Page 82 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

I bit back a sound. The footsteps paused at the corner of the bar. He was testing.

Now—I lunged out, left hand locking onto his gun wrist and twisting hard. My right elbow slammed into the most vulnerable part of his jaw.

He went limp.

Another set of footsteps rushed from the side—fast, vicious, deadly intent. I used the unconscious body as a shield.

A muffled thud. Warm blood splattered across my cheek. I shoved the body away. In the split second he reloaded, I raised my gun and pulled the trigger.

One shot. Right between the eyes.

He fell backward, skull hitting the bar edge with a dull thud, then his body collapsed to the floor.

Silence filled the bar except for rain battering the windows.

The bartender stayed curled under the counter, shoulders trembling.

I glanced at him. My arm burned where the bullet grazed it.

"Someone will come clean this up," I said.

Then I turned and walked out.

Rain poured down in sheets.

Ice-cold drops hammered my face, running down my jaw and mixing with the cold sweat that finally broke through. Blood from my arm diluted in the rain, dripping off my fingers and blooming in small dark red flowers on the wet pavement before fresh rain scattered them.

I couldn't stop.

The alley lights glowed yellow through the downpour, blurring into soft halos. I splashed through puddles. The car door handle was ice against my palm. I struggled into the driver's seat, and the moment I leaned back, my entire right arm started shaking.

I started the engine. Tires sprayed muddy water as they hit the wet road.

The alcohol was completely gone now.

Rain hammered the windshield. Wipers swept it clear, then it flooded back again. My whole arm trembled—not from pain, not from fear. I'd seen worse hits than this. I was numb to it.

But right now I was terrified.

If they could find me at the bar, they'd been watching me for a while. They knew my weakness.

What if...

I couldn't finish the thought.

I dialed Dmitri.

He picked up after two rings.

"Man, at this hour you should be in someone's bed."

I forced the words through the pain. "I got hit. Get a doctor to the house. And clean up the scene."

Silence on the other end. Dmitri dropped the playful tone. "On it," he said, then hung up.

I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and gripped the slippery steering wheel through clenched teeth.

The wipers worked frantically, but visibility was still shit. Streetlights stretched into long blurred trails through the rain. I drove by feel back to the estate.