Page 95 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

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?

37

KIERA

The ride back to the estate is silent except for the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio as Luca communicates with the other security vehicles. I sit pressed against Emil's side in the back seat, my hand clutching his uninjured arm. His other arm hangs at his side, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage one of his men fashioned from a torn shirt.

He hasn't said a word since we left the club. His jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on something outside the window that I can't see. The streetlights cast moving shadows across his face, highlighting the hard line of his mouth and the tension in his shoulders.

I want to say something. Anything. But the words stick in my throat.

Someone shot at us. At him. Because of me, or because of him, I don't know. But the bullet found its mark, and now there's a wound in his arm that could have been so much worse.

Unless it was another attempt at me. With the Mafia, who knows? Maybe we were both the target and the shooter figured he'd at least get one of us.

When we finally pull through the estate gates, I feel some of the tension leave my body. The familiar sight of the sprawling grounds and the lit windows of the main house offer a strange comfort. Safety. Or at least the illusion of it.

The car stops at the front entrance, and Luca is out first, opening Emil's door. Emil moves to exit, and I see him wince. Just a fraction of a second, but I catch it.

"You're hurt," I say, my voice a bit sharp but with a little tremor in it.

"It's nothing." He steps out of the car, his movements controlled and deliberate.

"It's not nothing. You were shot."

He turns to look at me, his dark eyes unreadable. "I've had worse."

The casual way he says it makes my stomach twist. Of course he's had worse. This is his life. Violence and danger and bullets are probably as common to him as going to the gym is to me.

Luca escorts us inside, and we head straight to the medical wing. The doctor is already waiting, a middle-aged man with graying hair and steady hands. He doesn't ask questions, just gestures for Emil to sit on the examination table and begins cutting away the makeshift bandage.