Page 93 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

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."