Chapter 5: Please don’t die.

I’ll be fine I tell myself... I’ve been chanting it in my head for a while now Mostly because I have to believe them.

Sure, I have a six-foot-something stranger bleeding all over my passenger seat, carrying a gun, and refusing to tell me who the hell he is.

But I’ll be fine.

...Probably.

I took self-defense classes....Cassian made sure of it.

Being the oldest of the three of us, he’d insisted that both my sister and I learn how to protect ourselves.

"You don’t get a choice," he’d said.

"One day you’ll thank me."

At the time, I’d complained for weeks. Now, gripping the steering wheel while a wounded stranger sat beside me, I silently thank my overprotective brother.

If this giant decides to try anything...I’d at least have a fighting chance.

Or so I hoped.

The rain continues hammering against the windshield as I pull into the underground parking garage beneath my apartment building.

I park in my usual spot and switch off the engine.

I look sideways.

His head is rested against the window, his face pale beneath the strands of wet black hair plastered to his forehead.

"You alive?"

A slow nod.

"Good."

I climb out first, hurriy around to the passenger side, and open the door.

"Fantastic."

Hooking one of his arms around my shoulders again, I brace my feet.

"Ready?"

No response.

"I’m choosing to believe that means yes."

With every ounce of strength I possess, I pull him upright.

Instant regret.

"Oh... my... God."

He practically collaps onto me.

"You are ridiculously heavy."

His arm drapes across my shoulders while mine wraps tightly around his waist.

He smells of rain, blood and something clean underneath.

Woodsy and expensive.

Focus, Nerissa.

We stagger toward the elevator. One painful step at a time.

"You know..."

I puff

"...if you survive this...you owe me."

Another.

"...a new spine."

The elevator doors slide open with a cheerful ding that feels completely inappropriate considering my current situation.

Thankfully, no one else is inside. I jabb the button for the fourth floor.

The ride feels endless, I keep glancing at him every few seconds.

"Hey."

Nothing.

"Don’t pass out on me now."

A faint grunt.

"I’ll take that."

The doors open.

Somehow, by what could only be described as divine intervention, I manage to drag him all the way to my apartment.

Keys.

Where were my keys?

"Oh, come on..."

Balancing his weight against me, I dig through my handbag with one hand and feel around it.

Lip balm, wallet, receipts, pepper spray.

Finally.

Keys.

The lock clicks and h practically kick the door open.

The moment we step inside, warmth greets us.

The apartment is nt much, it’s a small living room with an open kitchen, a dining table and a worn gray sofa.

Nothing like the mansion I’ve grown up in.

And thank God for that.

I shut the door with my foot before leading him toward the dining table.

"My couch won’t survive you."

His eyes cracks open.

"What?"

"The table."

I point.

"Lie down."

To my surprise...He listens.

With obvious effort, he lowers himself onto the solid wooden dining table, one arm hanging off the edge while he fights to stay conscious.

"I’ll be right back."

I sprint into the bathroom and yank my first-aid kit from beneath the sink.

Please...Please let there be something useful in here.

I hurry back and rhe moment I reach the table, my eyes fall to the blood spreading beneath him.

There’s too much of it, Way too much.

I swallow hard.

"I... I’m going to have to cut your shirt."

No response.

Only slow, uneven breaths.

"I’ll take that as permission."

My hands shake as I snap on the disposable gloves from the first-aid kit. The latex climg tightly to my damp skin.

I grab a pair of scissors.

"Here goes."

The blades slice through the soaked black shirt with surprising ease until the fabric falss

open.

Well. Fuck.

This man looks like he’d been carved out of marble.

He’s all Hard muscle, defined shoulders And.....is that.....Six? No...Eight.

Who the hell has eight abs?

I blink.

Nerissa Focus

The bullet wound sitd just below his ribs. The surrounding skin is angry and red as fresh blood continues seeping from it.

My stomach lurch.

"I don’t..."

I look at him.

"...I don’t know what I’m doing."

His eyelids lifts just enough for those dark eyes to meet mine.

"You have..."

A slow breath.

"...tweezers?"

I frown.

"What?"

"Tweezers."

"I... yes."

"Use them."

My eyes widen.

"I’ve never removed a bullet before."

His voice remains frustratingly calm.

"Get it out."

I stare at him.

"You can’t be serious."

"I am."

"I don’t have anesthetic."

"I don’t..."

He winces.

"...need it."

I laugh but It comes out sounding closer to panic.

"Easy for you to say."

He doesn’t answer, his jaw simply tightens.

Waiting.

Trusting me.....For reasons I can’t begin to understand.

I take one long breath, then another.

"Okay."

I reach for the tweezers.

"Please don’t die."

I carefully clean around the wound as best I can before gripping the tweezers.

My heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear the rain outside anymore.

Slowly...i ease the tips into the wound and hs entire body tenses, A deep groan escaping him.

"I’m sorry."

Another inch...My hands trembled.

"I am so, so sorry."

I can’t find it.

"I can’t..."

Panic claws at my throat.

"I can’t see it."

He gritts his teeth.

"You can."

I adjust the angle and move a little deeper.

My forehead dampens with sweata as Seconds stretch into what feels like hours.

Come on...Come on...

Then....

A tiny metallic scrape.

"I think..."

Carefully...Very carefully...

I close the tweezers around omething solid.

"I’ve got it."

One slow pull.

Then, with one final tug...A flattened bullet slides free landing in the metal tray with a metallic clink.

I didn’t waste another second.

I press thick pads of sterile gauze firmly over the wound, applying steady pressure to slow the bleeding.

"Stay with me."