Ten minutes.
I stared at the gleaming silver scalpel in my hand, then down at the man thrashing on the concrete floor.
Blood was pumping from the ragged stump of his left arm in terrifying spurts, pooling around the toes of my worn-out sneakers.
Panic seized my throat, but beneath the sheer, blinding terror, four years of brutal medical school conditioning roared to life.
"I can't fix this with just a scalpel!" I yelled, my voice cracking as I dropped to my knees. The concrete soaked through my jeans instantly.
"I need a tourniquet! Hemostats! Clamps! Something, damn it, or he's dead in three minutes, not ten!"
Aleksei didn't even blink. He reached behind a stack of wooden crates and casually kicked a heavy black tactical trauma bag across the floor. It slid to a halt right against my knee.
I ripped it open. It was fully stocked. Military grade.
I didn't have time to ask questions. I grabbed a thick rubber tourniquet, wrapping it brutally tight just above the man's elbow to cut off the main arterial flow.
The man screamed, a guttural sound that made my ears ring, but the geyser of blood slowed to a sluggish weep.
My hands, though shaking like leaves in a hurricane, moved calmly. I clamped the severed arteries, tied them off, and worked frantically to stabilize him.
The entire time, I could feel a heavy, burning gaze on the back of my neck. Aleksei was watching my every move, silent as a ghost.
"Done," I gasped out, falling back onto my hands. My chest heaved as I looked at my forearms. They were completely painted in crimson, and the metallic smell of blood was suffocating.
"He's.….he's stabilized. He needs a real hospital, an IV, and a massive blood transfusion, but he won't bleed out here."
Aleksei stepped into my line of vision. He looked down at the unconscious man, then down at me. That irritating smirk returned to his face.
"Perfect," he purred, his smooth baritone voice sending a wildly inappropriate shiver down my spine. He crouched down, invading my personal space again, and wiped a speck of blood off my cheek with his thumb. "You'll do. Go home, blue eyes. Wash up. I'll come pick you up tomorrow."
I froze. My brain, completely exhausted, struggled to process his words. "Pick me up? What.….what are you talking about? No. You said if I saved him..."
Aleksei's hand moved lightning fast, his fingers wrapping around the back of my neck. His grip wasn't painful, but it was an undeniable display of absolute power. He pulled me forward until we were mere inches apart.
The amusement vanished from his striking gray eyes, leaving behind a dark, bottomless abyss that made my blood run cold.
"You are mistaken, Tristan," he whispered, his hot breath fanning across my lips. "You think you have much of a say in this arrangement. You don't. I own you now. I'll see you tomorrow."
I swallowed. "Yes…of course."
~
The next morning felt like a fever dream.
By the time I had dragged myself back to my apartment, it was nearly 4:00 AM. Shockingly, Haruta had spent the night out, a miracle, considering the guy practically lived at his desk.
I didn't have to explain why I looked like an extra from a horror movie. I stripped off my ruined clothes, threw them directly into the trash chute down the hall, and stood under the scalding shower for an hour, watching the water turn pink as it circled the drain.
Now, sitting in the middle of a brightly lit lecture hall, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, my mind was millions of miles away.
"Tristan!!!!!"
I jolted so hard my knee slammed into the underside of my wooden desk. "Ow! Fuck..."
"What's the problem?!!" Professor Higgins barked, glaring at me over the rim of his spectacles. The entire lecture hall had turned to stare at me. "I asked you to identify the primary complications of a severed brachial artery, Mr. Harrington. Are we boring you today?"
My face flooded with heat. "Nothing, I... I just... Infection, sir. Hemorrhagic shock and severe tissue necrosis if blood flow isn't restored or properly clamped."
Higgins narrowed his eyes but eventually nodded, turning back to the whiteboard.
I slumped in my seat, burying my face in my hands.
Focus. Just focus.
But I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I didn't see medical charts or textbook diagrams. I saw gray eyes. I saw dark, messy hair. I felt the phantom brush of large, calloused knuckles against my cheek. I smelled gunpowder and crushed raspberries.
He was a monster. He blew a man's brains out in an alley. He threatened my sisters.
But fuck, he was so attractive.
My breath hitched as the memory of his nose trailing along my jawline hit me out of nowhere. I think you're cute, he had whispered. A sudden and uncomfortable heat pooled low in my stomach.
I shifted in my seat, squeezing my thighs together. For fuck sake. I was getting a boner. In the middle of Advanced Trauma Care.
Fucking hell. Damn it.
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper, desperately trying to force the blood back to my brain. Your first proper crush in twenty-two years, and it's a fucking mafia murderer. You are sick in the head, Tristan.
I've had crushes before, sure. Fleeting thoughts about guys at the gym or actors on TV. But never this violently intense. Never this consuming.
A gentle poke in my ribs dragged me out of my gay panic.
"Are you good?"
I turned my head. It was Miley. She was another fourth-year med student, a pretty brunette with big doe eyes and a sweet smile. She was smart, kind, and completely, hopelessly in love with me.
"Yeah," I forced a strained, perfec smile, the golden boy smile. "Just didn't sleep well. Studying."
"You work too hard, Tristan," she whispered, a soft blush dusting her cheeks. "You should take a break. Maybe.….we could grab coffee after classes?"
I knew she had a crush on me. Everyone knew. And I felt terrible about it. I didn't like her back, I literally couldn't like her back, but in the suffocating world of my parents' expectations, having a pretty, smart girl fawning over me was the perfect cover.
It was sad. It was pathetic, really. But I played along.
"Maybe next week, Miley. I'm swamped right now," I lied smoothly.
She beamed anyway. "Okay! I'll hold you to it."
I turned back to the front, feeling like the scum of the earth. I needed an outlet. I needed to hit something incredibly hard before my mind completely shattered into a million pieces.
~
Later that afternoon, the rhythmic, booming echoes of volleyballs slamming against the polished wooden floor of the university gymnasium finally brought my heart rate down.
Volleyball was my only escape. I played for fun, but the coach occasionally dragged me onto the official university team for matches because of my spiking power.
I pushed the heavy double doors open, the familiar smell of floor wax and sweat washing over me. "Hey Coach, sorry I'm—"
"Gather 'round, boys!" Coach barked, blowing his whistle. "Listen up! We've got a new transfer student joining the roster today. He's got the height, and he's cleared to play. Make him feel welcome."
I trotted over to the group, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. I peeked around Stefan and Enzo, who instantly made my stomach churn with the memory of last night's locker room incident, to get a look at the new blood.
My feet stopped moving. My blood turned to absolute ice.
Standing in the center of the court, dressed in a sleek black Blackwell University athletic shirt and gym shorts that showed off his heavily tattooed legs, was a mountain of a man.
He had a sharp, rebellious mullet.
He had two silver lip rings.
And as his storm-gray eyes locked onto mine across the crowded gym, that the corners of his lips widened.
My jaw unhinged. The volleyball slipped from my fingers, bouncing uselessly onto the floor.
"A..." I choked on air, my voice nothing but a horrified, breathless squeak.
Aleksei?????