Chapter 16 – Mike
I don’t hesitate.
The moment Ellie launches herself toward me, I know something’s wrong.
Her eyes aren’t on me.
They’re behind me.
Training takes over instantly.
I move.
Fast.
I grab her shoulders and yank her aside just as the gunshot cracks through the warehouse.
I pivot sharply, shifting my body between her and the shot. The bullet obviously meant for my spine tears through my side instead. The impact hits like a hammer.
A violent, burning punch that knocks the air from my lungs.
I slam into Ellie as the force throws us both off balance.
We crash to the ground hard.
I twist mid-fall so my body takes the brunt of it, my arm wrapping around her instinctively as I shield her from the concrete.
Pain explodes through my side, hot and blinding.
But I barely register it.
“Get Ellie out!” I shout immediately.
My voice echoes through the warehouse as my men rush in.
“Secure the perimeter!”
“Find her!”
“Don’t let that woman—”
My words cut off abruptly.
Ellie’s hands grab my face.
Before I can process it, her lips press against mine.
The kiss is sudden.
Desperate.
Silencing.
“Mike,” she whispers against my mouth, her voice trembling with urgency. “Be quiet.”
I blink at her, stunned.
“You’re bleeding,” she continues, her fingers tightening against my jaw. “Stop shouting and focus on yourself for once.”
My brain struggles to catch up.
The pain in my side is real. Sharp. Hot.
But suddenly it feels distant.
Muted.
Because Ellie is here.
Alive.
Her face is inches from mine, her eyes wide and bright with fear and anger and relief all at once.
I stare at her for a moment, my chest rising and falling heavily.
Then I let out a slow breath.
The world fades into the background—the shouting, the gunfire in the distance, my men securing the building.
None of it matters right now.
I focus only on her.
She’s alive.
That’s the only fact that matters.
“She’s gone.”
Timofey’s voice cuts through the haze as he steps into the room, scanning the aftermath of the fight.
“It seems there’s a hidden passage she used to escape,” he continues, frustration sharp in his tone. “We can’t find her. I—” He stops mid-sentence, his eyes dropping to my side. “Fuck. You’ve been shot.”
He moves toward me quickly, already reaching for the wound.
I lift a hand weakly and shove his arm away.
“Don’t worry about me,” I mutter.
“Mike—”
“Take care of Ellie,” I cut in, my voice rough but firm. “Get her in the car. Now.”
Ellie stiffens beside me.
“I’m not getting into the car without you,” she snaps immediately.
Her hand tightens around mine.
“You need a hospital, Mike,” she insists, her voice trembling with anger and fear. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”
Timofey hesitates, clearly torn.
I try to push myself up, but the world tilts violently.
Darkness flickers at the edges of my vision.
“Mike,” Timofey says quietly. “We’re moving. Now.”
Strong arms lift me before I can argue.
The room spins as my men carry me out of the warehouse.
I barely register the cold night air hitting my face.
Barely hear the doors of the vehicles opening.
Someone is shouting orders.
Someone else is calling ahead, telling the family doctor I’ve been shot and he should head to the estate now.
Everything feels distant.
Blurred.
I’m lowered into the backseat of a car.
Ellie climbs in beside me immediately.
Her hand finds mine.
Her fingers wrap tightly around mine, warm and steady.
That’s the only thing I focus on.
The warmth of her skin.
The pressure of her grip.
The car lurches forward, speeding toward the estate.
And as the darkness keeps pulling at the edges of my consciousness, I hold onto that one small anchor.
Ellie’s hand in mine.
I drift in and out, the world fading and returning in fragments.
But every time I surface, her fingers are still there.
By the time we reach the estate, my vision is swimming.
Voices echo around me as the car doors open and hands reach in to lift me out.
“Careful—”
“Watch his side.”
“Move.”
The cold night air hits my face for a moment before the lights inside the house swallow us again.
Everything feels distant.
Muffled.
But I recognize one voice clearly.
The doctor.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” he says sharply as they carry me into one of the medical rooms inside the estate. “The bullet has lodged dangerously close to vital tissue.”
I hear Ellie inhale sharply beside me.
“He needs a hospital,” the doctor continues. “Immediately.”
“No.”
The word leaves my mouth before anyone can answer.
The room falls silent for a second.
I force my eyes open despite the heaviness pulling at them.
“No hospital,” I repeat, my voice rough but firm.
The doctor looks frustrated. “Mr. Rusnak, this is not—”
“I said no.”
