Chapter 51 Chapter 51
Chapter 51
Nikolai’s POV
My arms burned like fire. The pain shot through my muscles, sharp and deep, from holding on to Nina and pulling her up into the chopper.
I had taken two bullets earlier—one grazed my side, tearing skin and leaving a hot trail of blood, the other lodged in my shoulder, making every movement feel like knives twisting inside.
Blood soaked my shirt, sticky and warm, dripping down my arm. But I could not let go. Not of her. Not now.
The helicopter shook as Dante pulled us higher into the night sky. Bullets from below pinged off the metal hull, each one a loud crack that echoed in my ears. I gripped the door frame with one hand, fingers numb from the strain, while my other arm wrapped tight around Nina’s waist.
She dangled there, her body limp, her head lolling against my chest. Her breathing came in weak gasps, her face pale under the dashboard lights. I could feel her heart racing against mine, fast and scared. The wind from the rotors whipped her hair across my face, smelling of smoke and fear.
Enzo slumped on the floor behind me, his leg bleeding bad from the shot he took. He pressed a cloth to it, grunting in pain, but his eyes stayed sharp, watching Nina.
“We got her,” he muttered, voice rough. His hand shook a little as he checked his gun, ready for more trouble.
I pulled harder, dragging Nina’s body up and into the chopper. The craft stabilized as Dante leveled us out, the tilting world straightening below. City lights blurred into streaks of gold and red, flames from the building shrinking to dots. I laid her down gently on the cold metal floor, my arms screaming in protest. She needed air.
I knelt beside her, brushing wet hair from her face, my fingers leaving smears of blood on her cheek. She looked like a broken angel—bruises blooming purple on her arms and neck, cuts from glass and falls crossing her skin like angry lines. Her crimson gown hung in shreds, soaked and torn, clinging to her body.
Dirt and ash covered her like a second skin. My chest tightened at the sight. She had fought so hard, this girl who hated us but kept surviving.
“Let’s go home,” Dante said from the cockpit, his voice calm over the roar. “Pilot away from the damage.” He glanced back, his dark eyes meeting mine for a second.
No emotion there, just focus. I nodded and joined him up front, taking the co-pilot seat. My shoulder throbbed with every move, blood trickling down my sleeve, but I gripped the controls.
Together, we steered the chopper through the night, banking left to avoid the smoke clouds rising from the city. The sirens below faded, replaced by the steady thump of our rotors.
Enzo stayed in the back, nursing his gun injury. He pulled out a first-aid kit from under the seat, his hands steady despite the pain. He wrapped a bandage around his thigh, tight to stop the bleeding, gritting his teeth.
His eyes kept flicking to Nina, who lay there zooming in and out—her eyelids fluttering, breaths shallow one moment, deeper the next. She muttered something soft, too quiet to hear, her fingers twitching like she was dreaming of escape. Enzo watched her close, his face pale but determined. “She’s tough,” he said to no one, his voice low. “She’ll make it.”
The flight felt endless. The city lights gave way to dark ocean, waves glinting under the moon like black glass. My arms ached more with each minute, the bullet in my shoulder grinding against bone. Blood dripped onto the controls, but I wiped it away.
Pain was nothing new. I had felt worse. But holding Nina like that, feeling her warmth against me, made something twist inside. She was not just a debt anymore. Not just a girl we owned. She was fire, fighting even when broken. And I would not let her go.
Finally, the island came into view—our private house rising from the rocks like a fortress. High stone walls circled it, topped with razor wire that caught the moonlight.
The helipad sat on the cliff edge, lights flickering on as we approached. Dante guided us down smooth, the chopper settling with a soft thud. The rotors slowed, the thump fading to a whine. Salt air rushed in as the door opened, cool and sharp, carrying the crash of waves below.
Dante came down first, jumping to the pad. He muttered under his breath, “I have to clean this mess up and take a look at the pieces of the bomb in our nuclear lab.” His face stayed hard, no time for rest. He strode toward the house, phone already in hand, calling someone to handle the fallout.
Enzo followed, limping bad from his leg wound. He winced with each step, blood staining the bandage fresh. “I’ll try and get the bullet out,” he said, voice tight.
“It just bruised me, I think.” He joked weakly, trying to lighten the air, but his eyes showed the pain.
Nina stirred on the floor, her eyes opening slow. She muttered something about being a medical student, her voice weak but clear.
“I can help with the injuries.” She pushed herself up, wobbly, her hands shaking as she reached for the first-aid kit.
We all got down, the cool island wind whipping our clothes. Nikolai waited for her to come down first. She stepped out careful, her feet bare now, heels lost somewhere in the chaos.
Her gown fluttered in the breeze, torn and dirty, but she held her head high. I watched her, my heart pounding strange. She was beautiful even broken, her bruises like badges from a war she never asked for.
As soon as she got down, I took a step toward her. But my leg buckled— the bullet in my shoulder and the graze on my side finally too much. The world tilted, pain exploding white-hot. I lost balance and fell to the floor, hitting the helipad hard. My vision blurred, blood pooling under me.
Nina screamed, the sound cutting through the night like a knife. She rushed to me, her hands turning me over gentle.
Her face hovered above mine, eyes wide with fear, tears mixing with the soot on her cheeks.
She placed her lips on mine, breathing hard into my mouth, her air filling my lungs.
“Please don’t die,” she whispered between our lips, her voice breaking. “Please.”
Her kiss was desperate, soft and warm, tasting of salt and smoke. My chest tightened, not from pain, but from something deeper.
I reached up weak, my hand touching her face, feeling her tears on my fingers.