36. Emil
EMIL
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement in the shadows across the street. A figure in dark clothing, and there's a metallic glint shining from his hand.
My body reacts before my mind fully processes the threat.
The gunshot cracks through the night air, sharp and unmistakable, and I'm already moving.
I grab Kiera and throw us both to the ground, my body covering hers completely as we hit the pavement.
The impact jars through my shoulder, but I don't feel pain, only the desperate need to shield her from whatever's coming next.
"Stay down," I growl against her ear.
Another shot rings out, the bullet striking the brick wall behind us. Chips of masonry rain down on my back. My men are shouting, weapons drawn, scanning for the shooter. The civilians on the street scatter, screaming, running for cover.
"Luca!" I bark.
He's already moving, sprinting across the street toward the alley where the shots came from. Two of my other men follow, their weapons out, their movements coordinated and efficient. They disappear into the darkness between buildings.
My heart is pounding with the adrenaline flooding my system. I keep Kiera pinned beneath me, my larger frame completely covering her smaller body. She's trembling, her breathing rapid and shallow against my chest.
"Emil," she gasps. "What—"
"Don't move." My voice is hard, commanding. I scan the street, looking for additional threats. The shooter could have a partner. This could be a coordinated attack. My mind races through possibilities, calculating risks and planning our next move.
The street has cleared. People have fled into nearby buildings or ducked behind cars. The music from the club still thumps through the walls, oblivious to the violence outside. In the distance, I can hear sirens beginning to wail.
I need to get Kiera out of here.
I start to push myself up, keeping my body between her and the direction of the gunfire. As I lean back to look down at her, to make sure she's okay, my heart thumps and then stops.
There's blood on her chest.
Dark red, spreading across the emerald green fabric of her dress. So much blood.
"No." The word tears from my throat. "No, no, no."
My hands move to her chest, searching for the wound, trying to find where she's been hit. She can't be shot. She can't be. I was covering her. I was protecting her.
"Kiera, where are you hurt? Tell me where—"
"Emil, stop." Her voice is shaky but clear. Her hands grab mine, stilling them. "It's not me. It's you."
I blink, my mind struggling to process her words. Not her. Me.
I look down at myself and see the tear in my shirt sleeve, just below my shoulder. Blood is seeping through the fabric, running down my arm. The wound burns now that I'm aware of it, a hot, stinging pain that pulses with my heartbeat.
A flesh wound. The bullet only grazed me. Relief crashes through me so hard, it's almost painful. She's okay. She's not hurt. The blood on her dress is mine, transferred when I covered her body with mine.
"Oh, my God." Kiera's eyes are wide, her face pale in the streetlight. "You're bleeding. Emil, you're bleeding," she cries out, the realization finally breaking through her shock.
"It's nothing." I clamp my hand over the wound, applying pressure. The bleeding is heavy but not arterial. I've had worse. Much worse. "Just a graze."
"That's not nothing!" She tries to sit up, but I keep her down with one hand on her shoulder.
"Stay low until I know it's clear."
The sirens are getting louder. Multiple vehicles are approaching fast. My jaw clenches. The last thing I need is to be detained by police while there's still an active threat against Kiera. But Luca is out there, chasing the shooter. I can't leave without him.
"We need to get you to a hospital," Kiera says, her voice rising with panic. She's staring at my arm, at the blood that's seeping between my fingers despite the pressure I'm applying.
"No hospital." I scan the street again, looking for any sign of additional danger. My men have formed a protective perimeter around us, their weapons drawn and eyes alert. "We have a doctor at the estate."
"Emil—"
"I said no hospital." My tone brooks no argument. Hospitals mean questions, reports, and police involvement. I can't afford that kind of attention right now.
The first police car screeches to a halt at the end of the block, lights flashing. Two officers jump out, taking cover behind their vehicle, weapons drawn.
"Shit," I mutter.
More cars arrive. The street is suddenly flooded with red and blue lights, the sirens deafening. Officers are shouting, ordering everyone to stay down and show their hands.
I slowly raise my free hand, keeping the other clamped over my wound. My men do the same, their movements careful and deliberate. The last thing we need is a trigger-happy cop making this situation worse.
"Everyone stay calm," I call out to my men in Russian. "Weapons down. Slowly."
They comply, setting their guns on the ground and stepping back with their hands visible. We know the drill. We've been through this before.
One of the officers approaches cautiously, his weapon trained on us. "Nobody move. Keep your hands where I can see them."
"We're the victims here," I say, my voice steady despite the pain radiating from my arm. "Someone shot at us from across the street. My men went after the shooter."
