Chapter 2 — Monster Unleashed

Elena's POV 

“Who are you?”

He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, he presses his hand against the wound in his leg like it’s just an inconvenience, not the thing trying to kill him.

“You’re still bleeding,” I say. “You need to stay still.”

“I need to move,” he replies without looking at me. “More will come.”

I shake my head, still trying to keep up with the pace of all this. “You should be unconscious. Or dead.”

His eyes flick to mine. “I’m not,” he says simply.

Before I can push back, the screech of tires cuts through the air. Another vehicle. Slower and controlled this time.

He doesn’t even look surprised. “They found us,” I whisper.

He pushes himself up, wincing just once before he straightens. “They found me,” he says, and this time, there’s steel in his voice. “You were just in the wrong place.”

I stare at him while he adjusts the makeshift tourniquet on his leg and limps out of the shadows without hesitation, moving toward the next threat like it’s a meeting, not a fight.

I stay crouched where I am, heart thudding, mind racing, unsure if I should run or pray while he steps into the open like he’s not bleeding through his clothes.

Another black SUV pulls into the alley, tires crunching over broken glass. This one doesn’t screech—it glides, controlled and confident, the kind of arrival that says whoever’s inside isn’t in a rush because they don’t have to be.

He keeps walking, dragging blood behind him but not slowing down. When the SUV stops and the doors open, men in suits spill out fast—armed, trained, moving with that clipped efficiency that tells me they’re not here to talk.

He doesn’t even flinch. Just raises his arm, points at the three bodies on the ground, then gestures back toward the dumpster.

“Who’s the girl?” one of the men asks, voice sharp but respectful.

“She saved my life,” he says, and his tone is low but commanding, like that single sentence settles everything.

I step out slowly, hands raised halfway without even thinking, and try to make myself sound calm when every cell in my body is screaming.

“I’m not involved,” I say quickly. “I-I didn’t see anything, I swear. I just stopped because I thought someone was dying, and—”

He turns to me fast, ignoring the others, and walks straight over. He’s limping, yeah, but his posture is solid. Dominant. The kind that makes you forget he’s hurt at all.

Before I can move, he snatches the phone from my pocket and throws it hard to the pavement. It shatters on impact, the screen splintering in a burst of glass.

“Hey—what the hell!” I shout, taking a step back.

“You saved a life tonight, Doctor,” he says, his voice calm in a way that makes it worse. “That means you belong to the one you saved.”

I blink, not sure if I heard that right. “What does that even mean? I don’t belong to anyone. I was trying to help.”

He doesn’t argue or explain, instead, he looks at the men behind him, then at me, like the decision’s already made.

“You saw too much,” he says, and it’s not a threat. It’s a fact.

I glance down at the bodies, then back at him. “So what, you’re going to kill me for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

His gaze holds mine steady while the others start moving again—checking the bodies, sweeping the area—but he doesn’t look away.

“No,” he says. “Not if you don’t give me a reason."

My stomach flips. I nod quickly, hands still raised like that might help somehow.

“I won’t,” I say, trying to sound steady, though my voice barely makes it past my throat. “You don’t have to worry, I’m not saying a word to anyone. I don’t want trouble, I just— I want to go home.”

Another SUV pulls into the alley, this one darker, sleeker. The kind that doesn’t belong on public roads. The doors open before the engine even stops and more men spill out, better dressed, more coordinated, their guns not even hidden. One of them tosses a jacket over his shoulders, another presses gauze to the wound on his thigh without needing to be told.

No one looks at me. No one even asks who I am.

I take a step back while they work on him, but it feels like trying to disappear in plain sight. Every instinct I have is telling me to run, but my legs aren’t moving.

“I’m not saying anything,” I repeat, louder now, because the silence is worse than the gunshots. “I didn’t see faces, I don’t know names. I don’t even want to know.”

He doesn’t turn right away. He just says something low to one of the men, who nods and walks off toward the street, phone already in hand.

When he finally faces me, his expression is unreadable. Not angry. Not relieved. Just... cold.

“That’s not the issue,” he says.

I stare at him. “Then what is?”

He walks toward me slowly, the limp more noticeable now that the adrenaline is fading. His men part for him like water, and I’m too stunned to move. When he stops in front of me, I realize he’s close enough that I can see the blood drying on his shirt and the way his jaw clenches when he breathes.

“It’s not what you’ll say,” he tells me quietly. “It’s the fact that you were here.”

“I didn’t ask to be,” I shoot back, even though my voice shakes. “I didn’t know what I was walking into.”

“But you walked in anyway,” he says, reaching out like it’s nothing and gripping my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look up at him. “That’s the problem.”

I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go. My pulse is racing, loud in my ears, and I feel it—really feel it—that I might not make it out of this.

“Look,” I say, swallowing hard. “I’m a doctor. I fix people. That’s it. I have a job, a normal life. I’m not part of any of this.”

“I know,” he says, and there’s something darker under his voice now. “That’s why it’s complicated.”

One of the men calls out from the alley entrance, something short and sharp.

“Boss. Cops are en route.”

He doesn’t react right away. He just keeps looking at me while everything else moves around us.

“That’s why we’re not leaving her here,” he says finally, like it’s already decided.

My stomach drops. “No. Please. I won’t say anything. I swear. I’ll forget I even saw you.”

He doesn’t flinch. "You think that’s how this works?” he murmurs.

“I’m not a threat,” I say, my voice breaking a little now. “I helped you. That’s all I did.”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “And that’s exactly why you’re coming with us.”

I start shaking my head before he even finishes.

“Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t. I just want to go home.”

He leans in, his voice low in my ear.

“You saw too much,” he says, and the way he says it makes it clear he’s not asking for forgiveness—he’s just explaining the rules.

My breath catches. “So you’re just going to kill me?”

He studies me for a long second.

“Yes,” he says calmly. “That’s one option.”

To Be Continued...