The Wolf In His Bones

Chapter 7

Pain wakes me up.

Not the soft kind. Not the kind you can ignore.

This one is violent.

It rips through my leg like fire under my skin, sharp and deep, like something is still tearing through muscle every time I breathe.

A broken sound escapes my throat before I can stop it.

I try to move—

Big mistake.

The pain explodes, and my whole body locks up. My fingers dig into whatever I’m lying on.

Okay.

1

Don’t panic.

I force my eyes open.

The ceiling above me is different. Not the same dark concrete from before. This one is… cleaner. Still ugly. Still cold. But brighter. White light. Metal shelves. A tray of medical tools.

The smell hits me next.

Alcohol. Blood. Chemicals.

Infirmary.

I’ve been shot.

The memory crashes back all at once—running, the door, freedom right there—

And then—

Gunshot.

Damien.

My jaw tightens.

Of course he shot me. Why wouldn’t he?

I let out a shaky breath, trying to sit up—

“Don’t.”

The voice is sharp. Male. Close.

I freeze.

Slowly, I turn my head.

He’s standing near a metal table, sleeves rolled up, gloves on, like he belongs here.

Dark hair. Cold eyes. Built like someone who doesn’t ask twice.

He’s not the one who shot me.

But somehow… he feels just as dangerous.

“You move too much, you’ll tear it open again,” he says flatly.

My eyes drop to my leg.

Bandaged.

Thick white wrapped around my thigh, already stained slightly red.

Not a clean little injury.

A real one.

Great.

I look back at him. “You planning to finish the job or just stare at me all day?”

His gaze lifts slowly to mine.

And yeah.

He doesn’t like that.

Good.

“I should let you bleed out for that mouth,” he says.

I shrug, immediately regretting it when pain shoots up my side. “You can try. Seems like your boss already tried his best.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Not amusement. Not anger.

Something colder.

He steps closer.

“I’m not him.”

“No,” I mutter. “You’re the welcoming committee, right?”

That earns me a reaction.

A small one.

But I see it.

His jaw tightens.

“Name,” he says.

“Lila.”

“Last name.”

I hesitate.

Then—

“Hart.”

“Enzo,” he says after a second.

Ah.

He reaches for my leg and I instinctively pull back—

Pain explodes again.

I suck in a breath, biting down hard on whatever sound tries to come out.

“Hold still,” he says, grabbing my leg before I can move again.

His grip is firm. Not gentle. Not cruel either.

Just… controlled.

He starts unwrapping the bandage.

I force myself to watch.

Blood. Dried and fresh.

The wound is ugly. Not massive, but deep enough to matter.

Perfect.

Exactly what I needed.

“You’re lucky,” Enzo says.

“Am I?”

“Bullet went through clean. Missed the bone.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah. I feel real lucky right now.”

He doesn’t smile.

Doesn’t react.

Just cleans the wound like he’s done this a hundred times before.

It stings like hell.

I grip the edge of the bed, my whole body tensing.

“Try not to scream,” he says.

I turn my head toward him slowly.

“Try not to talk.”

Silence.

He finishes cleaning it and starts rewrapping the bandage, tighter this time.

I hiss under my breath.

“Pain means you’re alive,” he mutters.

“Wow,” I say. “Did you come up with that yourself?”

This time, he actually looks at me.

Really looks at me.

Long. Sharp. Measuring.

“You don’t act like someone who just got kidnapped, tortured, and shot,” he says.

“And you don’t act like someone who’s supposed to be intimidating,” I shoot back.

That does it.

His eyes narrow slightly.

There it is.

Finally.

“I don’t trust you,” he says.

Straight. No hesitation.

Good.

“I don’t trust you either,” I reply instantly. “So we’re even.”

He leans back slightly, crossing his arms.

“No,” he says. “We’re not.”

My heartbeat picks up—but I don’t show it.

“You were seen with them,” he continues. “Ukrainians don’t just pick random girls to laugh and dance with.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah? And mafia guys don’t usually kidnap random girls either, but here we are.”

His stare hardens.

“You’re either stupid… or you’re lying.”

I tilt my head slightly despite the pain screaming through my body.

“Or, you made a mistake.”

Silence.

Heavy. Thick.

Dangerous.

For a second, I think he might actually hit me.

But he doesn’t.

He just watches me.

Like he’s trying to figure me out.

And failing.

Good.

“Rest,” he finally says, turning away. “You’ll need it.”

“For what?” I ask.

He pauses at the door.

Then glances back at me.

“For when he decides what to do with you.”

My stomach drops.

Damien.

The man who shot me like it was nothing.

The man whose eyes—

No.

I push that thought away.

Enzo opens the door.

Stops.

“One more thing,” he says without looking at me.

I wait.

“If you try to run again…”

“You won’t make it three steps next time.”

The door closes.

And just like that—

I’m alone again.

In pain.

Trapped.

But one thing is clear now.

They don’t trust me.

And honestly?

I don’t trust them either.

But if I want to get out of here…

I’m going to have to play this smarter.

Because next time?

I might not survive.