked if he was stupid. "My coat is lined with some new material, better than Kevlar and lighter. I'd have you wear that if I could." She smoothed down the bandages he placed over the stitched wound. "In fact, why don't you put that on? It'll be snug, but it'll protect you better."
Edward quirked an eyebrow. "If you think, for one moment, I'd take a layer of protection from you, you're wrong." He helped her off the hood of the car, steadying her on her feet. "You walking away from this alive is too important to me." He handed her the coat that she referred to; the only thing she managed to get on other than her yoga pants and a tank top before she had gone downstairs to get breakfast prior to their flight. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Edward grabbed her chin, giving her a little shake. Thankfully, she didn't appear to want to kill him. "I won't budge on this subject, Isabella."
Her dark eyes narrowed, slipping on the jacket with a purse of her lips. "This may be an issue. It's my job to protect you."
"You're retired, remember? Besides, it's my job to do the same for you." He joined her beside the trunk of the car, pulling out weapons and ammunition. She had guns he'd never even seen in person and had only heard about. She also had a collection of knives. The rumors of Phoenix's lethal ability to kill and torture with them had him wishing to see it in action. I'm a sick bastard. "There is no use in arguing."
"Oh, there's use to arguing as you'll soon learn, but now is not the time." She started to wrap a thin layer of black material around her waist and told him to do the same with another piece. "That is made of the same material as my jacket. It'll help take the edge off a bullet so it won't knock you to your feet, put it under the vest." She helped him strap on a Kevlar vest under the shirt he finished buttoning up.
"Shoes." He helped her into them, knowing bending down could hurt her until the pain meds she took kicked in. "What did you take earlier?"
"It's a cocktail for pain, anti-inflammatory, and infection." She shrugged. "Takes more than a couple codeine tablets to knock me out, Edward."
"I wasn't questioning your ability to handle the situation. I just needed to know in case something does happen and I can inform the medical staff."
Isabella rolled her eyes. "I'm fine. We don't have time for your overprotective tendencies. The first crew has already moved in and there still hasn't been any word. That's not a good thing. Rossi's men probably already have your brother, but since it's on lockdown, there's no way out of the premises."
"Let's go." Edward grabbed two guns, extra clips, and a holster he adjusted for his height. "In the state my brother is in, he could antagonize his would-be kidnappers."
She slipped extra knives into her ankle boots, having strapped on a vest with dozens of them over her chest. "You're assuming kidnapping is their agenda."
"It must be. If killing my brother was the only thing they were after, they would've gone in and blown up the place."
Isabella shook her head. "That takes planning, and with the sophisticated system at the center, any bomb would've been detected. This isn't the first time this was attempted, nor will it be the last. Did you hear about the Davis and Gutierrez feud that spilled onto Center grounds four years ago?"
"You were involved in that? It was a bloodbath." He remembered the incident since the center was originally founded by all the head families in the US. His father had to take an important call during that Easter dinner, something Carlisle avoided unless it was imperative. "That's why you retired, isn't it?
Isabella slipped behind the driver's seat, and Edward didn't argue. She knew all the ins and outs of her incredible car. He had the beast for over a day and hadn't seen all the secret panels and compartments in it; though, she did say she made most of the modifications after he returned it to her.
"I didn't retire because I racked up twenty-four kills in less than five minutes." She looked over at him and smirked. "It was twenty-seven, by the way. We almost lost my stepsister in that bloody business. She didn't tell us she was three months pregnant either, but it made me realize weeks later that if I ever want to have a family, I'd have to give it up."
"Then my father asked for a favor, bringing you back in." Edward wasn't sure how he felt about the situation since he was still absorbing the information.
"I have no regrets about taking out Alec. He deserved what I did to him after what he'd done to those women." She sighed and checked for any updates. "By the way, I wouldn't watch the interrogation video I sent your father. It might make you think differently of me."
"It wouldn't," he assured her, trying not to cup himself, a natural reaction to thinking of castration. They had ordered that Alec's dick to be cut off and fed to him.
Isabella didn't comment on his reaction, too busy on the phone. "Fuck, not even Laurent is answering. That is not good news. I'm sending in a reconnaissance crew to assess the situation and get back to me. I don't want to walk into an ambush unless I'm packing for Armageddon."
"Armageddon?" If Peter and Damon, Alec's cousins, came with twelve men, and they killed three, they only had to worry about nine men. Peter and Damon wouldn't go do the dirty work; they'd send men to do it. "Do you think there will be more than one crew?"
"I'm sure of it. My computer is running to see any possible known associates that may have flown into Seattle since your arrival to Washington."
Edward's phone hadn't stopped vibrating—messages from all the interactions between his father, uncles, and his brother Emmett.
"Do they know anything yet?" Isabella asked, as another panel drew back and opened up a screen where her stereo used to be. Her eyes widened at the coded message. "Fucking hell, I'm calling it. Code-Fucking-Red. Tell your father to get your mother and brother, and head into the panic room, then tell the rest of the family to do the same. Rossi hired another fifty men on top of his usual legion of sixty."
"If he can't have me and you, or even Jasper, they'd go after the heads of the family."
Isabella nodded and sped through traffic like a pro stunt driver, not needing even the hint of the brake to maneuver through a busy morning commute.
Jesus fuck, who the fuck was he marrying?
The screen on the dash started to flash. "Call it in, Edward. My inside person confirmed that Aro Rossi moved his family into the safe houses."
"Something he wouldn't do unless he expected retaliation," Edward added, then called his father, saying two words to convey the gravity of the situation. "Code Red."
AN: Oh shit! Yes, I know killing is bad. We all know that I think this is why this fic is hard for me to write. It's so far out of my comfort zone, but I'm glad I'm writing it. These characters straddle a line, period. Thanks to Midnight Cougar for helping me with the chapter. Up next The Center. *rubs hands together and cackles*
