Page 1 of The Price of Mercy

Chapter 1

The Wounded Stranger

The night was quiet, almost deceptively so. A light drizzle had dampened the pavement, leaving behind the fresh scent of rain that mingled with the distant aroma of street food from a nearby vendor packing up for the night. The streetlights flickered, casting an amber glow over the cracked sidewalks and empty roads.

Julian Carter adjusted his bag over his shoulder and exhaled, exhausted from a long shift at the hospital. His apartment building stood before him, an old but sturdy brick structure with ivy creeping along its edges, a stark contrast to the more modern complexes nearby.

He had barely taken a step toward the entrance when a sharp noise split the air. A series of distant pops, unmistakable even through the urban stillness. Gunshots. Julian froze, his heartbeat hammering in his ears as he turned his head in the direction of the sound. His rational mind told him to get inside, to lock the door and stay out of it, but his instincts as a doctor wouldn’t let him move just yet.

Then he saw him. A lone figure emerged from the shadows, staggering forward like a man fighting an invisible force. Even in the dim streetlight, Julian could see the dark stain spreading across the man’s torso, the sluggish yet determined steps of someone on the verge of collapse.

Julian barely had time to react before the man crumpled to the ground in front of him.

“Shit,” Julian hissed under his breath as he dropped to his knees beside the fallen man. Blood seeped onto the wet pavement, dark and ominous. He pressed his hands against the wound, his training taking over. The bullet had gone deep, but the bleeding, while heavy, was still something he could manage if he acted fast.

“You’ve been shot,” Julian said, glancing up at the man’s face. He was barely conscious, his breathing shallow. “I need to call an ambulance.”

“No.” The word came out as a sharp, pained growl. A hand clamped around Julian’s wrist with surprising strength. “No hospitals.”

Julian hesitated. That single demand set off alarm bells in his head. The man’s grip, the sharp intensity in his dark green eyes, the way he refused help. It all screamed danger.

“This wound needs treatment,” Julian insisted, but the man’s grip tightened.

“Figure it out! No hospitals,” he ground out.

Julian clenched his jaw, knowing he should walk away. This man was clearly involved in something he wanted no part of. But leaving him here meant a slow, painful death.

Cursing under his breath, Julian hooked an arm under the man’s shoulder and hauled him up. The man let out a low groan but didn’t fight him. Half-carrying, half-dragging, Julian maneuvered him through the entrance and into the dimly lit hallway of his apartment building. The stairwell creaked beneath their weight as he struggled to get him inside his unit. Once in the apartment, he eased the man onto the couch before quickly locking the door behind them.

He grabbed his medical bag, ignoring the mess of blood staining his floor. The coppery scent was thick in the air, mixing with the sterile sharpness of antiseptic. the man’s breathing was ragged, his body twitching in pain as Julian unzipped his kit and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, snapping them on with practiced ease. His hands were steady, but his heart pounded as he assessed the damage.

The bullet was lodged deep near the ribs, dangerously close to vital organs. Julian swallowed hard, pressing his fingers gently around the wound. the man let out a strangled groan, his body tensing like a coiled spring. Sweat beaded along his forehead, and his jaw clenched so tightly Julian thought his teeth might crack.

“This is going to hurt,” Julian warned, reaching for a syringe. “I need to give you something for the pain before I take the bullet out.”

“No drugs,” the man growled, his voice rough with agony. “I need to stay alert.”

Julian’s brows furrowed. “That’s insane. You could pass out from the pain.”

The man fixed him with a piercing glare. “Just do it.”

Frustrated but unwilling to argue with a dying man, Julian exhaled sharply and reached for his forceps. He sterilized the metal with quick, efficient movements before pressing down on the wound, trying to get a better angle. the man’s entire body jerked, a deep, guttural sound tearing from his throat.

“Hold still,” Julian ordered, sweat trickling down his own temple as he dug the forceps deeper. Blood oozed around the instrument, warm and slick, staining Julian’s gloves as he carefully maneuvered toward the bullet. He could feel the man’s muscles tightening beneath his hands, his body trembling with effort as he resisted the urge to move. His breathing was shallow, labored, each inhale dragging through gritted teeth.

Finally, Julian’s forceps clamped onto something solid. He twisted carefully; his fingers precise as he eased the bullet free. the man let out a sharp hiss but didn’t cry out. The small metal fragment was slick with blood as Julian dropped it into a metal tray with a softclink. He moved quickly, dousing the wound with antiseptic, wiping away excess blood, and grabbing the needle and thread.

The man’s skin was burning with feverish heat as Julian worked, stitching the wound closed with tight, precise motions. Each tug of the thread sent a ripple of tension through the man’s body, but he remained silent, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles had turned white.

Julian exhaled once the last stitch was in place, cutting the thread and carefully bandaging the wound. He checked the man’s pulse; still strong, but weak enough to be concerning. He was lucky. If the bullet had gone a fraction of an inch deeper, Julian wouldn’t have been able to save him.

After securing the bandage, Julian finally sat back, rubbing a hand down his face. Hours had passed in what felt like minutes,and the exhaustion crashed into him all at once. He wiped his brow, checking the man’s vitals once more before allowing himself to breathe.

???

Half an hour later, the man’s eyelids fluttered open, his gaze locking onto Julian with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. His green eyes were sharp despite the pain shadowing them, assessing, calculating. Julian had seen that look before in patients who woke up disoriented, but this was different. This man wasn’t just trying to understand his surroundings, he was trying to determine if he was in danger.

“Where am I?” The stranger’s voice was deep, roughened with pain and exhaustion.

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