Page 138 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

Several doctors rush to pull out their phones while others look around helplessly at their colleagues. Tensions are running high. None of these people are accustomed to being in a scenario like this. They have no idea if they’re in direct danger or not.

In my experience, that puts me in a good position. No one cracks faster than a panicked person without a clue.

“Put it on speaker,” I instruct the first person who dials.

A younger female doctor listens immediately. I hear a dial tone for two seconds and then dead air. A second later, an automated message rolls through. “This line has been disconnected.”

I snarl in distaste.Fucking predictable.

“You’ve been had, Doctor,” I tell Pendergast. “And apparently, so have I.”

“Mr. Kovalyov…”

“Save it,” I snap. “There is nothing more to be said here.”

I turn to leave as Pendergast scurries behind me. “Mr. Kovalyov, I can assure you this has never happened before in the history of my—”

“What the fuck does it matter that it’s never happened before?” I ask, turning on him. “It happened now. And it only has to happen once.”

“But my license…”

“I don’t give a fuck about your license. This is the last you’ll be seeing of me,” I tell him. “If I were you, I’d clean house.”

Before he can respond, I turn and head towards the door. I’m walking from the massive white building towards the parking lot when I sense eyes on me.

A second after I’ve even registered that I’m being targeted, I catch movement from my peripheral vision.

Then I hear the bullet.

The sound breaks through the calm of the day. I leap out of the way but it’s too late—the bullet makes contact, grazing my calf.

I buckle under the shooting pain that sears up my leg and drop to one knee on the unforgiving tarmac.

But the bullet has done nothing to blunt my skill. I pull out my gun as fast as I can and open fire. Three gunshots in quick succession.

The first one misses.

The second one doesn’t.

The third one is just out of spite.

The shooter’s body hits the ground but he’s far enough away that I’m not able to pick out any distinguishable features. I see only the dull black of the shirt he’s wearing.

His hair might be brown. But it might be blond, too, for all the details I’m able to absorb in the heat of the moment. I’ll get all the details I need once I’ve stopped the bleeding on my leg.

I pull off my belt and use it to apply a tourniquet. I move fast, working sloppily in order to get through it faster. I can hear the commotion at my back, and I know the doctors will have heard the gunshot, too.

“Mr. Kovalyov…!”

I don’t even glance behind at Pendergast.

“Go back inside, Doctor,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “I’ve got this.”

“You’re hurt!”

Wincing, I force myself back onto my feet. “Don’t concern yourself,” I say, walking towards the parking lot in the direction of the shooter’s body.

I limp around the corner where he fell—and come to a screeching halt.

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