Fourteen : It Was Faster
1275 Words
The distant hum of engines grew louder, cutting through the night air as a convoy of black cars approached, headlights casting sharp beams across the scene. Luka recognized the men stepping out, armed and ready: the Novaks. They wasted no time, swiftly securing the perimeter, flashlights cutting through the darkness as search parties spread out, sweeping the fields and treeline for any sign of the driver. One of the Novak doctors approached, a heavy medical bag slung over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping over the scene as Matteo and Izzy were carefully helped out of the car, Matteo’s grip on her unconscious body tight as he cradled her close.
The doctor reached out to assess him, but Matteo jerked back, his face a hardened mask. “Not me.” He snapped. “Her. Help her.”
The medic nodded quickly and set to work examining Izzy’s injuries, his hands gentle as he carefully assessed the bruises forming on her cheek and neck. Luka hovered nearby, eyes locked on her closed lids, watching the shallow rise and fall of her breathing, the faint bruising that marred her pale skin making his chest tighten. She’d been hurt. Despite being just feet away, he hadn’t been able to protect her, hadn’t seen the threat coming.
Looking away sharply as his eyes burned, Luka turned his attention back to the twisted car, now upright again and resting on all four wheels. Blood still thrummed in his veins as he opened the door, peering inside. Glass crunched under his boots as he climbed in, eyes scanning for his phone among the scattered debris, sifting through the shards. His fingers finally closed around the familiar weight and he pulled his phone free, wiping dirt from the cracked screen as he stepped back from the wreckage. Without hesitation, he tapped through his contacts, putting the phone to his ear as it began to ring.
“Luka?” Tony’s surprised voice answered over the sound of music in the background. “Everything good?”
“Have our men meet me at the location I’m sending you. I want everyone.”
“What happened?”
Luka’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking back to the abandoned car, still smoking on the side of the road. “We were ambushed. They hit us hard and are long gone. I don’t care who they were working for. I want them found.”
A tense silence followed as Tony processed his clipped words, the music quieting as he no doubt left the bar. Luka could hear him whispering to someone, issuing orders.
“Understood. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Make it five.” Luka snapped, cutting the call as he slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“You should get that looked at.” Damon’s voice cut through the dark, unexpected and close.
He turned, finding the Novak hitman standing just a few feet away, his eyes on the fresh cut along Luka’s arm, the one still trickling blood.
“It’s not fatal.”
“It’s bleeding.”
“We’ve both had worse, Novak.” Luka chuckled humourlessly. He paused when he caught Damon’s frown and smiled. “Right. You’re a Salvatore, not a Novak. My bad.”
Damon’s frown deepened, dark eyes narrowing as they met Luka’s. “Get the wound looked at.”
“Later.”
“Now.”
Luka’s smile dropped, irritation flashing in his eyes. “You’re not my doctor.”
“If you’re bleeding, you’re a liability.”
“Liability? I can handle a scratch, Salvatore.”
“Get it looked at.”
“No.”
Damon took a deliberate step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. “You’re being reckless.”
“And you’re being insufferable.” Luka shot back, crossing his arms defiantly. “I’m fine.”
“Doesn’t look like it.” Damon countered, gaze dropping pointedly to the blood still trickling from Luka’s arm, the arm of his jacket entirely drenched through.
“Noted. Still not listening.”
With a huff that sounded suspiciously like amusement, Damon reached out without warning, snatching Luka’s good arm and dragging him toward the doctor with unyielding strength. Luka immediately dug his heels in, grunting as he fought against Damon’s iron grip, his annoyance flaring.
“Are you f*****g insane?” He hissed, struggling against Damon’s hold. “It’s a goddamn scratch!”
“Then it shouldn’t take long to fix, should it?” Damon replied smoothly.
Luka’s jaw clenched, his free hand pressing against Damon’s shoulder in an attempt to break the hold. “If I wanted medical attention, I’d ask for it!” He spat, voice low and furious.
But Damon kept moving, pulling Luka along as if he weighed nothing. Luka became acutely aware of the eyes around them, the stares from the Novak men who’d paused mid-task, their expressions mixed with shock and confusion. It wasn’t every day they saw one of the De Luca men—let alone their best hitman—hauled off like a stubborn child after all and Luka was very aware of the show he and Damon were currently providing. He shot them all murderous glares.
“Keep watching and I’ll remove your eyes.” He warned darkly, voice dripping with venom.
A few of them quickly averted their gazes, muttering to themselves, but several others continued to stare as though witnessing a miracle unfold, as if the sight of Damon hauling Luka off like it was nothing was as impressive as the Red Sea parting. Luka felt his frustration mounting, his pride stinging, but Damon’s grip remained steadfast, unyielding until they finally reached the medic. The man glanced up as they approached, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes as he took in the sight of Damon’s hardened expression.
“See to his arm.” The Novak hitman instructed, his voice leaving no room for debate.
The medic’s gaze shifted to Luka, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What? The De Lucas can’t handle a little scratch?” He taunted, earning a few quiet laughs from the men nearby.
But their amusement was short-lived. Damon’s icy glare cut through the air like a knife, silencing them instantly in a way Luka’s own had failed to. His gaze lingered on the medic, as though daring him to press further and the smirk vanished from the mans face as he quickly cleared his throat.
“Right…” He muttered, his tone brisk as he stepped forward, grabbing supplies from his kit. “I need to see it properly so take off your shirt.”
“Fine.” Luka scowled, feeling a twinge of embarrassment at the unnecessary fuss.
He began unbuttoning his shirt, fingers fumbling slightly with the tiny buttons when suddenly Damon’s hand shot out, stopping him mid-motion. Before Luka could even ask what his problem was, Damon reached into his jacket and pulled out a small blade and with one swift motion, sliced through Luka’s sleeve, the fabric falling away to reveal the wound. The cut sleeve fluttered to the ground and everyone around them fell into a stunned silence, eyes widening as they took in the scene. The medic stood frozen, caught somewhere between surprise and confusion while the surrounding men exchanged uneasy glances. Luka’s jaw tightened as he glared at Damon, feeling the heat of humiliation creeping up his neck.
“Was that really necessary?” He hissed, voice low and furious.
Damon’s face remained impassive, though a hint of something dark flashed in his eyes. “It was faster.” He said simply.
Luka glared furiously.
- Writer
