AUTHOR'S POV
Elite Stone Hospital,
01:57 am
The hospital lay cloaked in stillness after a day of non stop chaos. Dim lights hummed softly along the corridor, casting long shadows on the polished floor. All the rooms were quiet, most of their occupants lost in slumber or numbed silence that was settled until the emergency alarms began to beep loudly.
Hunter stepped out of his dimly lit private ward, his gaze narrowing.
The sharp scent of smoke crept into the corridor, followed by the echo of panicked footsteps. Nurses and doctors darted past, their voices overlapping in frantic urgency.
“The children’s wing—it's on fire!”
“To the emergency exit! Move!”
Chaos flooded the corridor. Smoke rolled in like a suffocating wave, trailing behind screaming patients and rattled staff. Cries rose—sharp, terrified. Somewhere, glass shattered. Somewhere else, a child wailed.
Hunter didn’t flinch. His cold eyes scanned the scene, calculating, until they landed on Alaric.
“Get her out of here,” he ordered, voice clipped.
Alaric pulled his gun out of his pick, loaded it before wrapping his steady arm around Sybil, she was confused, scared.
They knew it wasn't an accident, it was pre-planned attack.
Three of them together vanished into the panicked crowd, swallowed by chaos.
They had just started toward the stair well but Hunter stopped. His body froze, something primal anchoring him to the spot.
A scream tore through the noise.
Not just any scream. This one pierced deeper. It wasn’t pain—it was heartbreak.
“Mum!”
He turned, sharply. Through the smoke, he saw her, Grace, the little girl standing beside her mother who was on her knees, her face twisted in horror. Her tiny hands clutched the air helplessly as she stared at the limp figure of her mother, slumped in blood and ash. Her tiny frame trembling as tears carved clean streaks down her soot-stained cheeks.
Hunter ran, dodging stumbling bodies and falling debris. Without thinking, he grabbed her wrist and turned to his mother. "Come with me!" he shouted over the chaos, his voice sharp, commanding—meant to cut through fear.
The lady looked up, startled. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, lost in shock lay crumpled against the wall, her body fragile and unmoving. Blood dripped slowly from a cut above her brow. Her skin was pale, her breaths shallow.
“My child…” She whispered, barely audible over the alarms.
Her voice was raw—frayed with desperation. Her eyes didn’t move from th e corridor, now clouded with smoke and fog from triggered sprinklers. The mist danced with eerie light, making the hallway look ghostlike.
Hunter followed her gaze.
Nothing was visible. Just grey, thick, choking smoke, and the blinking red of emergency lights. But he knew.
There was another child. A life.
His chest tightened. The woman’s broken whisper echoed in his mind, blurring with memories he’d buried deep.
He gently placed the little girl’s hand into her mother’s weak grasp. "Take her out. I'll bring the baby." The woman tried to protest, but Hunter had already turned.
YOU ARE READING
MAFIA'S WRONG TARGET
Fantasy[ Story Of Misunderstanding ] [ Gory Concept ] • Mafia's Target Series Hunter King returns, now stronger, more ruthless, and undeniably crueler than before. Though a part of him has undoubtedly died, it is the weakest part- his heart. Sybil, a ball...
