Page 136 of Bound By Revenge

"Reinforcements still coming tomorrow," one said, his voice gruff. "Boss wants full lockdown after that.”

My stomach twisted. Reinforcements. Full lockdown. Perfect. No pressure or anything. One night. That’s all I’ve got to break in, crack the safe, and get the hell out before they turn this place into Fort Knox. Simple. Totally fine.

Just talking about it makes my chest tighten. Nik’s going to lose his mind when he realizes I’m gone. And I hate that. I hate making him worry. He might be a controlling, possessive jerk, but he’smycontrolling, possessive jerk—and I wouldn’t trade him for the world. He’s also impossibly wonderful and caring, far more often than he’s a pain in the ass.

But there’s no other way. I have to do this. For him. For us. For everyone. I’ll explain everything later, when it’s safe. I just hope he’ll understand.

When I hang up, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. The weight of it all presses down on me, but so does the ache to see him. One night away from him, and I feel like I’msuffocating, pining for the sound of his voice, the feel of his arms around me.

I get up and open the door, my stomach twisting with nerves as I brace myself for what’s sure to be a frosty welcome. I’ll take it, because the alternative is going another second without seeing him.

The penthouse is too quiet. I step out of the bedroom, my bare feet brushing against the cold floor as I look around, the silence wrapping around me like a bad omen. Nik isn’t brooding on the balcony, sulking in his office, or even pacing the living room. The kitchen? Empty. He isn’t even slouched on the couch with that annoyed look he gets when he’s pretending not to wait for me to give him some sugar. My chest tightens with every room I pass. He always broods somewhere I can find him, somewhere I can go to make up—or fight him some more. Where the hell is he?

My stomach churns as a thousand worst-case scenarios flash through my mind. We fought last night, but it wasn’t bad enough for him to leave—or so I thought. I just need to see him, to hear his voice. I need to know he’s okay. We spent the night apart after our fight, and I hated every second of it. Waking up without him next to me felt… wrong. Now, I just have to see him. I need him to apologize to me, yell at me, something. Anything.

Then I hear it. Voices, sharp and urgent, slicing through the quiet. My stomach drops. The elevator dings, and I run toward it just as the doors slide open, spilling chaos into the room.

Dmitri stumbles in first, looking like he got into a fight with a brick wall and lost. Blood streaks the side of his face, dripping onto his collar. Behind him, two of Nik’s men stride in, half-dragging Nik between them. My heart stops.

His shirt is torn, soaked with blood near his shoulder. It clings to him like a second skin, the crimson stain spreading across his chest like something out of a nightmare. Mynightmare. His skin is pale, almost ghostly, and Blood streaks down his arm, seeping through the bandage someone half-assed slapped on him. He’s walking, but barely. He drags himself forward like sheer force of will is the only thing keeping him upright. Blood drips onto the marble floor with every step, painting a trail of red that makes my knees go weak.

"Nik!" The word tears out of me, my voice cracking as I run to him, my legs barely working. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs. "Oh my God. What happened? Are you—Nik, you’re bleeding?—“

"I’m fine," he says sharply before I can even reach him, his voice clipped, like he’s angry at me for caring. He brushes past me like he hasn’t just scared ten years off my life.

"Fine?" I stop in front of him and glare up at him like he hasn’t just been dragged in, bleeding. My hands hover over him, unsure where to touch without making it worse. It’s just his shoulder—he’ll probably live—but the sight of it makes my knees weak. "You’re bleeding all over the place! That’s not fine—it’s the opposite of fine! That’sdying!”

He glares at me, but it’s weak, the kind of glare he uses when he knows he’s losing the argument. "It’s nothing. I’ll live," he mutters, his voice low, as if that makes everything better. He even tries to shrug, but the motion makes him wince. Good. Maybe pain will remind him he’s mortal.

"Nothing?" I whirl around, following him. "Oh, sure, it’s just a scratch, right? Just a little flesh wound on your—what is that—your heart-adjacent area? Nik, you’re literally dripping blood on the floor.”

He lowers himself into the nearest chair with a wince, his breath hitching as he leans back. "Everything’s under control," he says, his voice tight, but I can see the tension in his clenched jaw and the stiffness in his shoulders. His men step back, leaving him to his stubbornness.

"Yeah, you look super in control right now," I snap. I drop to my knees in front of him, my hands hovering near the mess of blood on his shoulder. "What happened? And don’t you fucking dare tell me 'nothing.' Spill it. Literally, at this point.”

Nik exhales sharply, his jaw ticking.

"We had a lead on McGuire," Dmitri cuts in from where he’s collapsed on the couch, wiping blood from his temple. "Turns out, it was a trap. But don’t worry, I’m fine. The only thing that’s seriously hurt is my pride." The corners of his mouth twitch like he might try to smile.

"Well, your pride isn’t bleeding out in front of me, so excuse me if I don’t care too much right now," I snap back, my eyes darting to Nik. "A trap?" My voice rises, sharp and frantic. "You walked into a trap? Nik, look at me. You could’ve been killed. Do you get that? Killed. Dead. What the hell were you thinking?”

He finally looks at me, his gaze steady, cold, and unrelenting. "Obviously, I didn’t know it was a trap," he says through clenched teeth, his exhaustion visible in the lines of his face.

"That’s your excuse?" I spit, my voice trembling with anger and fear. "That’s what you have to say to me? How can you be so careless with yourself?”

"It’s not an excuse," he growls, straightening despite the obvious pain. "And I wasn’t careless. Sometimes, shit happens. This is… part of the job.”

The job.Oh-fucking-course.

I stare at him, disbelief making my voice rise. "Oh, sure. Getting shot is just part of the job description, right? Maybe next time you could schedule a concussion for Thursday and a stab wound for Saturday. Really round out the week. But make sure not to book anything for Friday—we’ve got dinner plans." My heart is pounding, and I hate how scared I sound, but I can’t stop. "What if they’d aimed higher? Lower? What if theyhit something vital? What if—" My throat closes, and I force the words out. "What if next time, you don’t come back?”

"It is what it is," he says, his tone low and hard. "You think I planned this? You think I like being shot at?”

"Then stop getting into situations where people shoot you!" The words fly out before I can think. "Quit! Walk away! You don’t have to keep doing this?—“

He sits up straighter, his hand brushing against the bloodied bandage as though daring it to hurt him. "This is the job, Kat. You knew what this was when you chose to stay with me.”

I freeze, as anger surges, hot and unstoppable. "Don’t you dare throw that at me," I whisper, my voice trembling. "Choosing to be with you doesn’t mean choosing to watch you bleed out in our living room! It doesn’t mean being okay with you recklessly walking into a trap like you don’t give a damn about your life! Like you don't give a damn aboutme!”

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