The officer's eyes flick to my bleeding arm, then to Kiera on the ground beside me. "Is she hurt?"
"No. Just shaken up."
"Sir, I need you to step away from her and—"
"That's my sister."
The voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and familiar. I turn my head to see Jack Walker pushing through the line of officers, his badge held high. His face is a mask of shock and fury as he takes in the scene. Me, bleeding. Kiera on the ground. The blood on her dress.
"Jack," Kiera breathes.
He rushes over, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands hover over her, checking for injuries, his cop's training warring with his brother's panic. "Are you hurt? Kiera, talk to me. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine." She grabs his hands, squeezing them. "I'm okay. It's Emil's blood, not mine."
Jack's eyes snap to me, and the look he gives me could strip paint. "What the hell happened?"
"Someone took a shot at us." I keep my voice level and professional. "My men went after the shooter."
As if on cue, Luca emerges from the alley across the street, breathing hard. He's alone. My jaw tightens. He didn't catch them.
He jogs over, nodding to the officers who try to stop him. "I'm with them," he says, flashing some kind of identification. Probably fake, but convincing enough.
"Did you get him?" I ask in Russian.
"No." Luca's expression is grim. "He had a car waiting. But I found this." He holds up a dark hoodie, dangling it from one finger.
Jack stands, pulling latex gloves from his pocket with practiced efficiency. "Give that to me."
Luca hands it over, and Jack carefully bags it as evidence, his movements precise and methodical. "We'll run it for DNA," he says, more to himself than to us. "Fingerprints, fibers, anything we can get. But it could take weeks to process, maybe longer depending on the backlog."
"Weeks," I repeat flatly.
"Yeah." Jack seals the evidence bag and looks at me. "That's how it works."
Weeks. Kiera could be dead in weeks. Hell, she could be dead tomorrow if this bastard tries again.
More officers are arriving, securing the scene and taking statements from witnesses. The club has emptied out, and now people are crowding the sidewalk, their phones in hand as they record everything they can. This is going to be all over the news by morning.
Jack helps Kiera to her feet, his arm around her shoulders. She's still trembling, her face pale, her eyes too wide. The shock is setting in.
"I need to take your statements," Jack says, looking between us. "Both of you."
"Later." I get to my feet, ignoring the way the movement makes my arm throb. Blood is still seeping through my fingers. "I need to get her somewhere safe."
"You need to get to a hospital," Jack counters. "You're bleeding all over the place."
"I have a doctor."
"Of course you do." Jack's voice is bitter. He turns to Kiera, his expression softening. "Are you sure you're okay?"
She nods, but I can see the lie in the tightness around her eyes. She's not okay. She's terrified.
Jack pulls her into a hug, and I see her shoulders shake. She's crying, silent tears that she's trying to hide. Something twists in my chest, sharp and uncomfortable.
When Jack releases her, he turns to me. His expression is hard, his cop's mask firmly in place. "I need to talk to you. Alone."
I glance at Kiera. She's being tended to by one of my men, who's draped his jacket over her shoulders. She's safe for the moment.
"Fine."
Jack leads me a few steps away, out of earshot of the other officers. He crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw tight. "This is what her life is going to be like with you. You understand that, right?"
I don't answer. There's nothing to say.
"Someone just tried to kill her." His voice is low, intense. "Because of you. Because of who you are and what you do."
"I know."
"Do you?" He steps closer, his eyes blazing. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you can't protect her. You got shot. If that bullet had been a few inches to the right, it would have hit her instead of you."
The words hit like a physical blow because he's right. If I'd moved a fraction of a second slower, if the shooter's aim had been slightly different, Kiera would be dead right now, bleeding out on the pavement while I watched helplessly.
"She's not safe with you," Jack continues. "She'll never be safe as long as she's with you. You have to see that."
I look past him to where Kiera is standing by the club entrance. She's huddled in the oversized jacket, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes distant. She looks small. Vulnerable.
She could have been killed tonight.
And it would have been my fault.
My lifestyle, my enemies, my world. It makes anyone close to me a target. I've always known that. It's why I've kept people at arm's length and why I've never let anyone get too close.
But Kiera is different. She's gotten under my skin in a way no one else ever has. The thought of giving her up, of letting her walk away, makes something in my chest constrict painfully.
But can I keep her? Can I really protect her from the threats that come with being mine?
Tonight proved I can't.
I look at her, really look at her, and the question burns through my mind like acid.
Could I give her up, even for her own safety?