Page 18 of Innocent Bratva Virgin

Okay, Vlad. You need to go. Where are you? Got a safe house nearby?

I eyed the space around me, trying to figure out just where I’d veered off to. I knew where the meetup was, so if I was about two blocks down, that put me on 2ndStreet. Hobbling down to the main road connected to the alley, I looked left and right to confirm my hunch.

Yup, 2nd. Okay, No safe house around. I’m downtown. Where can I—

Just as I asked myself where to go, the answer became clear, and I stopped. I was about three blocks from the heart of downtown, where Emory’s office was located.Mother fucker.

But I was walking on foot, and the number of places I could successfully get to while I was bleeding was extremely diminished. The closest hospital was about eight blocks away, the nearest safe house was about twenty, and any Vadim property was even farther than that.

Emory was looking like my only option right now, which fucking sucked. I didn’t want to drag her into all this, but as I stood there looking left and right, my strength wavered, and a wash of dizziness hit me, forcing me to lean against the building to my left.

You need to get the bleeding stopped. They’ll have a first aid kit at the office. Just…goddamn it.

Slipping off my leather jacket, I took off the button-down shirt I was wearing underneath and tied it around my hip. Squeezing the thing tightly against the wound made me hiss, but it was better than nothing.

I pulled my jacket back on and started hurrying for Emory’s office. I hoped that it would be as quiet as it was before. Running into concerned citizens wasn’t on my to-do list. I just need to get there and get this fucking bullet graze sorted out.

The trip down the three blocks to the psychiatry offices was a lesson in nonchalantly masking pain that I would have happily done without. The injury pulled when I moved, and my vision started to go fuzzy as I got closer to the glorious beacon of those bronze revolving doors.

Almost there. Just wait for the right moment.

Leaning against a building again, I watched the door. After not long, a person came through them. I hopped into action, though my speed was definitely suffering, thanks to the bullet graze. Pushing into the revolving doors, I timed my exit so that no additional turn was necessary after the other person left.

I also ensured that the main entry to the building was empty enough for me to slip inside and duck off to the hallway on the right. The elevators to Emory’s office were down this hall, and I just needed to get there without being spotted.

As I passed down the hallway, a janitor was loading up their cart, so I tucked myself around a corner to hide until they left. As the employee walked off, I caught the door to the closet before it closed completely and snagged a jumpsuit.

Pulling it on hid the quick patch job that I did on my leg, and I followed the slim placards posted in the hallways to navigate my way to the stairwell. As much as it sucked, I couldn’t trust the elevators. People avoided the stairs for the most part, so it would be the better bet if I were trying to stay out of sight.

Emory’s office was on the third floor. I just had three sets of stairs to climb with a bullet injury flaring in my hip with each step—piece of cake.

After so much longer than usual, I finally reached the third floor, and I was about ready to throw up or pass out, maybe both. I cracked open the door to the stairwell, checking to see if anyone was waiting in the reception that I needed to avoid.

Just the receptionist. Good.

The door people usually entered was just past the desk to my right, and Emory’s office was down the hall to my left. I would still be visible for just that split second of exiting the stairway and walking to her office, so I needed something to keep the woman busy.

In the hallway outside the office, there was a small fire extinguisher and a garbage can just outside the elevators. It was an older model, still possessing an ashtray on top, even though smoking indoors had been illegal for some time.

It was a solid option for a distraction, though, even if it meant that I’d be walking those same damn stairs again.

Slipping back inside the stairwell, I walked to the second floor and took the elevator to the third. I leaned out enough to reach the astray when the elevator doors opened.

I didn’t smoke, but it had become a habit of mine to carry around a lighter and a pack of cigarettes to bribe people. Using them, I lit up a cigarette and placed it in the ashtray without letting it extinguish. There was a slim paper wrapper in the garbage, and I quickly snatched it to lay in the ashtray section as though someone had just gotten lazy.

There was a mirrored surface across from the elevators that you could see from the counseling offices. The orange flicker wouldn’t take long to be noticeable to the woman at that desk, and I just prayed that she would be brave enough to come out and deal with it herself.

Sneaking back to the stairwell and back up to the third floor, I cracked the door again and watched the desk.

Come on, lady. Leave.

Thankfully, the woman was a good Samaritan. As soon as she noticed the reflection of the flames, she hurried out of her seat and rushed toward the elevator. With her away, I silently slipped out the door and hurried to Emory’s office.

Please don’t be with a patient.

Pausing a split second to listen at the door, I didn’t hear anyone, so I pushed inside, tumbling to the floor as my leg finally gave out.

“What the hell?!” Emory was out from behind her desk in a heartbeat. “Vlad?”

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