Page 23 of Bound to the Enforcer

Gunfire erupts again, and this time, I hear the sickening crack of a bullet piercing the side panel near Sophia. I see her flinch, instinctively clutching the seatbelt.

"Stay down!" I shout.

I grip the wheel and press the accelerator to the floor. The car roars forward, closing the distance between us and the lead vehicle. At the last moment, I swerve hard to the right, clipping their rear bumper and sending them spinning off the road.

The impact rattles through the car, and for a moment, everything is silent except for the pounding of my heart. I keep driving, the forest blurring around us as the adrenaline pulses through my veins.

I drive as fast as I can, watching my mirrors to make sure that no one else pops out of the blue. I turn my head to the side to look at Sophia. Her eyes are forward, but her body is shaking.

"You okay?" I want nothing more than to pull over and check her over for injuries. But we need to keep going.

"I'm okay. You?"

That's all I need to hear to instantly calm.

We reach the safe house 20 minutes later. The cabin is a small, secluded structure tucked into the woods, its dark silhouette barely visible against the night sky. I park the car and cut the engine, the sudden quiet almost deafening.

Sophia exhales shakily, pushing herself upright. Her hands tremble as she brushes shards of glass off her lap.

"You're bleeding," she says suddenly, her eyes wide as they settle on the dark stain spreading across my side.

"It's nothing," I mutter, brushing her concern aside.

"Like hell it's nothing," she snaps, her fear giving way to anger. "Let me see."

Before I can argue, she's out of the car, pulling open my door. I step out, the movement sending a sharp jolt of pain through my ribs. Her hands are on me immediately, steadying me despite her own unsteady breaths.

Inside the cabin, she moves with purpose, finding a first aid kit in the cabinet. I sit on the edge of the couch, my shirt already soaked with blood. She kneels in front of me, her hands hovering uncertainly before she pulls at the hem of my shirt.

"Take it off," she says, her tone softer now.

I hesitate but comply, wincing as the fabric peels away from the wound. Her sharp intake of breath cuts through the room like a knife.

"You should have said something sooner," she mutters, grabbing a clean cloth and pressing it against the wound. Herhands are gentle but firm, the warmth of her touch grounding me in a way I didn't expect.

"It's not as bad as it looks."

She doesn't reply, her focus entirely on cleaning the wound. The room is quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the faint rustle of the first aid supplies. Her touch lingers longer than necessary, her fingers brushing against my skin as she works.

"Why do you do this?" she asks suddenly. But I barely heard the words leave her lips

"Do what?"

"Put yourself in danger for me," she says, her eyes lifting to meet mine.

The question catches me off guard.

"Because I have to," I reply gruffly. BecauseI want to.

She shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That's not an answer."

I exhale slowly, the weight of her question pressing against me. "Because you matter, Sophia. More than you realize."

Her hand stills, the cloth against my skin forgotten. She's close enough that I can feel the warmth of her breath, see the faint tremble in her lips.

"I didn't ask for this," she whispers.

"I know. But you have it anyway."

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