The Man Bleeding in The Rain
The first thing Lena Moretti noticed was the blood.
The second was the gun.
The third was the man.
He was lying in the middle of the alley behind her apartment building, half-hidden beneath the flickering yellow light of a broken streetlamp.
Rain poured around him.
Lena froze.
Her fingers tightened around the umbrella in her hand.
For several seconds, she simply stared.
Don't get involved.
That was the sensible thought.
The smart thought.
The thought every survival instinct in her body was screaming.
She should turn around.
Walk back inside.
Call the police.
Instead, she took one step toward him.
Then another.
"Sir?"
No response.
Lena crouched beside him, keeping her distance from the gun lying several feet away.
His black shirt was soaked through, clinging to a body that looked far too strong to belong to someone this helpless. Blood had spread across his side, mixing with the rainwater beneath him.
"Oh my God."
She immediately reached for her phone.
"Don't."
The man's voice was barely more than a whisper.
Lena stopped.
His eyes opened.
Dark.
Sharp.
And frighteningly alert for someone who was supposed to be dying.
"Don't call anyone."
Lena stared at him.
"You've been shot."
"I noticed."
"You need an ambulance."
"No."
His hand suddenly shot out and caught her wrist.
Lena gasped.
Even wounded, he was strong.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist like a steel band.
"Listen to me."
His breathing was uneven.
"If you call the police, you'll regret it."
Lena looked at his blood-covered hand around her wrist.
"Are you threatening me?"
A strange expression crossed his face.
Almost amusement.
"No."
His grip loosened.
"I'm warning you."
Then his eyes closed.
"Hey!"
Lena slapped his cheek lightly.
"Hey! Stay awake."
Nothing.
She looked toward the mouth of the alley.
Empty.
Rain.
No cars.
No pedestrians.
No help.
Then she looked back at the stranger.
He was going to die.
And despite everything he had just said, Lena couldn't leave him there.
"You're going to get me killed," she muttered.
She slid one arm beneath his shoulders.
The man was heavy.
Extremely heavy.
"What do you eat?"
She struggled to pull him upright.
His head fell against her shoulder.
His breath brushed warm against the side of her neck.
Lena shivered.
Not from the cold.
She immediately pushed the thought away.
"Focus."
She somehow managed to drag him toward the back entrance of her apartment building.
Every step was a battle.
By the time she got him inside her small apartment, her arms were trembling.
She locked the door.
Then locked it again.
"Okay."
She dropped her soaked umbrella beside the door.
"Whoever you are, you're explaining everything when you wake up."
She cut away his blood-soaked shirt.
And stopped.
Her breath caught.
The man was covered in tattoos.
Dark ink stretched across his chest and disappeared beneath his waistband, intricate designs running over his ribs and shoulders.
There was a large black tattoo over his left pec.
Another curled around his shoulder.
His hands were tattooed too.
Not the kind of tattoos Lena usually saw on patients.
These looked deliberate.
Symbolic.
Dangerous.
She forced herself to look away.
"You're impossible."
She cleaned the wound.
The bullet had gone through his side.
Thank God.
It was still serious, but not immediately fatal.
Lena pressed gauze against it.
The stranger groaned.
"Sorry."
She looked at him.
"Did you just apologize?"
His eyes opened again.
Those dark eyes locked onto hers.
"You hurt me."
"You were already bleeding to death."
"Still."
Lena almost laughed.
"You're unbelievable."
His lips curved faintly.
It was the first time she'd seen anything resembling a smile on his face.
And unfortunately...
It made him even more attractive.
Lena immediately hated herself for noticing.
She continued treating the wound.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
The rain hammered against the windows.
The apartment smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee.
Finally, he spoke.
"What is your name?"
She glanced at him.
"Why?"
"I asked first."
"You haven't even told me yours."
His gaze remained fixed on her.
"Damon."
Just Damon.
Lena narrowed her eyes.
"That's it?"
"That's enough."
"Fine."
She returned to cleaning the wound.
"My name is Lena."
"Lena."
The way he said it was different.
Slow.
Almost intimate.
She looked up.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He closed his eyes again.
Lena watched him for a moment.
Then she noticed something.
His hand had moved.
His fingers were slowly closing around something beneath the edge of the couch.
A knife.
Lena immediately stepped back.
"You brought a knife into my apartment?"
Damon opened his eyes.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not stupid."
She folded her arms.
"You've got a gun, a knife, mysterious tattoos and someone shot you in an alley."
He said nothing.
"You know what?" she continued. "I don't think you're a very normal person."
"No."
His answer was so calm that she almost laughed.
"At least you're honest."
His eyes drifted over her.
Lena suddenly became aware that she was standing in front of him wearing a thin white blouse soaked from the rain.
She crossed her arms over herself.
"Stop looking at me."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You are."
"I'm annoyed."
"That's different."
"Much."
His gaze lingered on her face.
Something about it made her heartbeat accelerate.
Not fear.
Something much more dangerous.
Lena cleared her throat.
"You need to rest."
She stood.
Damon caught her hand.
Again.
This time, his touch was gentler.
"Lena."
She looked down at him.
"Yes?"
"If anyone comes looking for me..."
His expression changed.
The warmth disappeared.
His face became cold and unreadable.
"Don't tell them I'm here."
Lena swallowed.
"Who would come looking for you?"
He stared at her.
"My enemies."
A chill ran through her.
"And what exactly did you do to have enemies like that?"
Damon didn't answer.
Instead, he released her hand.
"Go to sleep."
She stared at him.
"In my own apartment?"
"Yes."
"And you're sleeping on my couch?"
"Apparently."
"You are incredibly arrogant."
"I've been called worse."
Lena walked toward her bedroom.
At the doorway, she turned.
Damon was already watching her.
Their eyes met.
For one strange second, the entire room seemed to become silent.
Then Lena looked away.
"Good night, Damon."
"Good night, Lena."
She closed her bedroom door.
But she didn't sleep.
Not even close.
Because she couldn't stop thinking about the mysterious stranger lying on her couch.
The man with the tattoos.
The gun.
The knife.
The warning.
And those eyes.
---
At 3:17 a.m., Lena finally drifted off.
At 3:31, the first black SUV stopped outside her building.
Then another.
Then another.
By 3:35, six black vehicles lined the street.
Men in black suits stepped out.
One of them looked up toward Lena's apartment window.
He touched his earpiece.
"Found him."
A pause.
Then he spoke again.
"He's alive."
His expression hardened.
"And he's not alone."
Inside the apartment, Damon opened his eyes.
He had been awake the entire time.
His hand reached beneath the couch.
His fingers closed around the gun.
For the first time that night, the wounded stranger looked genuinely afraid.
Not for himself.
For the woman sleeping behind the closed bedroom door.
"Lena..."
He slowly stood.
And whispered the words that would change her life forever.
"They found me."
