“What was?” I ask, stepping over the threshold.
Even the bedroom has a tiled floor. It’s cold and more like something you’d expect in a tropical holiday home. At least it will be easier to clean than carpet.
Jeremiah is face-up on an oversized bed at the center of the room, the covers crumpled at his feet. A gash across his neck stretches from ear to ear and is the obvious cause of death.
Blood spray is all over the fucking place. Alyona and this assassin woman clearly went at it before her defeat.
“The nun girl,” she stammers. “She was in the club and went home with Adam yesterday.”
I trace the fight by the blood patterns and end up in the en-suite bathroom. A young woman is lying in a pool of blood, with too many stab wounds to count. They’re scattering her entire torso. Her nose is bent at a crooked angle. She looks really fucking young. Too young.
I don’t recognize her.
When we decided to go into The Games to get Alyona, we knew there would be risks afterwards, so we researched Yuri’s lapdogs to keep watch for them. This girl wasn’t one of them. And, in the end, no one ever came.So why now after two years?
“Rodion.” Zahkar’s firm tone has me poking my head around the door frame. Alyona is now propped against him, her hand covering her stomach. Fresh blood tips over the edges of her hand.
Dammit.
Racing toward her, I scoop her legs up and cradle her into me, walking her to a leather couch across the corridor from her room.
Placing her down gently still elicits a cry from her lips. “I’m sorry,liybimaya.”My love.
Zahkar’s hurried footfalls sound around the house, collecting everything we’ll need to patch her up.
Lifting her hand away from her stomach, I grasp the fabric of her shirt and peel it up her body, ignoring the fact she’s not wearing panties. There’s a nasty slash just beneath her ribcage that’s pulsing blood with every breath she exhales.
“Here.” Z hastily hands me a soaked cloth.
Dabbing it against her wound, I inspect the rest of the exposed flesh. She’s bruised, and apart from the cuts on her arms, there’s nothing to cause real worry. She’ll be sore for a week or two but will heal.
“We’re going to have to stitch that,” I forewarn them both, gesturing at her abdomen wound.
“Just do it,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “We need to hurry up.”
“A real doctor will do it without leaving a scar.” Z runs a hand down his face, the tick in his jaw fluttering as he drinks in her nakedness. It’s predatory to still want to look at her when she’s injured and helpless. But we’ve never pretended to be anything else.
“I’ll use freaking superglue if one of you doesn’t hurry the hell up,” she snaps, sounding more like her usual self. “I don’t give a shit about scars.”
It’s then I notice a thin silver scar just above her bikini line around five inches wide. I’ll have to remember to ask her what caused it later.
Z absentmindedly touches the lightning bolt scar on his face. It’s much smaller now than when he was a boy. I adore his scars.I’ll adore hers too.
“Glue then?” she huffs when neither of us speak.
“That’s not a bad idea,” I agree, even though Z looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm at the suggestion. “The cut is a clean slice.” I lift the cloth to show him.
“Great,” she pants, wincing when she raises her arm to point. “In the cabinet over there are the arts and crafts stuff.”
“You have an arts and crafts cabinet?” I snort in disbelief.
“I like to add glitter to stuff,” she deadpans.
I smile for the first time since seeing her. Of course she does.
Z fumbles through the boxes inside the cabinet before returning with the glue. “Are you sure about this?”
“Just do it,” Alyona snaps, ever the impatient royal.
