Page 161 of Vicious Games

Kirill snarls at him like a wolf warning another away from its kill—but when he turns to Stella, he’s all focus and gentleness.

“Bite into me if you need to,milaya,” he says, voice suddenly low and coaxing.

Then he dumps the alcohol straight into her open wound.

Stella’s scream rips through the room like a jagged blade, raw and animal-like. Her teeth sink into Kirill’s shoulder, hard enough to draw blood—but he doesn’t flinch.

“Hold her steady!” he barks.

I throw my arms around her chest, keeping her upright as she thrashes weakly. Lucky shines the flashlight from his phone over her back, illuminating the gory mess.

Blood glistens on Kirill’s hands as he slides the forceps deep into the wound. Stella sobs against him, whimpering between clenched teeth.

The metal scrapes against bone—click—then he clamps down.

With a practiced yank, he pulls the bullet out. It’s blackened and jagged, slick with her blood.

He tosses it to the floor with a metallic clink and immediately cups the back of her head, pressing his lips to her damp hair.

“The worst is done. Now I just have to stitch you up.”

“I’m so tired…” she murmurs, eyes glassy, her body trembling with shock.

“I know,dusha moya.That’s the blood loss talking.” He nods to Kostya. “Needle and sutures.”

Ten minutes of painstaking stitching follow—Kirill works with frightening precision, his brow furrowed, hands steady as a machine. Blood runs down his forearms and stains the sheets, but he doesn’t stop until the wound is closed and bound tight with gauze from his bag.

During his stellar work, Stella slips into unconsciousness again. Kirill pulls the blanket up to her chin and strokes a hand across her temple with a gentleness I wouldn’t have believed a man like him could even have if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” I ask quietly, holding onto Stella’s hand.

“Medical school,” he answers, eyes not leaving her face.

“You’re a doctor?”

“Not exactly.”

He finally pulls his shirt back on and reaches for the bloodied bag.

“Watch over her,” he says. “Call me if she wakes or if she starts to shiver with a fever.”

As he moves to leave, Lucky blocks the doorway, muscles tense and eyes blazing.

“Where are you taking us?” he growls.

Kirill glances back at Stella, then at me, his black eyes softening just slightly.

“Home,” he says. “I’m taking you home.”

Chapter 27

Luciano

Moscow.

They brought us to fucking Moscow. The heart of Mother Russia herself.

Fuck.

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