Badass in Disguise (Shadow) novel Chapter 143

Chapter 143

I stood beside the specialized dialysis machine, monitoring William Haxton’s vital signs on the screen. The dark toxin continued to flow through the tubes, evidence of the poison slowly leaving his system. My eyes burned from staring at the monitors for–I glanced at my watch–two hours straight now.

Movement in the doorway caught my attention. Ethan Haxton stood there, his shoulders slightly less tense than earlier. In the reflection of the monitoring screen, our eyes met briefly. I noticed the resemblance between him and his father–the same strong eyebrows, the same nose bridge. I quickly looked away, focusing on adjusting the dialysis

parameters.

The machine hummed steadily, filtering William’s blood. A faint, unpleasant smell lingered in the air–the collected toxin had a distinctive odor once it oxidized. I’d smelled it before, in another lifetime, in training facilities where they taught us to recognize poisons by their scent.

I administered the final dose of antidote, the needle sliding precisely into the injection port. The clear liquid disappeared into the IV line, and I stepped back, satisfaction washing over me. My job was done. William’s vital signs were stabilizing.

My vision blurred slightly as I leaned against the wall. I closed my eyes for just a moment, letting my muscles relax. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a constant irritating hum that matched the pounding in my temples.

“Jade?”

I barely registered Ethan’s voice, his concern evident in the way he said my name. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Exhaustion pulled me under like quicksand, and darkness claimed me.

I felt myself being lifted, strong arms cradling my body. Through the fog of sleep, I recognized Ethan’s cologne- subtle notes of sandalwood and something distinctly expensive. My head rested against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.

“I’ve got her,” Ethan’s voice rumbled through his chest. “Dr. Morrison, Connor, keep monitoring my father’s condition. The dialysis should complete in forty minutes.”

“Of course, Mr. Haxton.” Walter Morrison’s voice sounded distant.

I should protest, tell him to put me down, that I was perfectly capable of walking. But my body betrayed me, sinking deeper into unconsciousness instead.

As Ethan carried me through the hallway, I vaguely registered the hushed silence that fell over the corridor. Hospital staff and what I assumed were other Haxton family members stood aside, watching with curious eyes. No one spoke. The soft beeping of medical equipment and the squeak of Ethan’s expensive shoes on the linoleum floor were the only sounds.

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Chapter 143

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This is the first time I’ve worked so intensely since my rebirth, and this body’s condition still needs improvement.

Unable to withstand such mental and physical exhaustion, my sleep was restless.

I not only dreamed of those inhuman tortures during those six months in the Caribbean underground base, but also of my partner who died during the last mission.

Perhaps “partner” isn’t the right word, as we didn’t carry out many missions together, but he was my only friend in the organization.

I jerked awake, gasping for air, my heart hammering against my ribs. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I struggled to

orient myself.

This wasn’t the Caribbean. This wasn’t the facility.

The familiar scent of sandalwood and cedar filled my nostrils–Ethan’s signature cologne lingering on the sheets. I was in a bed–not a metal table–with expensive linens pulled up to my chest. The room was dimly lit, with sunlight filtering through partially closed blinds.

I scanned the surroundings, my training kicking in automatically. Exit points: door to my left, large windows to my right. Potential weapons: heavy crystal lamp on the bedside table, letter opener on the desk, decorative brass statue

on the bookshelf.

This wasn’t a standard bedroom. The furnishings were too luxurious–plush armchair in the corner, original artwork on the walls, hardwood floors covered with what looked like authentic Persian rugs. I realized this must be the Haxton family’s VIP hospital suite. I spotted Ethan’s suit jacket draped over one of the chairs, his leather briefcase placed neatly beside it.

The door opened quietly, and Ethan walked in, carrying two paper cups. His eyes widened slightly when he saw me sitting up.

“You’re awake.” He handed me one of the cups–tea, not coffee. “My father’s dialysis is complete. His vitals have stabilized. Dr. Morrison says it’s the most remarkable recovery he’s witnessed in thirty years of practice.”

I took a sip of the tea–chamomile with honey, still hot enough to soothe my dry throat. “How long was I out?”

“Eight hours.” Ethan settled into the chair beside the bed. “You collapsed after administering the final dose.”

Eight hours? I hadn’t slept that long in one stretch since… well, since before I was Shadow.

“Why didn’t you ask for my help sooner?” I asked bluntly. “If your father was poisoned a year ago, why wait until

now?”

Ethan’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t know you existed.” He paused, weighing his next words. carefully. “I was looking for someone else. Dr. Blackwell.”

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Chapter 143

The name hung in the air between us. I kept my face neutral, though my pulse quickened slightly.

‘Dr. Blackwell, I repeated, keeping my tone casual. “You mentioned her before.”

‘Yes.‘ Ethan’s eyes never left mine. “A brilliant medical mind. Also known in certain circles as ‘Shadow,‘ one of the most lethal assassins ever to work for the Shadow Organization.”

I raised an eyebrow, feigning mild interest. “A doctor and a killer? That’s an unusual combination.”

“Indeed.” Ethan sipped his coffee. “For a moment, I thought you might be connected to her somehow. The precision of your techniques, your knowledge of obscure toxins…” He shook his head. “But that would be absurd, wouldn’t it?”

I smiled slightly. “A doctor? An assassin? Me?” I let out a small laugh. “I think exhaustion is affecting your judgment,

Mr. Haxton.”

“Perhaps.” His expression remained unreadable. “Though I find it interesting that someone with ‘limited surgical experience‘ handles a specialized dialysis machine like they’ve used it a hundred times before.”

“I told you what you needed to hear to let me treat your father,” I said, meeting his gaze directly. “Would you have trusted me if I haven’t told you that I’d never lost a patient?”

“So…”

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