Rurik
I watch Emma through my binoculars from behind a cluster of trees.
She sits at a table in the far back of the cafe, her dark hair pulled back in that practical braid she favors.
Krystal arrives exactly on time, wearing a light blue dress that makes her look innocent and harmless.
They talk quietly, heads close together.
My radio crackles. Eduard’s voice comes through low. “Movement on the east side. White sedan, tinted windows. Engine running.”
Fuck. My instincts scream a warning.
Artur’s voice follows. “Black SUV, north entrance. Two occupants.”
I’m about to signal Emma to abort when the shot cracks through the afternoon air.
Glass shatters and Emma jerks sideways off the chair. She hits the ground hard, her body crumpling and my heart stops beating.
Everything slows down. The world narrows to that single point where Emma lies motionless. Krystal drops to the floor next to her. Fear unlike anything I’ve ever known crashes through me, paralyzing every muscle in my body for one terrible heartbeat.
Then training kicks in.
I’m moving before conscious thought catches up, my legs eating up the distance between us.
Eduard and Artur are running too, converging from different directions.
My hand goes to the weapon concealed beneath my jacket, my eyes scanning for the shooter even as my entire focus remains locked on Emma’s still form.
Please be alive. Please be alive. Please be fucking alive.
Krystal is on her knees beside Emma, her hands pressed against Emma’s shoulder. Blood stains her light blue dress, bright red against the pale fabric. She’s screaming something I can’t hear over the roaring in my ears.
I reach them first, dropping to my knees beside Emma. My hands move automatically, checking for the wound, assessing the damage. Blood soaks through her sweater near her left shoulder, but she’s breathing. Her gray-green eyes are open, focused on my face.
“I’m fine,” she gasps, trying to sit up. “It’s just a graze.”
Relief floods through me so intense it makes my hands shake. Just a graze. Not a kill shot. Not a through-and-through that hit something vital. Just a fucking graze.
But someone shot at her. Someone tried to kill her. The fear transforms into rage so pure it burns.
Eduard reaches us seconds later, his gray eyes assessing the wound with practiced efficiency. “We need to move.”
Artur is already scanning the area, his weapon drawn, searching for threats. “Clear on the west side.”
I lift Emma into my arms, ignoring her protests. She’s light, too light, and the blood soaking through her sweater makes my stomach twist. Eduard and Artur position themselves on either side of us, their bodies forming a shield as we move quickly toward the SUV.
Krystal tries to follow, but one of my captains intercepts her. She struggles against his grip, her hazel eyes wide with panic.
“Let me go! I need to help Emma!”
“Bring her,” I order without looking back.
“What? No!” Krystal’s voice rises. “I didn’t do anything! I’m trying to help!”
I don’t have time to argue. Someone just shot Emma. Until I know for certain Krystal wasn’t involved, she’s coming with us whether she likes it or not.
We reach the SUV and I slide into the back seat with Emma still in my arms. Eduard takes the driver’s seat after putting Krystal in the passenger’s seat, while Artur climbs in beside me, his weapon still drawn, his dark eyes scanning the park through the tinted windows.
“Go,” I say.
Eduard doesn’t hesitate.
The vehicle lurches forward, tires squealing against pavement as we speed away from the park. I keep pressure on Emma’s wound, my hand pressed against her shoulder while she hisses in pain.
“I said I’m fine,” she mutters, but her face is pale, her breathing shallow.
“You’re not fine. You were shot.”
“It’s just a graze.”
“It’s a fucking bullet wound.” My voice comes out harsher than I intend, but I can’t control it. The image of her falling off that bench keeps replaying in my mind. Each time it makes my chest tighten with something that feels dangerously close to panic.
I never fucking panic!
Artur’s hand finds Emma’s uninjured shoulder, his grip gentle but firm.
The drive back to the estate feels like it takes hours, though it’s probably less than twenty minutes.
Every second stretches, my attention divided between watching for pursuit and monitoring Emma’s condition.
Her breathing stays steady, her eyes alert despite the pain.
She’s tough, my Emma. Tougher than most men I know.
My Emma.
The thought surfaces unbidden, and I don’t push it away. She is mine. Ours. And someone just tried to take her from us.
We pull through the estate gates and I’m out of the vehicle before it fully stops. I carry Emma inside, ignoring her continued protests that she can walk. Eduard directs us to the medical room we keep stocked for emergencies like this.
I set Emma down on the examination table. She immediately tries to sit up, so I press her back down with one hand on her uninjured shoulder.
“Stay still.”
“I’m not an invalid.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Eduard appears with the medical kit, his movements efficient as he cuts away Emma’s sweater to expose the wound. The bullet grazed her upper arm, tearing through skin and muscle but missing bone and major arteries. It’s not life-threatening, but it’s not nothing either.
“This is going to hurt,” Eduard warns before cleaning the wound.
Krystal stands in the doorway, biting her lip. Her face is paler than usual, and there’s a slight tremor rushing through her.
Emma’s jaw clenches, but she doesn’t make a sound as Eduard works. I watch her face, see the pain she’s trying to hide, and something in my chest cracks open.
I could have lost her today. One inch to the right and that bullet would have hit her chest. One inch lower, and it might have severed an artery. She could have bled out on that cafe floor while I was too far away to help.