Hospitals mean records. Questions. Attention.
None of which I allow.
Timofey sighs quietly somewhere near the door, already knowing this argument is pointless.
“Just do it here,” he tells the doctor.
The man mutters something under his breath, but begins preparing his equipment.
They lay me on the table.
The pain sharpens as they cut away my shirt.
The wound burns like fire.
Through the haze, I feel Ellie’s presence beside me.
She hasn’t let go of my hand.
Even now.
When the doctor begins cleaning the blood from my side, she stays exactly where she is.
“Hold him steady,” the doctor says.
Before anyone else can move, Ellie steps closer.
Her other hand presses gently against my shoulder, anchoring me to the table.
Her clothes are stained with my blood.
Her face is pale.
But her hands don’t shake.
Not once.
I watch her through half-lidded eyes as the doctor works.
For the first time since I’ve known her, the balance between us shifts.
I’m the one lying helpless on the table.
The one bleeding.
The one vulnerable.
And Ellie—
Ellie is the one holding me together.
Her fingers tighten slightly around mine.
“I’m right here,” she murmurs softly.
And somehow, through the pain and the fog creeping into my mind—that’s enough.
The surgery is successful.
At least that’s what I piece together later.
Time after that becomes strange and fractured. I drift in and out of sleep as the anesthesia slowly leaves my system. Every time I open my eyes, the room looks slightly different—new faces, new voices, new shadows moving across the walls.
Word spreads quickly, and my family begins to arrive.
My brothers come first, their heavy footsteps unmistakable in the hallway. They try to keep their voices low, but I still hear the anger beneath their calm questions as they speak to Timofey and the doctor.
Then their wives follow.
Soft voices.
Concerned whispers.
The room fills with warmth and life in a way it rarely does.
At some point, the kids come too.
Small hands appear beside the bed, clutching balloons that bob gently near the ceiling. Someone places folded letters and messy drawings on the nightstand beside me. I manage a faint smile.
The room empties and fills again in cycles.
But through all of it—
Ellie never leaves.
She sits beside the bed, her hand wrapped around mine like it’s the only thing keeping the world steady.
Even when I sleep, I feel her there.
Even when I wake, she hasn’t moved.
At one point, Raelyn steps into the room, her heels clicking softly against the floor before she stops beside Ellie.
“Ellie,” she says gently. “Go shower. Change your clothes. You’re covered in blood.”
Ellie doesn’t even look up. “I’m fine.”
Raelyn sighs. “You’ve been here for hours.”
“I know.”
“You should rest.”
Ellie finally lifts her head.
Her eyes are red and glassy with tears she clearly refuses to let fall.
But her grip on my hand never loosens.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says quietly.
Raelyn studies her for a moment, then glances at me lying in the bed.
Something soft flickers across her face.
Finally, she shakes her head with a small smile.
“Alright,” she murmurs.
Then she quietly leaves the room again.
Ellie leans forward slightly in her chair.
Her thumb brushes slowly across my knuckles, over and over again.
Like she’s reassuring herself that I’m still here.
And even in my half-conscious state, I squeeze her hand back.
In the days that follow, I remain confined to bed, my movements restricted, my body fragile. The doctors have me under strict orders—no sudden exertion, no unnecessary stress. And Ellie? She becomes everything I need.
She oversees my medication schedule like a drill sergeant with a heart, personally changing my dressings, monitoring my vitals, and adjusting pillows until I’m comfortable.
She refuses to leave my room, even when my family comes in, offering help or trying to relieve her.
She shakes her head politely but firmly every time, making it clear: She’s the one holding me together now.
I watch her as she moves around me. There’s a fluidity to it, but also a tension I haven’t seen before—an undercurrent of fear she can’t completely hide, masked behind clinical efficiency and calm movements. Each step, each motion, betrays just how much she’s holding herself together for my sake.
She’s also been very quiet, and I can’t wait for us to have a clear conversation.
Three days after the surgery, a fever hits me hard in the middle of the night. My skin burns, sweat clings to my hair. I stir, confused, on the edge of delirium.
Ellie doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t panic.
She presses cool cloths to my forehead and wrists, murmuring softly to keep me anchored.
She adjusts the blankets, lifts my head slightly, and whispers my name over and over.
Her eyes are wide, tired, rimmed with shadows from sleepless nights—but she doesn’t waver.
I drift in and out of fevered sleep, but every time I wake, she’s there. Every time my mind threatens to spiral, her presence tethers me. I feel her weight against my side when she kneels next to the bed, her fingers brushing mine, keeping me tethered to the world, to her.
