Chapter161 – Just a bullet
She turned and ran. When she reached her room, she slammed the door shut and pressed her back against it, breathing hard, her heart thundering in her chest.
Sliding slowly down to the floor, she wrapped her arms around herself, shaking.
Atticus was gaining on Clarissa when, out of nowhere, a horse charged in from the side, nearly colliding with him.
He yanked hard on the reins and swerved just in time to avoid disaster. When he turned his head, he spotted Massimo on a black stallion, riding parallel to him on the right.
A flash of suspicion flickered in Atticus’s eyes. What the hell is he doing here?
But there was no time to deal with that now. Clarissa was in danger.
He dug his heels into the horse and surged forward.
Ahead, Clarissa’s mare was still in a frenzy, crashing through underbrush and snapping small trees like twigs.
“Clarissa!” Atticus’s voice boomed behind her.
Clarissa glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear—and when she saw him riding toward her, a wave of emotion surged in her chest. “Atticus!” she cried, her voice breaking. “The horse—it’s out of control!”
She was trembling. Pale-faced. And all she could think in that terrifying moment... was him.
Atticus’s gaze locked onto her, and the sight of her terrified expression stabbed straight through him. “Hang on! I’m coming!”
Clarissa clutched the reins with both hands, trying not to fall. One wrong move and she’d be thrown to the ground.
Atticus urged his horse to close the distance. Just as he reached her side, he rose to stand on the saddle, muscles coiled tight with focus. Then—with a leap—he launched himself through the air and landed hard on Clarissa’s runaway mare.
“Atticus!” she gasped, breathless.
“Hold on tight.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, steady and sure. Then, with practiced ease, he uncoiled a rope from his waist and looped it around them both, anchoring her body to his.
With one hand he snatched the reins from her and tried to rein the horse in.
But the animal’s eyes were bloodshot, its head slick with sweat—and blood. Something wrong.
Atticus narrowed his eyes. “What the hell happened to this horse? Who picked it for you?”
Clarissa, still dazed, answered faintly, “Lawrence… But he’d never hurt me. The horse was calm earlier—it was the gentlest one.”
Atticus scoffed darkly. “So I step away for five minutes, and you start cozying up with other men?”
“Now is not the time for your jealousy!”
“I’m dead serious,” he muttered, fingers tightening at her waist.
“What are you doing?”
“This horse is done. Hold on to me.”
He’d hoped to tame the beast, but it was too late. They were approaching the cliff’s edge, fast. If they stayed on, they’d both go over.
Atticus was just about to leap off with Clarissa in his arms when a loud crack split the air.
A gunshot.
The bullet slammed straight into the mare’s head.
The horse collapsed mid-stride with a horrific scream, its body skidding violently across the ground.
Clarissa screamed as they were thrown from the saddle, momentum hurling them toward the cliff.
Atticus twisted midair and wrapped himself around her, shielding her from the impact as they hit the earth and rolled.
They landed just feet from the precipice.
But their fall didn’t stop. Atticus reached out and snatched a thick vine growing over the cliffside, halting them both just in time.
Dangling over the edge, he held Clarissa in one arm and clung to the vine with the other.
Above them, on the cliff, a figure emerged.
Massimo. Gun in hand.
Atticus looked up, cold fury in his eyes.
Massimo raised the pistol, aimed directly at him, and pulled the trigger.
The shot rang out.
Pain exploded in Atticus’s thigh. Blood sprayed into the air.
“Atticus!” Clarissa cried, her voice sharp with panic. “Are you hurt?!”
Her body rigid—terrified to move, knowing her weight was already burdening him.
Atticus gritted his teeth. His grip didn’t falter.
Massimo smirked down at them. “Word is, you're hard to kill,” he drawled. “X, someone wants you dead. Let's see if you're as indestructible as they say.”
He cocked the gun again and pointed it at Atticus’s head.
Atticus smiled—dark and defiant. “You’re not worthy of killing me.”
And then, without warning—he let go. Clarissa screamed. They plummeted together.
Massimo stood at the edge of the cliff, eyes narrowing as the two figures vanished into the chasm below. "Troublesome bastard," he muttered, lowering his gun.
Down below, Clarissa and Atticus plunged through the air, crashing into the cold river with a violent splash. The shock of impact tore the breath from Clarissa’s lungs.
Atticus kept his arms locked around her, kicking against the current until his hand caught a root by the bank. With sheer strength, he pulled them both to shore.
Clarissa collapsed onto the muddy riverbank, coughing and gasping for air. As soon as she caught her breath, she turned—and froze.
Atticus lay sprawled beside her, his leg soaked in blood. Crimson flowed down his thigh, pooling beneath him like a blooming flower of death.
Her heart seized in her chest. “Atticus!” She scrambled toward him. “Oh my god—your leg!”
He gave her a smile, pale and still somehow teasing. “It’s just a bullet.”
“Idiot!” Her voice cracked with helpless fury. “Why are you still smiling?!”
Atticus chuckled softly. “Because you’re here.... I need to get the bullet out.”
Clarissa’s hands trembled. “I—I can’t… I don’t know how.”
“I’ll do it,” he said, his voice dropping. “Don’t worry. I can handle it.”
He pulled a small tin of powdered hemostatic herbs from his pocket and swallowed it dry. “The rest of the meds were washed away in the river,” he added. “I’ll need you to gather fresh ones.”
He listed several medicinal herbs by name. Clarissa’s mind whirled.
“I… I only know two of those.”
“That’s enough. Go. I’ll wait for you.”
She ran.
Branches lashed at her arms. Thorns tore her sleeves. Her hands bled from scraping through underbrush. But she didn’t stop.
Fifteen minutes later, she returned—sweating, scratched, her clothes caked with mud.
Atticus had his knife clutched in one hand. “If you’re too scared, don’t watch.”
Clarissa knelt beside him and shook her head. “I’m staying.”
He nodded once and without hesitation, plunged the blade into his thigh.
Clarissa flinched—but she didn’t look away.
With surgical precision, Atticus dug out the bullet in a matter of seconds. Blood gushed immediately, staining the riverbank.
“Shit,” he hissed.
Clarissa pressed the crushed herbs into the wound with shaking hands, but the bleeding barely slowed. Her palms were slick with his blood. Her chest tightened with panic.
“Why won’t it stop?!” she cried. “Atticus—this isn’t working!”
He looked at her, his expression gentle, voice weakening. “Clarissa… if I don’t make it—”
“Don’t you dare.” Her voice cracked.
Her entire body was trembling. Her hair stuck to her face in wet strands, and she looked ghostly pale. “You’re not dying. You hear me? You are not dying. I didn’t raise you to just give up.”
She pulled off her coat, then stripped off her blouse, ignoring the chill that bit into her skin. She tore the shirt into strips and started binding the wound. The moment it touched his leg, it was soaked in red.
Atticus’s head slumped back against the rocks, and his eyes began to flutter shut.
“Atticus!” Clarissa caught him before he slipped sideways. Her fingers found his cheek, his skin cold and clammy. “Stay with me!”
Through the haze of blood loss, he looked up at her. His voice was barely a whisper. “Clarissa… whether you believe me or not… I really love you.”
“Of all times to say that—” Her voice broke into a sob. “You’re such an idiot.”