The thought makes me sick.
Artur paces near the door, his restless energy filling the small room. “We need to find out who took that shot.”
“Already on it,” I say, pulling out my phone. I send rapid messages to my intelligence network, demanding answers. Who the fuck tried to kill Emma?
Eduard finishes bandaging the wound, his hands gentle despite the tension in his shoulders. “You’ll need antibiotics. And rest.”
“I don’t need rest,” Emma argues. “I need to figure out who shot at me.”
“We’ll handle it,” I say firmly.
Her gray-green eyes narrow. “This is my investigation.”
“And you just became the target.” My voice comes out harder than I intend. “You’re not going anywhere until we know who’s hunting you.”
Before Emma can argue further, one of my captains appears in the doorway. “Sir, the woman is secured in the east wing. She’s demanding to see Emma.”
I hadn’t even noticed when the guard escorted Krystal from the room. “Tell her to wait,” I say without looking away from Emma’s face.
“Rurik, she didn’t do this,” Emma says, her voice tight. “Krystal wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Maybe not willingly.” I lean closer, my hand finding her uninjured shoulder. “But Volkov is very good at making people do what he wants.”
Emma’s expression shifts, doubt flickering across her face before she pushes it away. “I know her. She’s trying to help.”
“Then she won’t mind answering some questions.”
Just as I’m leaving the room, Emma asks, “Why would anyone try to kill me if they want me as an asset so badly?”
I pause and turned to look at her. “They’re probably thinking if they can’t have you, then no one will.”
I leave Eduard to finish with Emma and head to the east wing where Krystal is being held. The room is comfortable but secure, with reinforced windows and a lock that only opens from the outside. Krystal paces near the window, her light blue dress still stained with Emma’s blood.
She spins when I enter, her hazel eyes blazing with fury and fear. “You can’t keep me here. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Someone shot at Emma,” I say flatly. “And you were the only person, other than us, who knew where she’d be.”
“I didn’t tell anyone!” Krystal’s voice rises. “I swear, I came alone. I didn’t even tell Volkov I was meeting her.”
“Then how did the shooter know where to find her?”
Krystal’s face crumples, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t know. Maybe they followed me. I don’t know!”
I study her carefully, looking for the tells that indicate deception. But all I see is genuine terror and confusion. Either she’s an exceptional liar or she’s telling the truth.
“You’ll stay here until we verify your story,” I say, turning toward the door.
“Please,” Krystal calls after me. “Please let me see Emma. I need to know she’s okay.”
I pause in the doorway. “She’s fine. The wound isn’t serious.”
Then I’m gone, leaving Krystal’s sobs echoing behind me.
Back in the medical room, Emma is sitting up despite Eduard’s protests. Artur has stopped pacing and now leans against the wall, his dark eyes watching her with an intensity that matches what I’m feeling.
“Krystal?” Emma asks immediately.
“Secured. She claims she didn’t tell anyone about the meeting.”
“Because she didn’t.” Emma’s voice is firm, certain.
I want to believe her. Want to trust that Krystal is genuine. But I’ve seen too many betrayals, too many people turned against their will or their better judgment.
My phone vibrates with an incoming message. I read it quickly, my jaw tightening.
“What is it?” Eduard asks.
“The shooter was positioned in a building across from the park. Professional setup, high-powered rifle. They were gone before our people could reach the location.”
“Professional,” Artur repeats. “Not some random attack.”
“No.” I meet Emma’s eyes. “Someone hired a sniper to kill you.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. This wasn’t Volkov making a move. This was calculated and deliberate. Someone wants Emma dead badly enough to hire professional help.
Emma’s face goes pale, but her voice stays steady. “Langford.”
The name hits me like a punch. “You think your mentor ordered a hit on you?”
“The evidence points to him.” Emma’s hands curl into fists against her thighs. “He’s the mole. He’s been protecting the auction network. And now that I’m getting too close to the truth, he wants me eliminated.”
Eduard moves closer, his hand finding Emma’s uninjured shoulder. “If that’s true, you’re not safe anywhere outside this estate.”
“I know.” Emma’s voice is tight with fury and something that might be grief.
I watch her process the betrayal, see the pain flash across her face before she buries it beneath determination. She trusted Langford like family, and he sold her out. Tried to have her killed.
The rage I felt earlier returns, sharper and more focused. Langford thinks he can take Emma from us? He thinks he can order a hit and walk away clean?
He’s about to learn exactly how wrong he is.
But first, I need to deal with the realization that’s been building since the moment I saw Emma fall.
I love her.
The truth hits me with the force of that bullet, undeniable and terrifying.
I love this stubborn, brave, infuriating woman who walked into our lives in chains and refused to break.
I love the way she challenges us, the way she fights for what she believes in, and the way she looks at me like I’m more than just a criminal.
I glance at Eduard and Artur and see the same realization reflected in their faces. We all love her. And we almost lost her today.
The decision forms before I fully think it through. Emma deserves a choice. She deserves to decide her own future, not have it dictated by men who bought her at an auction.
“Emma,” I say quietly, drawing her attention. “I need to tell you something.”
She looks at me, her gray-green eyes wary. “What?”
I take a breath, knowing this could change everything. “Staying with us will be your choice. If you want to leave, we won’t stop you.”