Page 50 of Gentle Warrior

Viper stayed close, forming a shield at Elena’s side as the escort locked arms around them, a living barrier against danger.

34 - MOOSE

Moose’s eyes fluttered open to the harsh glare of the white hospital ceiling, the brightness instantly stabbing at his vision. The pain was so sudden and sharp that his eyelids snapped shut again, squeezing tightly against the assault of blinding light. A dull, relentless ringing buzzed in his ears, warping the steady beep of the monitors around him.

When he dared to open them again, the room tilted sharply, his vision blurring and doubling at the edges. A heavy pressure pulsed in his skull, each heartbeat sending waves of dizziness that made his head swim. Tubes snaked from his arms—IV lines delivering fluids—and the sterile scent of antiseptic pressed in on him like a weight. A thick fog clouded his thoughts, slow and disjointed.

But one thought cut through the haze: Elena.

He tried to move, to lift himself, to call out, but a sudden, searing pain exploded through his side, stealing what little breath he had. His chest tightened in a brutal ache—broken ribs. Agony crashed in relentless waves with every shallow breath.

His head spun violently; nausea churned in his stomach. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the surrounding blur, but each motion sent stabbing flashes behind his closed eyes.

“God damn it,” he muttered through gritted teeth, voice rough and tight.

Despite the pounding in his head and stabbing rib pain, his mind clawed through the fog. Where was Elena? Was she safe? Had the gang gotten to her while he was down?

The fog thickened, and exhaustion pressed down hard. Moose’s head throbbed relentlessly as the room tilted and spun.

“Hey,” Bear’s voice cut through the haze,rough, steady, a lifeline.

“Elena’s fine.”

The words broke through the spinning darkness, grounding him. Moose’s eyes fluttered open once more, the voice steady and real. Relief flared sharp behind the fog.

Moose’s throat felt raw as he croaked, “How long?”

Bear’s voice softened, with a hint of dry humor. “About four hours. You took a hell of a hit. Thought your head was harder than that.”

The fog clouding Moose’s mind began to clear just enough for one burning thought to pierce through: Elena. Trial! He needed to be with her, to stand by her. His chest tightened, pain flaring every time he shifted beneath the hospital sheets.

“I’ve got to get to her,” Moose rasped, voice raw but fierce, pushing against the dull haze pulling at him.

Bear’s eyes flickered with something like amused exasperation. “You’re busted up good, man. You trying to crawl outta here and trot to the courthouse? Hell, I might have to park my ass on you just to keep you put.”

Moose swallowed hard, muscles trembling but determination burning bright. “Doesn’t matter. She needs me right now.”

Bear shook his head, softening just a fraction. “I get it. And she’s counting on you. But right now, you rest. No hero moves today. The trial’s already underway. You won’t help anything if you’re flat out on the floor.”

Moose’s jaw clenched, but Bear’s tone held firm without room for argument.

“Trust me,” Bear added with a smirk. “If you even try to sit up, I’ll be the one sitting on you.”

35 - ELENA

Elena’s heart hammered against her ribs as she stepped into the courtroom. The heavy door closed behind her with a dull thud, sealing her inside. The Latin Counts were out in force—leather jackets worn like armor, sleeves rolled up to reveal faded tattoos snaking down forearms, some inked with symbols only the initiated would recognize. Their hard, unblinking eyes fixed on her from the rows of seats set aside near the back, radiating a silent menace that pressed over the room like thick fog.

The stale air carried faint hints of sweat, leather, and cigarette smoke, lingering from somewhere beyond the courthouse walls. Low murmurs and whispered curses fluttered among them as their gazes drilled into Elena, heavy and accusatory, daring her to falter.

But she refused to show even a flicker of fear. This was more than a trial—it was her chance to avenge Aaron and Agent Weatherly, to demand justice for the lives stolen by these men. She was here not just to confront them in a battle of words and truth but to dismantle their empire, step by step, through the law.

Elena took her place on the witness stand and straightened her shoulders. The smooth polished wood beneath her hands felt cool and steadying. She met the prosecutor’s calm and encouraging gaze. She spoke with calm resolve, her voice carrying the full seriousness of the hard truths she was about to reveal.

The Latin Counts tried to intimidate her with their presence, but Elena met their stares head-on. She wouldn’t back down, wouldn’t break under the weight of their silent threats. She was here to fight with evidence and law and nothing else.

Hours passed like an endless storm. The defense attacked relentlessly: loaded questions dripping with sly insinuations, attempts to twist her testimony, sneering disbelief aimed to shatter her resolve. They tried to paint her a liar, a scapegoat, an unstable witness.

But Elena stood firm. Each answer was calm, precise, unshaken. Where doubt tried to take root, she planted facts. When frustration snapped in the courtroom, she held her ground.