Chapter 135: Outsiders in the Bloodline 2

Damon’s POV

Micah was lying on a narrow examination bed, his skin pale, his dark eyelashes fluttering rapidly as he fought his way through the heavy haze of unconsciousness. He blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights of the ceiling, his small, slender frame swallowed by an oversized hospital gown.

"Ugh..." Micah groaned softly, bringing a trembling hand up to grip the side of his neck.

His eyes slowly came into focus. He looked up, and the moment he saw the two of us hovering over the edge of his bed, his breath hitched in his throat.

"You... guys..." Micah muttered, his raspy voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and relief.

He planted his elbows on the mattress, attempting to push his upper body into a sitting position, but the moment he strained his neck, a sharp grimace of pain twisted his delicate face. He hissed through his teeth, curling his shoulders and sinking back down into the thin pillows.

I shot a furious glare straight at Noah’s side profile.

"You hit him way too hard, Noah," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest, irritation burning hot in my throat. "Look at him! He can barely even turn his damn head! Was that brutal strike really necessary?!"

Noah didn’t even look at me, nor did he look the slightest bit apologetic. His cold eyes were glued entirely to Micah’s face, assessing his brother’s pupils and breathing with quiet, intense calculation.

"It was necessary," Noah said flatly, his voice devoid of regret. "If he had stayed awake, his panic would have blown our cover the second the officers stormed that floor. He’s alive, and his spine is intact. That’s all that matters."

I hated that he was right. If Micah had been conscious when the cops showed up, his terrified rambling about his father and the church would have handed the police all the probable cause they needed to lock all three of us in separate interrogation cells. Noah’s strike had saved us, but seeing Micah in pain still made my stomach knot up with pure frustration.

"Micah," Noah murmured softly, his tone completely shifting as he leaned closer to the bed. "Are you dizzy? Does your head hurt?"

Micah shook his head gently, careful not to aggravate his sore neck. "No... just... my neck feels stiff. What happened? Where are we? Did... did the police take us?"

"We are at the hospital," Noah explained calmly, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of dark hair away from Micah’s forehead. "You’re safe. Nobody is arresting you. You have nothing to worry about."

Detective Harris stepped around the edge of the blue curtain, his hands tucked casually into his suit trousers. The hostile, aggressive attitude he had displayed earlier was entirely gone, replaced by a quiet, solemn deference.

"The case... let me handle it, young master," Harris said, addressing Noah directly with a firm, resolute nod. "I will personally oversee the incident report for the construction site. Four armed aggressors attempted a kidnapping, sustained fatal injuries during a violent altercation with private security assets, and the victims were recovered with minor trauma. The files will be stamped, classified, and buried in my department before the morning press can get a sniff of it."

Noah slowly turned his head to look at the detective over his broad shoulder.

"Thank you, Officer Harris," Noah said, his voice dropping into a low, icy register that sent chills through the small space. His fingers curled into tight, pale fists at his sides. "Those animals kidnapped my brother from a public mall. They tried to throw him off the third floor of that concrete shell. I know George Jenson orchestrated this, and I am certain his family isn’t finished yet. They will come for us again."

Noah looked back at David, who was standing quietly by the curtain with Susan.

"Let David brief you on the remaining details," Noah commanded. "He has the surveillance feeds and the vehicle data. Coordinate with him and make sure the Jenson family finds themselves tied up in enough legal and financial fires that they won’t have time to look in our direction for the next three days."

"Consider it done, young master," Harris said, tapping his chest with a respectful nod.

The detective turned on his heel and walked toward the room exit. David gave Noah a deep, formal bow before turning to follow the officer out into the corridor to handle the paperwork.

Susan stepped toward my bed, grabbing her heavy purse off the floor. She gave my shoulder a quick, tight squeeze, her eyes still red from crying. "I will be outside with my brother, Master Damon. Rest now. You need your strength."

"Yeah, yeah, go on," I mumbled, waving a dismissive hand as she stepped out and clicked the heavy door shut behind them.

The room fell into an abrupt, heavy silence.

The only sound left was the rhythmic, steady beep of the heart monitor hooked up to Noah’s abandoned bed.

I stood at the foot of Micah’s mattress, watching the interaction between the two brothers. Noah was still leaning over Micah, speaking to him in low, soothing murmurs, checking his wrists where the ropes had chafed the pale skin raw.

And Micah was looking up at Noah with unwavering trust.

My chest tightened with an ache that had nothing to do with my cracked ribs.

I had watched Micah’s face when David stepped into the room. I had watched his reaction when Noah issued orders to a high-ranking syndicate butler.

Micah hadn’t looked surprised. Not even for a second.

He hadn’t gasped. He hadn’t asked who David was. He hadn’t questioned why his older brother had a private, terrifyingly wealthy butler who bowed to him like a king.

Micah already knew.

He knew about the butler. He knew about Noah’s hidden connections. He knew about the dark, underground reality that Noah operated in. The two of them shared an entire universe of dangerous secrets that existed far beneath the surface of their ordinary college lives.

And then there was me.

Damon Silver.

The arrogant, reckless outsider who had crashed their dinner table, jumped onto a collapsing net, tore the skin off his hands, and risked his own neck just to pull Micah back from the brink of death.

I stood there in my wrinkled hospital gown, watching the way Noah’s broad shoulders shielded Micah from the rest of the world. I saw the way Micah’s eyes softened whenever Noah touched his arm.

I knew we weren’t brothers. I knew we weren’t family. I knew I had forced my way into their twisted lives because I was bored, reckless, and hopelessly drawn to the fragile, beautiful boy lying in that bed.

I gave everything I had today to save him.

Yet, looking at the unbreakable, impenetrable wall standing between them and the rest of the world, I couldn’t stop the bitter, cold hollow that opened up in the center of my chest.

No matter what I did... No matter how much blood I spilled or how far I fell...

I was completely, utterly left out.