“Are you okay?” My hands frantically skim over him, checking for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine. Except you’re squashing us and she’s clawing at me. Mind getting up?”
But when I try to stand, white-hot agony lances through my back and I drop back to one knee, groaning.
It’s enough room for Viktor to scoot out from under me. “Shit, Becks. Your back.”
“I'm fine,” I grit out stubbornly, even as sweat beads on my brow from the pain. “Nothing ibuprofen and muscle relaxers won't fix. Let's just get inside. Get Mouse checked over.”
A handful of people who’ve pulled over help me to my feet, asking if we’re okay. Someone asks if she should call 911, but Viktor waves her off.
Slipping an arm around my waist, he helps support my weight as we make our unsteady way back to my apartment.
Instead of the stairs, we take the elevator, the ride a painful blur. We barely make it through my front door before my knees give out and I collapse onto the couch.
Distantly, I'm aware of Viktor puttering around, opening and shutting cabinets before he’s back at my side, pressing a glass of water and some pills into my hands. “Here. Take these.”
I toss them back and drain the glass, collapsing against the cushions. Viktor settles next to me, reaching out to stroke Mouse, who's curled up on my chest, still shaking like a leaf.
As the meds kick in and exhaustion starts to drag me under, I roll my head to study Viktor's profile. Even now, with his hair a wild mess, he's breathtaking. The afternoon light filtering in through the windows gilds his finely boned features, his pale hair glowing like a halo.
Fuck.
He really is my knight in shining armor.
“Love you, Chaos.”
He glances at me, one eyebrow arched, but something bright and fragile kindles to life behind his eyes. "You don't have to say that just because I was almost roadkill . . .”
“I'm not.” Lifting my heavy hand, I cup his cheek. “Seeing that truck coming at you . . . I've never been so fucking scared in my life. The thought of losing you . . .” I swallow thickly, emotions clogging my throat. “I love you. I'm so fucking in love with you it terrifies me.”
His eyes widen, lips trembling, like he's almost afraid to believe me. And then, like a sunrise breaking over the horizon, a wide, stunning smile lights up his face. “Knew I could make you fall in love with me.”
Such a fucking brat.
But he’s mine.
My beautiful, brave, chaotic brat.
He turns into my palm, pressing a fierce kiss to the center. “I love you too, you gigantic, grumpy asshole.”
While I want to kiss him, the longer I fight to stay awake, the more the world spins, so I close my eyes. The last thing I feel before I succumb are his lips grazing my ear as he says, “Don't worry, Becks. I'll handle Noah.”
Chapter 19
Viktor
The door of my McLaren slams shut behind me with a satisfying thunk. I stride past the guards at the entrance of our family's abandoned factory, their deferential nods barely registering. Normally, I'd make some kind of spectacle of myself, maybe blow them a kiss or two just to see them squirm.
But not today.
I slip my psycho nun mask on as I make my way inside, the sleek crystalline material molding to my face like a second skin. It's my armor, my cape. When I wear it, I feel like the motherfucking Batman of murder.
I pause to double-check the bandage on my hand before tugging on leather gloves. Mouse just had to bite me earlier today when I tagged her.
Can’t blame her, even Beckett winced in his drug-induced sleep when I injected the tracker into him.
He was in so much pain, Urgent Care prescribed him some percs. So, when he took them with the muscle relaxer, my grumpy boyfriend was practically drooling in his sleep.