And as dawn creeps over the horizon, painting the room in soft, pale light, I realize: I’m alive not just because of the surgeons, not just because of medicine, but because of her. She’s kept the fever, the fear, the pain from swallowing me whole.
She’s kept me here. And I know I’ll never forget it.
By afternoon, I’m feeling better. When Ellie leaves the room to grab water for my drugs, I swing my legs off the bed and make my way to the bathroom myself. The pain is a dull throb now, manageable, and I want to prove to her that I’m already improving.
By the time I’m stepping out of the bathroom, she’s coming through the door. The panic in her eyes hits me before she even speaks. She rushes toward me.
“I’m fine,” I tell her, voice calm, though my chest still aches. “I feel better.”
She grabs my arm instinctively and guides me back to the bed. “You should have waited for me,” she scolds softly, though her hands tremble just slightly.
Once I’m settled back on the bed, she kneels beside me, carefully placing the drugs and water within reach. Her hands are steady now, though her eyes betray the exhaustion she refuses to admit. I take the water and swallow the pills, letting out a long sigh as relief washes over me.
“I…” I begin, my voice hoarse but determined. “Can we talk now?”
She shakes her head immediately, tugging her hands from mine. “You need to rest,” she says, trying to sound firm, but her eyes betray the worry she’s holding in.
I insist, leaning slightly toward her. “Ellie, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
She pulls back further, wiping at the corner of her eyes, and says softly, “I need to…shower. I can’t stay like this.”
I frown, my chest tightening. “If you leave the room, I’ll come after you,” I warn gently, “and that would stress me more—but it won’t stop me.”
Her shoulders slump, and she turns toward the door, but tears spill freely down her cheeks. “I feel…guilty, Mike. If I hadn’t left home that day, you wouldn’t have gotten shot. I…I wish it had been me instead.”
I stop her with a soft shake of my hand, pulling her gently back toward me. “Ellie, listen to me,” I murmur, lowering my voice until it’s almost a growl, but filled with tenderness. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t cause this. You didn’t fail me. Do you understand?”
She blinks rapidly, trying to hold back more tears, and nods slightly. “I…I just…I can’t stop thinking about it.”
I lift her chin with my fingers, forcing her to meet my gaze. “I’m alive because of you. You stayed. You didn’t leave me to fall apart. You held me together when everything was falling apart outside. That’s what saved me, Ellie. You.”
Her lips quiver, and she lets out a shaky breath.
bring my thumb to her cheek, brushing away a stray tear. “You don’t get to blame yourself. Ever. I’m here. I’m alive. And it’s because of you.”
Finally, she leans against me, forehead resting against mine. Her hands clutch my arms tightly, as if holding onto me might keep the guilt from spilling over. I tighten my grip on her, pressing her close.
“You hear me?” I whisper, the exhaustion in my voice melting into raw intensity. “I’m alive. You’re here. You held me. That’s all that matters. You’re my anchor, Ellie. Always have been. Always will be.”
She lets out a long, shaky breath and finally allows herself to relax in my arms. I feel the tension leave her body, the storm in her chest slowly easing. I hold her close, letting the warmth of her presence anchor me too.
I turn her face toward mine. “You…saved my life,” I murmur, my voice rough with exhaustion and gratitude.
Her lips curl slightly, but before I can linger on the moment, I tilt her face gently and press mine to hers. She meets me like she’s been starving for it, and for a heartbeat, everything else—the pain, the chaos, the fear—disappears.
A knock on the door makes us pull apart slowly. Timofey steps in, nodding toward Ellie with a small, respectful smile. “Evening, Ellie. How’s he doing?”
Ellie smiles. “He’s better now.”
I shake my head. “I am.”
Timofey’s eyes shift toward me, serious, calculating. “I’ve been digging into what happened earlier. There’s something you need to know.”
I sit up immediately, pulse spiking despite the soreness. “What is it?”
He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “The woman…she didn’t escape alone.”
Ellie stiffens beside me, and I glance at her sharply. Timofey continues, “Security footage shows she had help—someone assisted her after Sergei’s death. I traced the movements back…to your lab, Ellie.”
Ellie’s eyes widen. “What does that mean?” she whispers, fear and confusion threading her voice.
Timofey’s jaw tightens. “It means someone you know, someone inside your circle.”
She frowns. “I don’t understand.”
Timofey exhales. “It’s Samantha.”