Page 13 of Rurik
He gasped at the sharp stab of pain from the bullets, but he stayed down. All around him people were screaming and trying to hide. He looked over his shoulder, squinting as he tried to see the black sedan, but it was too late. Tires squealed as he watched the car speed off into the night. He was in no shape topursue.
The bullets had to be iron—he could tell from the way they burned inside him. And the fact that the silenced bullets had been subsonic meant they were also lodged in him, instead of passing through. His body fought to seal the wounds, trying to keep his blood from spilling out, but the iron made that difficult, and if they were left inside him too long, it could poisonhim.
For a long moment, he lay on top of Charlotte, sucking air into his lungs in great gulps as his body tried to adjust to the adrenaline. His dragon was clawing at his insides, wanting to come out and defend itself, but he had to stay calm, keep his other half locked down. If he transformed now, not only would it make the news, but it would draw the Brotherhood down on his family’s head. And the iron bullets would only cause more damage to him as he changed from one form toanother.
Iron bullets—that was no coincidence. Most bullets were made of lead. This was deliberate. The list of possible suspects dropped to just a few names, and one of them was right at thetop.
“Rurik! Are you okay?” Charlotte gasped as she sat up, holding on to him, keeping him up rather than dragging himdown.
“I’m fine,” he hissed. “Need to get inside… Can’t be seen.” He tried to stand. She curled an arm around his waist and slung her purse around her freeshoulder.
“Come on. I’ll take you to myroom.”
“Hurry.” They hobbled into the lobby, which was a scene of chaos. People were shouting on their phones and rushing outside to see if anyone else was injured. Several security guards bellowed into their walkie-talkies and gathered uninjured guests together in small groups. There didn’t seem to be any other casualties, for which Rurik wasthankful.
He had to get out of sight. If his face showed up on the news, that would riskexposure.
Grigori was the master at changing his hair color every ten years to show signs of aging, before eventually transferring the family’s company to a “son” who looked just like him. But Rurik refused to do that. Instead, he sold his club after five or ten years and opened a new one elsewhere, rotating between his favorite locations. Clubs were fickle things, and the routine fit naturally with their natural lifecycles.
Charlotte took him to the elevators and punched in her floor. They waited, panting together until an elevator opened up. Thankfully, it was empty. Once inside, she tried to get a better look at his wounds, but he shiedaway.
“Don’t be such a baby,” she said. “I need to see how bad theyare.”
He growled. “I’m not a baby. I was shot—of course they’re bad.” He finished this last in a childish mutter, but then when he saw her face turn ashen hesighed.
“They can’t be that bad, or you’d be bleeding all over thefloor.”
“My jacket is lined with ballistic nylon” Rurik said, which was true, but that was meant for bike accidents, not bullets. “Still, it hurts like hell, and I don’t want you touching them.” He also didn’t want her to worry or have any reason to doubt hisstrength.
“We’ll still have to get a look at them once we’re in myroom.”
When they stopped at her floor, she offered to help him to her door, but he shrugged off her arm and stumbled there on his own while she found her keycard. The damn bullets were making his skin burn—definitely iron. His dragon wanted out of his skin so he could heal faster, but he couldn’t transform in the city. And he couldn’t transform with the iron still inside him, because that would only make thingsworse.
Her room was small and had only one bed. He started toward it, but she caught his arm and steered him to thebathroom.
“Strip,” sheordered.
“Didn’t know all it took was being shot to make you want me naked.” His pained chuckle did not earn him a smile. He peeled off his jacket and then his shirt. He glanced over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror and winced at the sight of three bullet holes, one in his lower back, one on his left shoulder blade, and a third in the back of his thigh. Blood still trickled down, but very little, all things considered. He was lucky. He would have to get the bullets out before the wounds could heal with them inside. That could befatal.
“Fuck,” he muttered again. He unzipped his jeans and dropped them to thefloor.
“What—” Charlotte began until he angled his leg and showed her the wound in the back of histhigh.
“It’s… I thought it would be worse. But still, we should get you to a hospital.” She held a first-aid kit in her hands, her face pale asalabaster.
“Trust me. I will be fine as long as you can be brave and dig the bulletsout.”
Charlotte gulped audibly. “Dig themout?”
With a few hobbling steps toward her, he took the first-aid kit from her and tossed it onto the sink counter. From his jacket he pulled out a Leatherman multitool that unfolded into a set of pliers, which also held various knives, screwdrivers, and even a small ratchet. Useful for most bikers, but not exactly meant for surgery. It would have todo.
“The bullets didn’t go deep. Here.” He handed her the Leatherman and braced himself against the sink, headlowered.
Charlotte shook as she came up behind him. She rubbed alcohol swabs on the wounds on his back, and he uttered a string of Russian curses that would have made his father box his ears had the old dragon been alive to hearit.
“Sorry!” She dabbed at the wound on his lower back. “Okay, here goes.” He felt the pliers dig into him as she searched for the bullet. His vision tunneled, and he rested his head on his forearms and closed hiseyes.
“You’re right, I feel it! Just below the surface. Hang on!” The pressure of the pliers burned as she pulled the first bullet out. She dropped it into the porcelain sink next to him with a little clink. Then she applied more alcohol to the wound. The dragon inside him roared at the sudden flair of fresh pain, but he didn’t let a sound escape hislips.
