"Die, you fuck!"
Time stretched out, slow and syrupy. I swear I saw his finger tighten on the trigger, the muzzle flash blooming. The stranger shoved me behind him, whipping his arm up in a blur—
Crack. Crack. Two shots, back-to-back. The thug dropped, a neat red hole weeping in his forehead. And my savior? His left sleeve bloomed dark, blood soaking through the fabric.
"Shit," he muttered, but his face didn't even twitch.
"You're hit!" I blurted, panic spiking.
"It's nothing. Graze." He looped his arm around me again. "Let's go. Now."
He booted the side door open, hauling me into the alley. Pitch black out there, just faint streetlight spilling infrom the end.
"Wait—your arm—"
"Told you, it's fine." He stopped finally, turning to face me under the shadows.
That's when I really got a good look. He was unreal handsome—high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips that looked sinful even now. Those green eyes? Calm as a frozen lake, like the shootout was just Tuesday.
"You okay?" he asked, voice steady enough to ground me.
"I... yeah. I'm good." My words stumbled out, my whole body still shaking like a leaf. "But you're bleeding."
"Like I said, don't worry about it." Then, out of nowhere, his thumb brushed my cheek—soft, almost tender. "Got some soot on your face."
That touch lit me up, sparks under my skin. We just stood there, locked eyes, the air thick with something electric. Minutes ago, this guy was dropping bodies like it was nothing. Now? He was handling me like I was glass.
"Who are you?" I managed, voice barely above a whisper.
"Your guardian angel." A smirk tugged at his lips, dangerous and promising. "And you? What's your name?"
"Elena." It slipped out easily. "Elena Jensen."
"Elena," he echoed, rolling it with that faint Russian lilt, like he was tasting it. "Suits you. Beautiful."
Sirens wailed in the distance then, closing fast.
"Damn it." He cursed under his breath, grabbing my hand. "Come on. We gotta bounce."
"But the police—"
"Cops show up, it's a shitshow of questions." His eyes sharpened. "Trust me, Elena. You don't wanna get dragged into that. Those assholes? Italian mob. If they find out there's a witness..."
He trailed off, but the look said it all—dead meat.
"Let's roll," he said, tugging me deeper into the alley. "Car's up ahead."
We hit the end, and there it was: a black Bentley, sleek as sin. He swung the passenger door open for me. I slid in, sinking into butter-soft leather. He climbed behind the wheel, fired it up. The engine growled low, and we peeled out into the night like a shadow.
"Your arm," I said again, eyeing the spreading stain. "You need a doctor."
"Nah." One hand on the wheel, the other—bleeding one—on the stick. "Just a graze. Didn't lodge. Been handling worse for years. I got it."
The casual drop of that little bomb made my stomach twist. "You do this a lot?"
"Depends on what 'this' means." That smirk again. "Shooting? Yeah. Saving lives? Now and then. Saving a stunner like you? First time for everything."
Heat flooded my cheeks—fear, adrenaline, or maybe just him. Hard to tell.
