What's Wrong With Being An Omega Nanny?-Chapter 68: Stabbed Nathan!

Chapter 68: Stabbed Nathan!
The dim light of a flickering street lamp cast shadows over the abandoned lot where Nathan woke with a groan, his head pounding and his body aching. He blinked, his vision clearing slowly, and realised he was sprawled on a cold concrete floor, his shirt and jacket gone, leaving him in just his custom-made red designer boxers.
His wrists were bound tightly with coarse rope, the knots biting into his skin.
"What the hell?" he muttered, his voice hoarse as he struggled to sit up. The memory of the cab ride hit him like a punch... the driver’s grin, the water bottle, the dizziness.
"That bastard drugged me," he growled, frustration and anger surging through him.
Nathan’s eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings. He was in what looked like an old warehouse, the air thick with dust and the faint smell of oil. His luggage was nowhere in sight, and his phone... his lifeline to Viktor and his family... was gone. He cursed under his breath, tugging at the ropes, but they held firm.
"First time taking a damn cab, and this happens," he muttered, shaking his head. He’d always used private drivers or rented cars, but his spur-of-the-moment decision to surprise his family had backfired spectacularly.
A burst of loud laughter echoed from the other side, cutting through his thoughts. Nathan’s head snapped up, his heart racing. He stumbled to his feet, his bare feet scraping against the rough floor, and staggered toward the metal door of the room.
"Hey!" he shouted, banging his shoulder against the door. "Get over here and let me loose! You hear me?" His voice was raw, but he kept pounding, desperation creeping in.
The laughter grew closer, and the door swung open, revealing the driver from the cab, his neat suit now rumpled, a smug grin plastered on his face. Two other men stood behind him, their expressions harder, less amused. Nathan’s eyes narrowed as he recognised the driver.
"You son of a bitch," he spat, his voice shaking with rage. "You drugged me!"
The driver chuckled, stepping closer.
"Calm down, pretty boy. You made it too easy." He turned to his men, his tone businesslike. "You count the money in his luggage yet?"
One of the men, a wiry guy with a scar on his cheek, nodded.
"Yeah, boss. It’s all there. Nice haul." He slammed Nathan’s suitcase shut. The other man, stockier and quieter, was already rifling through Nathan’s designer jacket, pulling out his wallet and watch.
Nathan’s jaw clenched, his mind racing.
"Do you know who I am?" he demanded, his voice rising. "You think you can just rob me and walk away? My father’s gonna have you hunted down. You’re not getting away with this."
The driver ignored him, his grin fading into a cold stare. He turned to the wiry man. "Kill him."
The two men flinched, exchanging uneasy glances.
"Boss, is that necessary?" the stocky one asked, his voice low. "We got his stuff. We’re good."
The driver’s eyes narrowed, his tone sharp.
"He’s seen our faces. Do you think the son of the president of the matching centre is going to let this slide? If he talks, we’re done... jail or worse." He paused, his grin returning. "Besides, we’re in the middle of nowhere. There are no cameras, no witnesses. Finish it."
The wiry man nodded slowly, pulling a knife from his belt, its blade glinting in the dim light. The stocky man hesitated but followed, his expression grim. Nathan’s heart pounded, his bravado faltering as the men approached.
"Wait, wait," he said, his voice cracking. "I won’t tell anyone. I swear. Just let me go, and I’ll keep my mouth shut."
The driver snorted, crossing his arms. "Yeah, right." He nodded to the wiry man, who lunged forward, driving the knife into Nathan’s abdomen. Nathan screamed, the sound raw and piercing, his body doubling over as pain exploded through him. He collapsed to his knees, blood seeping through his fingers as he clutched the wound.
The driver grimaced, stepping back. "Screams like a damn girl. Leave him here. The stab will do the job... no one’s coming through this place." He gestured to his men, and they grabbed Nathan’s suitcase and belongings, piling into the cab. The engine roared to life, and they sped off, leaving Nathan slumped against the floor, his blood pooling on the concrete.
Nathan’s vision blurred, his breathing shallow.
"Not... like this," he gasped, his hands trembling as he pressed against the wound. The knife was still lodged in his side, and he knew better than to pull it out. He’d seen enough crime shows to know that would make it worse. His mind raced, grasping for hope.
’Viktor... I need to call Viktor.’
But his phone was gone, and he was alone, bleeding out in a forgotten corner of the city.
.
.
Meanwhile, at the hotel... Elias was fighting a battle of his own. The heat pulsing through his body had intensified, leaving him restless and aching. He’d ignored Dr Patel’s calls, convincing himself he could handle it, but the suppressants in his bag weren’t cutting it anymore.
His thick and heavy hoodie did little to mask the overpowering vanilla scent of his pheromones, which seemed to cling to everything. He couldn’t stay cooped up in his room any longer... the pain was too much to bear and he needed his usual sleeping pills and pain relievers.
Muttering to himself, Elias pulled on his hoodie, wincing as he moved.
"I’ll just go to a pharmacy," he said, grabbing his wallet and phone. "Get what I need and come back." He slipped out of the hotel, the cool evening air doing little to ease the heat under his skin. As he walked, heads turned... passersby, hotel staff, even a group of teenagers on the corner stared, their noses twitching at his scent. Elias kept his head down, his hood up, trying to ignore the attention.
He trudged through the quiet streets, stopping at every small store he passed.
"Do you sell sleeping pills or pain relievers?" he asked at each one, only to be met with shakes of the head and directions to another place. "You need a registered pharmacy," one clerk said. "Try the one a few blocks down."
Elias groaned, his frustration growing as he walked for nearly an hour, his body aching with every step. The heat was relentless, making his head spin and his legs weak. Finally, he spotted a small pharmacy, its neon sign glowing in the dusk. He stumbled inside, the bell above the door jingling. The woman behind the counter, middle-aged with kind eyes, looked up.
"Are you okay, hon?" she asked, her brows furrowing as she caught his scent. "You look very sick,"