The mobster pushed my head gently between my legs. “Breathe.”
“Fine,” I ground out, because he was right. “Tell me everything.”
Kiril took the chair next to me, patting my head absently. “They went to take care of a problem.”
I groaned.
“Are you going to be sick?”
“No,” I growled. “Talk!”
“They went to take care of a problem.”
I bit my tongue hard not to yell at him for repeating himself. Stars danced across my vision, and I squeezed my eyes closed tightly.
“It was over pretty quick, all things considered. But we took some casualties. And a few of the guys are in pretty rough shape,” Kiril muttered. “Including Ivan.”
Breathe in.
The clock ticked on the wall.
Breathe out.
“How bad?” I lifted my head and took another gulp of air.
“He’ll make it, but he’s lost a lot of blood. He kept cussing out the doctor we use.” There was a note of pride in Kiril’s voice. “He wanted doc to take care of Rayko first, but other than a shattered femur, some head trauma, and a nasty gash, Ray’s fine.”
If that was fine….
Oh, shit. I was going to puke.
Kiril shoved my head back between my legs. “That’s it, breathe.”
I considered strangling the bastard. If I could do it, I would have.
“I just…thought you would want to know,” Kiril murmured.
It’s just mob business.I was rusty. This kind of thing happened to my father’s men. Once to my brother. But I always knew long after the fact. Never in the moment. So, in a way, this was a first. Turned out, I hated being kept in the loop.
I was handling the news splendidly.
Forcing back the churning in my gut, I straightened once more. “Get me water. Then take me to him.”
Kiril hesitated. “He’ll be home in the morning. Probably.”
“Kiril!” I barked. “Now.”
The mobster held up his palms. “Okay, okay!”
He hurried to the cupboards, banging them open and muttering in Bulgarian. I understood the choicer words.
“Left of the sink,” I instructed. At this point, it would have been faster to get my own damn cup. But I didn’t trust my legs to hold me.
Kiril snatched a cup, filled it from the fridge, and handed it to me. “Um.” He fidgeted with his shirt. “What about Brady-Boy?”
I choked.
Kiril hissed. Surging forward, he thumped my back.
