Bullet for Bullet
1187 Words
The knife felt heavier than the gun in his hand.
I stepped in front of Sinner. Blade out. Heart in my throat.
“Don’t you dare,” he growled behind me. “Get down.”
I didn’t listen.
The masked man fired. I moved. The knife wasn’t meant to kill. It was meant to block. The bullet grazed my arm instead of Sinner’s chest. Pain exploded white-hot. I screamed. Dropped the knife.
Sinner’s roar shook the warehouse.
In one second he was around me. In the next, his gun was up. Three shots. Three bodies hit the floor. The rest scattered into the night.
“Angel!” His hands were on my face. On my arm. Blood soaked my sleeve. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because you said I’m yours,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to die on me.”
His eyes darkened. Something broke in them. Not rage. Something worse.
He tore off his cut. Pressed the leather to my arm. “Hold this. Tight.”
The pain made me dizzy. He lifted me like I weighed nothing and ran. Outside. Into the chaos. More bikes. More gunfire. The VP threw him a key.
Sinner didn’t take a bike. He took a black SUV. Threw me in the passenger seat and floored it.
“Tell me you’re not dying,” he said. Eyes on the road, but his hand found mine. Fingers laced with mine. Over the ring. “Tell me.”
“I’m not dying,” I lied. The world was tilting.
“You are so stubborn,” he muttered. He ripped his shirt, tied it above the wound. His knuckles were white. “You should’ve let me take the bullet.”
“I don’t let people die for me anymore,” I whispered. “My father did. Not again.”
Sinner’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer. He just drove faster.
The city blurred past. He didn’t take me to a hospital. Hospitals had records. Hospitals had cartel eyes.
He took me to a compound. Gates. Guards. Devil’s Blood property. Safe.
He carried me inside. Past brothers who stood and watched in silence. Past women who whispered. Past a bar where the music died the moment he walked in.
His bedroom was upstairs. Black sheets. Guns on the wall. No windows.
He set me on the bed like I was glass. Then he knelt.
“Kneel” wasn’t a word I’d use for Sinner Blackwood. But he was on his knees, cutting my sleeve with his knife. Careful. Gentle. Nothing like the monster from the bar.
“This is going to hurt,” he said. Not looking up. “I’m sorry.”
He cleaned the wound. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. He didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. When he wrapped the bandage, his hands were steady. Like he’d done this a hundred times. For his men. Never for a woman.
“You didn’t have to,” he said quietly. “Take the bullet.”
“I know,” I said. “I chose to.”
His eyes snapped to mine. “Don’t you ever choose that again. You hear me? I can replace a gun. I can replace a bike. I can’t replace you.”
The ring caught the light between our hands.
Sinner stood. Pulled his phone. “Get Doc here. Now. And find out who leaked the safehouse. I want a name in ten minutes.”
He hung up. Turned back to me.
“You’re feverish,” he said. Touched my forehead. His palm was cool. “Doc will be here soon.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” I said. “I need answers. How did they find me?”
“Because someone in my club is talking,” he said. No hesitation. No doubt. “And I’m going to rip their throat out when I find them.”
A knock. The Doc came in. Old. Hands steady. He checked the wound, gave me pills, left without a word.
Sinner locked the door behind him.
Then he came back to the bed. Didn’t sit. Just stood there, looking down at me like I was a problem he couldn’t solve with violence.
“You’re mine,” he said finally. “But I won’t chain you to a bed. Not yet.”
“Not yet?” My voice was weak but the anger was real. “You think you get to decide when?”
“I decide everything that keeps you alive,” he said. “That’s the deal you made when you wore the ring.”
“I didn’t make a deal. You forced it on me.”
“Then force me back,” he said. Stepped closer. “Take the knife again. Shoot me. Run. But stop pretending you don’t want what I’m offering.”
“What are you offering?” I asked. “A cage?”
“Safety,” he said. “Protection. A name that makes the whole city afraid. My name.”
He leaned down. His face was inches from mine. I could smell blood and gunpowder on him.
“You bled for me, Angel,” he whispered. “No one’s done that since my brother died. So yeah. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Whether you like it or not.”
His lips were almost on mine.
Then his phone buzzed.
He didn’t move. Didn’t break eye contact.
“It can wait,” he said.
The buzzing stopped. Then started again. Urgent.
Sinner cursed. Pulled back. Answered without looking away from me. “What?”
The VP’s voice came through the speaker. “Boss. We got a name. But you’re not gonna like it.”
Sinner’s expression didn’t change. But his free hand fisted at his side.
“Say it,” he said.
“Your brother’s girl,” the VP said. “Lila. She’s the one who told the cartel about the safehouse.”
The room went cold.
Sinner closed his eyes. When he opened them, the gold flecks were gone. Only gun-barrel left.
“Bring her to me,” he said. Voice flat. Dead. “Now.”
He hung up. Looked at me. At the blood on the bandage. At the ring.
“I have to go,” he said.
“To kill her?” I asked.
“To find out why,” he said. “Loyalty is everything in Devil’s Blood. If she betrayed us…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
He turned to leave. Stopped at the door.
“Don’t leave this room,” he said. “If you do, I can’t protect you.”
The door clicked shut. Locked.
I was alone. With his gun on the nightstand. With the knife on the floor. With a fever and a ring that meant I belonged to a man who was about to interrogate the woman his brother loved.
Footsteps outside. Not Sinner’s. Lighter.
A key slid into the lock.
The door opened.
Lila stood there. His brother’s girl. Tears in her eyes. A gun in her hand.
Pointed right at me.
- Writer
