Chapter 64 64
He pulled the trigger.
The shot rang out — but not from the leader’s gun.
His body jerked backward, a crimson bloom spreading across his chest, then collapsed without another word.
Stefan spun, gun raised — and saw Petre, standing in the doorway, smoking barrel in hand.
“Come on!” Petre shouted. “More are coming!”
Stefan didn’t hesitate. He hauled Reese up and ran, the sound of approaching vehicles echoing in the distance.
“Move!” Petre yelled.
They burst into the cold morning air just as two more SUVs rounded the corner. Petre fired at the tires while Stefan shoved Reese into the back seat of their car. Tires screeched as they sped off, bullets pinging against metal.
For a long stretch, there was nothing but the sound of the engine and their ragged breathing. Then Stefan looked at his bloodied friend in the rear seat. “You okay?”
Reese coughed hard, blood on his lip. “You shouldn’t have come, man. Your wife's going to kill you,”
Stefan looked over, jaw tight. “Yeah she will, but I had to. You’d have done the same for me.”
Reese tried to grin. “Yeah. That’s what scares me.”
Petre kept his eyes on the road. “They really were waiting for you.”
“I know,” Stefan said grimly, pressing a hand over his bleeding shoulder. “They wanted revenge.”
“Revenge?” Petre glanced back.
Stefan nodded. “From the Prague case. Davor’s brother.”
Reese cursed softly. “I thought they were all dead.”
“Guess we thought wrong,” Stefan muttered.
He leaned back against the seat, chest heaving, adrenaline slowly draining away. His mind flicked to Alana. He’d promised her he’d come back. Thankfully this whole thing was done and Reese was safe, so he'd be able to keep that promise.
But he knew it'd take more than showing up to get her to forgive him for leaving when she'd begged him not to.
__________
It was raining heavily, and Alana lay on the couch in the living room downstairs asleep, but she was restless. She'd been feeling that way for the entire week that Stefan had been gone.
Emily had assured her that he'd return. He always did, Emily had told her, but the last time Stefan had left her, he wasn't hers. He wasn't her husband or the father of her child. He wasn't the love of her life.
Now he was all those things, and nothing would make her relax until he was back home. Safe and in her arms.
The door creaked open softly, but it was enough to pull Alana from her uneasy sleep on the couch. She sat up quickly, blinking against the dim light from the hallway.
And then she saw him.
Stefan stood in the doorway, looking pale and exhausted. His shirt clung to him in places where rain had dampened the fabric, and a thick white bandage was wrapped around his shoulder.
For a heartbeat, Alana couldn’t move. She just stared at him, her heart pounding painfully but at the same time happily in her chest. He looked… alright, but exhausted— and the sight of him, real and breathing, sent a rush of relief through her so sharp it almost hurt.
“Stefan,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He tried to smile, but it came out weak and tired. “Hey, baby.” He said, “Miss me?”
That was all it took. She was on her feet, crossing the room before he could even drop his bag. Her hands reached for him, then froze midair when he took a step back and she saw the bandage up close.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “You're hurt… and it looks really bad.”
“It’s nothing,” he said automatically, but the wince that followed gave him away.
“Nothing?” she repeated, her voice breaking. “How can you say that?”
She grabbed his arm gently, steering him toward the couch despite his protests. He tried to resist, muttering something about being fine and wanting to just look at her, but she ignored him completely. Her fingers were shaking as she turned on the lamp and got a better look. The bandage was soaked faintly pink at the edges.
“Sit down,” she ordered.
“Alana—”
“Don’t you dare argue with me right now, Stefan.” Her tone was sharp, but her eyes — wet and shining — betrayed her. “You have no idea how angry I am at you so just… Sit.”
He didn't have to be told that she was pissed, so he did as she asked. “Just a little rain beat me when I got out of the cab. No big deal,”
She ignored him and hurried to the kitchen, came back with the first aid kit, and knelt beside him. He watched her in silence as she worked — carefully unwrapping the soaked bandage, wiping away the dried blood, her breath catching when she saw the stitched wound beneath.
“You call this nothing?” she whispered.
He sighed. “It’s a graze, sweetheart. The bullet just clipped me.”
Her hands froze. Slowly, she looked up at him. “A bullet?”
He exhaled. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“You were shot!” she cried, slamming the gauze onto the coffee table. “You were out there for a week, and you were shot, and you didn’t think to call? What kind of man are you Stefan?”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and tears she’d been holding in for days spilled freely down her cheeks.
“Alana…” he said softly, reaching for her.
She jerked away, shaking her head. “Don’t. Don’t you dare touch me. You don’t get to walk in here bleeding and act like this is okay.”
He rubbed his hand over his face, weary. “I didn't want to scare you more than I already had. It was a short mission. Took two days tops… I just stayed longer so I could heal a bit before making my journey back home—”
“Of course you have a reason,” she interrupted, her voice trembling. “But I don't care about them, Stefan. Do you understand that I couldn't sleep, I couldn't breathe properly? I kept wondering when you'd be back, or if I'd get a call to tell me that the man I married barely two months ago is gone. That Juliana's father… ” Her voice broke again, quieter this time. “Do you have any idea what that fear did to me, Stefan?”
He looked at her — really looked — and guilt settled deep in his chest. Her eyes were red, her face pale from nights of worry, her hands still trembling as she tried to rewrap his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.