Page 111 of BounBound By Scars

“Fuck…”

I collapsed.

Marble was cold. My limbs were colder.

I’d never been shot before.

Fuck.

Footsteps circled me. A voice called, “Tango down. Prep a cell. Move fast.”

Cell?

No.

My lips trembled.

I blinked once, twice—vision swimming.

And then—five shots.

Crisp. Sharp.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

I knew those shots.

I knew that rhythm.

He came back.

I blinked through the haze—blood stinging my lashes, my vision splitting at the seams.

The five men were now sprawled across the marble, identical holes blooming in the center of their foreheads.

Three seconds.

Five shots.

Not one miss.

Kabir looked like he was unraveling.

Not the quiet, sarcastic genius with the lowest kill count.No. In his place stood a goddamn reckoning—loaded, locked, and absolutely fucking feral.

He didn’t just look dangerous—he looked like he invented the art of violence and came back to perfect it.

But the blood loss was real because soon his hurried steps faded into a muffled sob.

Mine or his?

I didn’t know.

He dropped to his knees beside me, hands reaching but not touching, like even the air between us could hurt.

“Fuck—fuck, Lia.” His voice cracked.

He shrugged off his tux jacket, yanked it off so violently I thought he might rip the seams. In the same breath, he pressed it against my chest, right over the blooming wound. The pressure made me hiss, and his face crumpled.

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