Rafael returned moments later, gripping a small black bag filled with medical supplies. Blood seeped through his shirt, his movements slower now. He was losing too much of it.

But the moment he reached the car, his already frayed patience snapped.

Celia was in the driver’s seat.

His grip on the bag tightened. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she reached for the gear shift. “I will drive.”

Rafael was too weak to argue. ...