Chapter 36 NIKOLAI
Alek falls into me, drenched in blood and landing like a dead weight. My arms lock around him, my shoulder taking the brunt of the fall before his head lolls against me.
“Fuck,” I growl at Damon and Jagger, adjusting my hold. “He’s Ani’s brother.”
Jagger and Damon don’t waste time with questions or apologies. Jagger grabs Alek’s legs as Damon pushes past me, clearing off the kitchen island with a sweep of his arms. Glass shatters to the floor, and something slams against the cabinets as we carry Alek through the apartment.
“Here,” Damon instructs. We haul Alek onto the granite slab, his blood slicking across my hands, dripping down the edges of the countertop, and spilling to the tile like a fucking river.
Ani chokes on a sob behind me, and as much as I want to comfort her right now, I know I need to keep my attention on Alek.
“Grab the med kit,” Damon snaps at Jagger without hesitation. The soldier in him has switched on, and his voice is clipped and commanding. Before I get a second to move, Jagger bolts over to the closet, his boots pounding against the floor with every step.
My hands are braced on Alek’s chest, as blood pumps out of him with every shallow beat of his heart. “Stay with me, kid,” I beg, pressing harder against the worst of the wounds, his blood oozing between my already stained fingers. “Don’t you dare fucking die on me.”
Damon brandishes a knife from the butcher block, the stainless steel catching in the light as he slices through Alek’s shirt. He pulls back the blood-soaked fabric, revealing the devastation beneath. “Two in the shoulder,” he shares as he works, his tone clinical. “One in the flank.”
The med kit is slammed onto the counter beside us, Jagger shoving supplies toward Damon without being asked. Gauze. Syringes. Tourniquets. A packet of QuikClot powder that Damon tears into with his teeth.
He works with brutal efficiency, pressing the powder straight into the wounds. Alek jerks weakly, a groan caught in his throat, but even the burn isn’t enough to rouse him from his barely conscious state. Blood foams around Damon’s fingers, but the powder does its job, slowing the gush to a seep.
“Buying time,” Damon observes, already moving on to the next hole.
His hands don’t shake, and there isn’t an ounce of emotion on his face.
I’ve seen men like him before—the kind who’ve stitched up brothers in the dirt with bullets flying overhead.
He doesn’t need a hospital. He just needs space, and right now, we’re giving him that.
Jagger curses under his breath. “He’s gonna need blood. He’s losing far too much.”
“Ani?” Damon asks, without glancing up from his task. “Are you the same blood type?”
I look over my shoulder at her, to find her pale, wide-eyed, and her hand clamped over her mouth. Letting it fall from her face, she nods vehemently. “Yes.”
Without hesitation, I scoop her up and set her on the island next to Alek, her bare thighs falling into a pool of his blood.
Her eyes lock on mine instantly. They are brewing with panic, and her lower lip is starting to quiver.
“I don’t like needles,” she whispers, staring as Jagger approaches with the kind of equipment that looks better suited for a horse than a petite woman. “Nik, that thing is huge.”
I grip her face, pulling her focus off the steel and back to me. “You can do this, little pet.” My voice is calm, steady, even though my heart is jackhammering against my ribs. “You’re stronger than you think. Look at me.”
Jagger quickly wraps a tourniquet around her arm.
Her breath hitches, her pupils blown wide when Jagger jams the needle into her crook of her elbow.
She winces, tears springing to her eyes, but she doesn’t flinch.
“That’s it. That’s my good girl.” I press my forehead to hers, then kiss the corner of her damp lashes. “Daddy is so proud of you.”
Jagger connects the tubing to the needle, snaking the line from Ani’s arm into Alek’s. The dark red flow starts immediately, his body leeching strength from hers. “Fifteen minutes max,” Damon grunts, already shifting his attention back to Alek’s wounds. “Any longer and she’ll crash, too.”
“I’ve got her,” I promise, tightening my hold around Ani’s trembling frame.
“Help Damon.” Her free hand fists in my shirt, her nails biting through the cotton, as she squeezes her eyes shut.
I keep her head tucked under my chin, rocking her slightly, my hand stroking slow circles on her thigh.
Doing anything I can to pull her mind away from Damon working and the wet suction as he digs a bullet fragment out of her brother.
“Focus on me,” I whisper against her hair. “Listen to me.”
She nods, shakily, her lips pressed into my collarbone. Her body softens against me, her breathing steadier, though her knuckles are white where she grips my shirt.
The minutes crawl by. Damon works like a machine, cleaning and stitching up the gaping wounds. It’s not pretty, but it’s effective. The rough field surgery will keep him alive, and unlike a hospital, out of prison.
After finishing off the knot on a final stitch, Damon lets out a long breath and wipes his blood-soaked hands on a towel. “That’s all I can do for now. He’s stable. Barely. Now, we wait.”
Jagger glances at the tubing still connecting Ani and Alek. “Time?”
“Yeah.” I nod. Gently, I remove the tourniquet from Ani’s arm, quickly pulling the needle free as her eyes dart to mine in panic. She gasps softly, but I’m already pressing gauze to the tender spot, sealing it with my palm and applying a bandage before she can see the dark gush of blood.
“You did so good, little pet,” I whisper, kissing the bandage, then the inside of her wrist. Her whole body shudders, exhaustion dragging at her features, but she gives me the tiniest nod.
I keep my arm tight around her waist to keep her from swaying or falling off the counter. Jagger hands her a bottle of juice. After opening it for her, I nudge it toward her lips, silently insisting she drink it.
“He’s strong.” My eyes roll down Alek’s pale and motionless body, pausing to watch the faint, uneven rise and fall of his chest.
The apartment door slams open so hard it rattles the frame. Ani screams as Hawk and Gunnar storm in, guns raised, eyes snapping to the blood smeared across the hallway floor and then to the kitchen where we’re gathered. Their boots track crimson prints across the tile as they rush toward us.
The barrels of their weapons dip as they take in the sight of Alek sprawled on the island with his chest roughly stitched, and Ani pale and trembling with gauze taped to her arm, with my blood-stained hands holding her tightly.
“Jesus Christ,” Hawk curses, his jaw locking. “What the fuck happened here?”