I nod my head against his chest feeling strangely protected. Almost as if an unspoken rule has been passed between Kirill and I.
I try not to think of the carnage I left behind as we walk through the Estate.
I allow myself to only think about Rico. My husband. The man I chose. The man I love. The man I killed for.
And I know if given the choice I would do it all over again.
CHAPTER 45
Imogen
On Kirill’s private plane back home I stay with Rico in the provided bedroom.
I cleaned him up as best as I could. But my husband needs medical attention far beyond my knowledge of general care.
My heart twists painfully. The damage they’ve done in only a matter of hours. . . I can’t even begin to fathom if he would’ve been left down there for days or weeks. I shudder at the thought.
I brush his hair away from his heavily swollen and battered face and place the gentlest kiss on the top of his head.
“Your wound needs tending to,” Kirills says to me as he leans against the door.
“I’m fine,” I mumble. I can’t move my arm but I don’t care. Rico needs me right now. That’s all that matters. Turning my back on him I return to watching the rise and fall of his chest. He’s still breathing.
“Your stubbornness making you stupid again.”
I sigh inwardly. “Kirill, I really don’t have the energy to verbally spar with you.”
He mutters something in Russian under his breath as I hear him walk away.
Tenderly I hold Rico’s hand in mine, mindful of his cuts and bruises.
“You’ll get better soon,” I whisper to him. “I promise.”
“Once you get better first,” Kirill insists. He enters the room with a bottle of vodka, a cloth and a first aid kit.
I narrow my eyes. “What are you doing?”
“It’s obvious, no?” He shakes the medical kit and places the vodka on the bed. “I extract bullet and stitch you up. Make you good as new. How high is your pain tolerance?”
Unease blooms in my stomach. Nausea burns at my throat. I respond weakly, “Average, I guess.”
He grabs the vodka, flicks open the bottle and hands it towards me. “Large gulp then. This will be painful.”
“Why are you insistent on being kind to me?” I can’t understand it. This is Kirill Vasiliev. A man who shows no mercy let alone kindness to anyone.
“Does there have to be a reason?” He hedges.
I take a large gulp of the vodka and almost choke from the burn. My eyes water but I manage to swallow it down. “There’s always a reason.”
He hums thoughtfully as he opens the kit. He takes out a pair of pliers, a scalpel, stitches, gauze and a needle.
With an open palm he silently asks for the bottle back. I hand it to him. Without warning he pours the vodka over my wound. I yelp as I practically jump out of my damn skin.
“Seriously Kirill? Are you fucking insane?!”
He chuckles. “Worst part is over now. Take another swallow.”
I roughly take the bottle back and down another swig of the alcohol while glaring at him. The damn brute.
