CHAPTER 2 – THE MAN WHO REFUSED TO BLEED
CHAPTER 2 – THE MAN WHO REFUSED TO BLEED
Kirill didn't answer immediately.
He glanced once toward the closed office door, then back at Alina.
"The boss was ambushed."
The words landed like stones.
"Is he..."
"Alive," Kirill interrupted. "Barely."
He pushed open the office door.
The room smelled of whiskey, gunpowder, and blood.
Not the clean metallic scent of a small cut.
This was thick.
Heavy.
Enough to stain the Persian rug beneath the leather sofa where Damon Volkov sat, his head bowed, one hand gripping the edge of the cushion so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
His charcoal shirt had been cut open.
Dark blood soaked through the makeshift bandage wrapped around his shoulder and ribs.
Two men stood nearby.
A gray-haired doctor.
And another bodyguard with a pistol still tucked into the back of his waistband.
Neither looked relieved to see Alina.
The doctor looked irritated.
"I told him he needs surgery."
"I said no."
Damon's voice was calm.
Almost bored.
The doctor threw both hands into the air.
"The bullet fragmented."
"I know."
"You've already lost too much blood."
"I know."
"You could die."
Silence.
Finally Damon looked up.
His gray eyes settled on Alina for the first time since she entered.
Not hard.
Not soft.
Just...tired.
A kind of exhaustion she had never imagined someone like him could possess.
Kirill took the medical kit from her.
"The doctor needs more hands."
The doctor shook his head.
"He won't let me remove the bullet."
"He doesn't trust hospitals," Kirill explained quietly.
"The police?"
"The police are the least dangerous people waiting there."
Alina understood.
If Damon entered a hospital tonight...
His enemies would know before sunrise.
The doctor knelt beside him again.
"For the last time."
"No anesthesia."
"No."
"Then at least let me sedate you."
"No."
The older man closed his eyes in frustration.
"You're impossible."
"I've been called worse."
A faint smile touched Kirill's mouth.
Apparently that counted as humor.
Not for Alina.
She couldn't stop staring at the blood dripping from Damon's fingertips onto the floor.
Drop.
Drop.
Drop.
Each one slower than the last.
The doctor suddenly turned toward her.
"You."
She blinked.
"Me?"
"I need pressure on the wound while I extract the fragments."
"I've only done stitches."
"Can you follow instructions?"
"...Yes."
"Then congratulations."
He pointed toward Damon.
"You're assisting."
Her stomach tightened.
She stepped closer.
Closer than she'd ever been.
Without the desk between them.
Without the morning coffee tray.
She could see the faint scar beneath his jaw.
The rough shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.
The tiny tremor in his breathing that he fought to hide.
Powerful men, she realized, could still hurt.
They just refused to let anyone witness it.
The doctor peeled away the soaked bandage.
Alina nearly gasped.
The wound was ugly.
A deep groove across the shoulder where the bullet had entered before lodging near the collarbone.
Fresh blood welled immediately.
"Here."
The doctor placed folded gauze into her shaking hands.
"Press."
"I don't want to hurt him."
"You will."
Before she could react, Damon spoke.
"It's fine."
Only two words.
Only for her.
She swallowed.
Then placed both hands over the wound.
The instant she applied pressure, Damon inhaled sharply.
His jaw clenched.
Every muscle across his chest tightened.
But he never made a sound.
The doctor worked quickly.
Forceps disappeared into the wound.
Metal clicked.
Blood flowed.
Minutes stretched endlessly.
Nobody spoke.
Only breathing.
Metal.
And the quiet ticking of the antique clock above the fireplace.
Then—
The lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Someone cursed.
The emergency generators failed to start.
Kirill reached for his weapon instantly.
"Everyone stay still."
Outside—
Three distant pops echoed across the estate.
Not thunder.
Silenced gunfire.
Another bodyguard burst through the office doors.
"They're inside!"
Kirill spun around.
"How many?"
"We don't know!"
The doctor froze.
"We have to move him."
"No."
It came from Damon.
Barely louder than breathing.
Kirill stared.
"They've breached the perimeter."
"I said..."
Damon opened his eyes.
"...No."
His face had gone almost colorless.
Yet somehow the room still obeyed him.
Kirill nodded once.
To every guard.
"Protect this room."
Weapons were drawn.
Furniture was shoved against the doors.
Windows were checked.
Outside, alarms suddenly erupted across the estate.
Then—
Glass shattered somewhere downstairs.
A woman screamed.
Another gunshot.
Closer this time.
Alina's pulse hammered in her ears.
She should leave.
She should hide.
Instead she noticed something everyone else had missed.
Blood.
Fresh blood.
Running faster now beneath the gauze.
The movement had reopened the wound.
"Damon..."
He looked toward her.
"You have to let him finish."
"I'm fine."
"No."
She surprised herself.
"No, you're not."
For one suspended heartbeat...
Nobody in the room breathed.
Not because of the gunmen.
Because the quiet waitress had just told Damon Volkov he was wrong.
Kirill actually looked horrified.
The doctor waited for the explosion.
It never came.
Instead...
Damon studied her face.
Not as a servant.
Not as an employee.
As though trying to understand why she was the only person in the room more concerned about his life than afraid of losing her own.
Finally—
He gave the smallest nod.
"Finish it."
The doctor didn't waste another second.
Forceps disappeared into the wound once more.
Five agonizing minutes later—
Clink.
A misshapen piece of copper-jacketed bullet dropped into the metal tray.
Everyone exhaled.
Almost at the same time.
The doctor stitched rapidly while Alina held the fresh bandages in place.
When it was over, Damon leaned back against the sofa.
His eyes closed.
Not asleep.
Just empty.
His body had finally admitted how much blood it had lost.
The doctor packed his instruments.
"He lives."
Kirill let out a slow breath.
"For tonight."
Before anyone could answer—
A deafening explosion rocked the west wing.
The office windows shook violently.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
One of the guards shouted into his radio.
"They've reached the second floor!"
Kirill's expression changed instantly.
He looked straight at Alina.
"They know the boss is wounded."
She frowned.
"So?"
"So anyone who helped save him..."
His voice became frighteningly quiet.
"...is now a target too."
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Outside the office door, heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway.
And then someone began trying to force the door open.
