The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 405

Cut Off

MARY’S POV:

Completely ignoring the dirt and shattered glass on the road, I pulled myself closer to his side. My shaking fingers reached for his left wrist, frantically searching for any sign of a pulse beneath his cold skin. His skin felt damp and clammy to the touch, and the beat under his skin was horribly weak, but it was definitely there. He was still alive. He was still breathing.

I quickly reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my mobile phone, my trembling fingers fumbling wildly across the smooth glass screen while my vision went blurry from hot tears. The white numbers swam together on the display, refusing to stay still long enough for me to tap them. I could not get my hands to stop shaking. I could not think straight. The only thing my brain could focus on was the terrifying way Hotch’s chest was barely moving, and the way the blood was creeping down his neck.

I was just about to dial emergency services when a tall shadow fell over both of us.

I snapped my head up.

Alistair stepped out from the driver side of the car that had just crushed Hotch’s vehicle. The metal door swung open with a heavy creak, and he stepped into the light like a dark phantom coming out of the shadows. His face was locked into a hard, cold look, his eyes completely dark, and his expression completely blank. He was still wearing the exact same expensive suit he had worn at the hospital earlier, though he had unbuttoned his jacket and pulled his silk tie completely off his neck.

He stood directly over us and looked down at the unconscious man lying in the street, his cold gaze slowly sweeping over Hotch’s limp body, his bleeding head, and the pool of dark red blood spreading out onto the asphalt. There was not a single trace of worry in his eyes. There was no guilt, no panic, and no regret whatsoever. There was only a cold, obvious look of pure annoyance.

He pulled his dark eyebrows together into a deep frown and asked, “Who on earth is this guy?”

I was far too busy trying to call for an ambulance to waste a single second answering his stupid question. My fingers were shaking so violently that the phone kept slipping around in my grip. I could not tap the right emergency numbers on the screen. My head was spinning out of control. Every single second felt like a precious drop of time slipping away, taking Hotch further and further from saving.

Alistair took three long, deliberate strides across the gravel, his shoes crunching loudly on the stones. He reached down with one broad hand, grabbed my mobile phone right out of my fingers with incredible force, and barked at me, “Do not you dare ignore me when I am speaking to you!”

My phone was gone in an instant. The call to the hospital was gone. My only chance of getting medical help for Hotch was completely destroyed.

A wave of absolute, terrifying fury exploded inside my chest.

I did not stop to think about what I was doing. I did not plan my actions. My right arm swung through the cold air before my brain could even register the movement, my palm slapping him hard across his left cheek with everything I had left in me. The sound of the slap was sharp, loud, and crisp, ringing out

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through the quiet neighborhood like a whip cracking. His head was yanked violently to the side from the blow, his pale skin instantly turning a bright, blotchy red where my fingers had hit him. The heavy impact sent a sharp shockwave of stinging pain straight up my arm, but I did not give a damn.

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