HIS REGRET (Ex-Husband wants Me Back) novel Chapter 981

The frigid mountain air cut through to the bone as Silas Evermont came to another halt. His breathing was heavy and uneven, punctuated by repeated hisses of pain escaping through clenched teeth.

It had been nearly two hours since he had abandoned his car after it ran out of fuel on the rocky road. Since then, he had no choice but to keep walking along a narrow trail that was almost invisible amid the dense trees.

Every step felt like a punishment.

The gunshot wound in his left thigh continued to bleed despite the makeshift bandage he had wrapped around it using a torn piece of his shirt. The dried blood had caused the fabric to stick to his skin, and every time he moved his leg, a sharp pain shot all the way up to his hip. Several times, his knee nearly gave out. His body almost collapsed before he managed to steady himself by grabbing the trunk of a tree beside the path.

"Damn it!"

Silas closed his eyes for a moment as he steadied his breathing. The bullet hadn't merely pierced the flesh. He could feel his left leg gradually losing strength. His toes were becoming increasingly difficult to move, as though the nerves inside them were slowly ceasing to respond.

He pulled his phone from his pocket. The cracked screen immediately displayed the one name he had been calling repeatedly.

Falcon.

The first call went unanswered. Silas waited a few seconds before tapping the screen again. The ringing started once more.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Still no answer.

His jaw tightened. "Pick up, Falcon!"

The call eventually disconnected on its own.

"At least," he murmured quietly as he resumed his unsteady walk toward the building, "I'll be able to get some sleep tonight."

The door of the old house creaked softly as Silas pushed it open with his shoulder. The smell of decaying wood and dust that had settled for years immediately greeted him. He stood in the doorway for a few moments, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light filtering through the gaps in the walls.

His instincts took over before the exhaustion consuming his body could. His hand tightened around his pistol.

Slowly, he searched every corner of the house. The small room to the right was empty. The kitchen was filled with old furniture coated in dust. There were no signs of a fire, no food, and no indication that anyone had lived there in recent months.

After making sure the entire building was truly empty, Silas returned to the main room and wedged the door shut with a wooden cabinet that was still sturdy enough. The scraping of wood echoed through the house before silence settled over it once again.

Only then did he allow his body to collapse onto the floor.

The pain he had been forcing himself to ignore immediately came crashing down on him without mercy. His breathing grew ragged as he unwound the strip of cloth around his thigh. Fresh blood was still seeping from the wound, soaking the torn fabric, which had turned a dark crimson. Beneath the beam of a small flashlight, the wound looked even worse than he had expected.