Chapter 7 - THE SURGEON'S OATHTen minutes later, the medical suite was locked down tighter than a vault.
Reed stood guard at the blown-out double doors with an assault rifle across his chest, looking like an angel of death. Outside, the wail of distant police sirens began to echo through the freezing night air—local authorities finally responding to the gunfire reports, though Grant’s political leverage would ensure they stayed at the outer gates.
Inside, the harsh overhead lights illuminated a tense scene.
Kira sat cross-legged on the sanitized floor next to Caesar. The giant mastiff was resting his massive head in her lap, panting softly, his amber eyes heavy with pain and absolute, unquestioning trust.
Grant knelt beside them, holding a tray of surgical instruments, antiseptics, and suture thread.
"The bullet fragment is lodged about an inch deep near the scapula," Kira said, her fingers gently probing the wound with a clinical precision that left zero room for hesitation. Her hands, which had trembled earlier from exhaustion, were now as steady as stone. "If we don't get it out, the muscle will necrotic within twenty-four hours. He’ll lose mobility in his right leg."
"Do it," Grant said, handing her a scalpel. He looked directly into her eyes, his expression softening into something dangerously warm. "I trust your hands, Dr. Vance."
Kira gave a single, firm nod.
For the next twenty minutes, the room vanished. The syndicate, the millions of dollars in pedigree dogs, the mansion, the danger—all of it faded away. There was only the patient, the wound, and the sacred oath she had taken seven years ago.
With deft, practiced strokes, she cleaned the area, made a precise micro-incision, and used a pair of fine forceps to extract the jagged piece of metal. Caesar let out a low, deep rumble of discomfort, but he didn't flinch. He simply pressed his nose harder against Kira’s knee, grounding himself in her touch.
"All done," Kira whispered softly, applying a local antibiotic and stitching the skin with neat, professional knots. "You're going to be just fine, big guy."
She let out a long breath, wiping a strand of hair away from her sweaty forehead with the back of her wrist.
Grant handed her a warm towel and a bottle of sterile water. "You didn't run," he said quietly as she cleaned her hands. "When the doors blew, when the bullets started flying... you could have taken the service tunnel. You could have walked away."
Kira looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the bright clinical lights. "And left my patients? A mother dog who trusts me, a newborn puppy fighting for its first breath, and a dog who just took a bullet to save my life?" She shook her head. "I spent seven years running from fear, Mr. Mercer. I'm done running."
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Grant stared at her for a long, charged moment. The cold, untouchable crime lord facade completely melted away, revealing a man who had fought tooth and nail to protect a world that had tried to destroy him, yet had finally found someone who didn't fear his shadow.
"Good," Grant said softly, a genuine, breathtaking smile finally breaking across his face. "Because I don't intend to let you leave."
