His After The Heartbreak (BL)-Chapter 172: Only I’m Allowed to Kill You

Chapter 172 – Only I'm Allowed to Kill You

Declan's POV

I kept pressing down on her chest, again and again, then breathing into her mouth like my life depended on it. My hands were shaking. My lips were dry. Sweat was already pouring down my face.

But she wasn't waking up.

"Wake up!!" I screamed, my voice cracking like a madman. "Damn it, Beatrice!"

I tried again—chest compressions, then air.

Nothing.

"Why aren't you waking up?!" I growled, my voice low and breaking. "This isn't your time to die, Beatrice... not now, not like this."

I looked down at her pale face. Her lips were starting to lose color. That scared the hell out of me.

"Do not die yet," I whispered. "It's too early for you to fucking die..."

My hands pressed her chest again. My heart was racing.

"What am I going to say to your son, huh? What am I supposed to say to our son?!"

I blinked, hard. My throat tightened.

"What am I going to say to him—after he shot you? That I couldn't save you? That I just stood there like a fucking useless idiot?"

I looked up to the sky like God owed me a damn explanation.

"Please don't put me to shame, Beatrice," I begged. "Not after everything I passed through tonight... not after I removed a bullet with my bare hands, for fuck's sake!"

My chest was tight. The air around me felt thin. freёweɓnovel.com

"This isn't your time to go. You're not done here," I said, gently brushing blood off her face. "You're too young to die, Bee. You still have years ahead of you. You still have a life waiting."

I leaned back down and gave her CPR again—over and over. Still no response.

"Please, Beatrice... wake up."

Nothing.

"Tyler's going to hate me," I whispered. "He's going to fucking hate me if he finds out you followed me and died."

A lump formed in my throat.

"He won't believe I'm innocent," I said, louder now. "He'll blame me. He'll hate me for the rest of his life."

My voice cracked.

"I need him, Bee," I muttered. "I need my son. Don't ruin my only chance to bond with him by dying on me!"

I was yelling now, doing everything I could—compressions, breath, shouting, begging, praying like a damn sinner hoping for mercy.

"Why won't you just wake up?!" I roared. "Wake the fuck up!"

I wiped my forehead with my bloody arm. I was soaked in sweat.

"You can't die now," I growled. "I swear you cannot die now."

I looked at her still body and something snapped inside me.

"You hear me?" I shouted, trembling. "The only person allowed to kill you is me!"

My heart was pounding in my ears.

"The only one who's allowed to shoot you is me! The only one who's allowed to take your breath away is me!" I yelled, losing control.

"No one—no motherfucker—has the fucking right to take your life away from you!"

My fists clenched. My voice broke again.

"I repeat—NO ONE HAS THE FUCKING RIGHT!"

Then I took a deep breath, and leaned over her one last time.

"Now wake up," I whispered. "Wake the fuck up now."

I breathed into her mouth.

Gave one more push to her chest.

One more chance.

And then—

She gasped.

"Uuhhhh..." she groaned softly, her eyelids fluttering open.

I froze. My heart skipped a beat.

She opened her eyes.

I released a breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding. My knees almost gave out. I pressed a hand over my face and dragged it down slowly, trying to breathe again like a normal person.

"Better," I muttered, voice rough. "Fucking better..."

I looked down at her again, still cradled in my arms.

Because I wasn't ready to bury anybody today. Not someone who's somehow tied to me. Not someone I just pulled a damn bullet out of. Not someone who still has my blood on her hands and her blood on mine.

I wiped the sweat that had gathered on my forehead. It stung my eyes. My whole body felt like I just ran through hell and back.

Her chest was rising and falling now—but slow. Not steady. Weak, like someone whose lungs were still trying to remember how to work.

But I didn't complain.

Why would I? She was breathing. That's all I asked for.

I wasn't expecting her to suddenly bounce back like nothing happened. She got shot. Of course, she wasn't okay.

So if she wanted to breathe like a dying fish for the next hour, that's her right. As long as she was alive.

"Take your time," I whispered to her. "Just stay with me."

I adjusted my grip and lifted her again in bridal style. Her blood was now warm, blood soaking through the cloth I used to tie her wound. I walked back toward the car, ready to place her gently in the backseat—

And then I stopped.

The entire back seat was soaked in blood.

I froze again, frowning.

I can't put her there.

No fucking way. That was practically tossing her into a pool of infection. And the front seat? That wouldn't work either. Airbag. Positioning. Too risky.

I sighed heavily. My arms were already burning from holding her so long.

So I did the only thing I could do—I gently walked back and laid her on the ground again. Carefully. Like she was made of glass.

Her breathing was still slow, but steady enough to keep me going.

Then I turned back to the bloody seat. I reached for the cloth I'd used earlier—the one soaked halfway in blood—and began wiping as much of the mess as I could.

It wasn't working.

The cloth was too wet. It was just spreading the blood, not cleaning anything.

"Damn it," I muttered, looking around for anything else I could use.

There was nothing. I had no backup cloth, no towel, nothing.

Then I looked down at myself. My shirt.

I didn't think twice. I stripped it off, leaving just my singlet, and started wiping down the seat with my shirt. The thick fabric soaked up most of the blood. It was messy, but at least it looked better now. Drier. Less like a murder scene.

When I finished, I dropped the bloody shirt on the floor of the car.

I was about to throw it out the door, but then I stopped.

That cloth could be evidence.

Evidence that I touched a crime scene. Evidence that I shot her. Evidence that might be used against me if anyone ever came asking questions.

I didn't have the strength to be answering questions right now. I didn't even have the strength to argue if someone said it was my bullet. I just wanted her to live.

So I left the cloth inside. Let it sit. Maybe I'll burn the whole car later if I have to.

I turned back to where I left her, her body curled slightly on the floor, still breathing.

I walked over quickly and bent down.

"I'm not letting you die on me," I whispered as I scooped her up again.

My arms were sore, but I carried her like she weighed nothing.