I intended to keep that promise.
As the ambulance doors closed and we accelerated toward the hospital, as the paramedics worked with controlled urgency to stabilize her, I held Barbara’s cold hand and made another promise.
Sebastian Davis was a dead man.
Chapter 15 – Barbara
Consciousness came back in pieces.
First, the feeling of crisp white sheets against my skin, then the smell—antiseptic and something medicinal that made my nose wrinkle. Then the sounds—distant beeping, soft footsteps, the hum of machinery that spoke of hospitals and life support and people clinging to existence.
I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt like they’d been weighted down with stones. Everything hurt, like my body was wrapped in cotton and pain was trying to break through, but couldn’t quite manage it. Drugs, probably. Good drugs, given how floaty everything felt.
My throat was raw. Each breath came with a dull ache that radiated from my chest outward. And my head—God, my head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it and then put it back together wrong.
Was I alive?
The question seemed important, but I couldn’t quite remember why. Couldn’t quite remember what had happened to make me uncertain about something so fundamental.
Then a warm hand wrapped around mine. Callused fingers intertwining with my own, squeezing gently like they were afraid I might break if they held too tight.
I knew those hands.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against fluorescent lights that felt too bright, too harsh. The ceiling above me was white tile with those industrial light fixtures. Definitely a hospital then. Definitely alive, unless heaven had really terrible interior design.
“Barbara.”
His voice cut through the fog in my head. I turned toward the sound, and there he was.
Kirill.
Sitting in a chair pulled close to the bed, his blue eyes bloodshot and intense, his hair disheveled like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. He looked exhausted. Wrecked. And absolutely furious.
“What the fuck were you doing there?” The words came out rough, barely controlled. “Who did that to you?”
The questions hit me like physical blows, and suddenly I remembered. The abandoned building. Sebastian. The money. The push. The rock. The blood.
He killed her.
The confession. The truth I’d spent years not knowing. The horrible, devastating reality that my mother hadn’t abandoned me; she’d been murdered. By the same man who’d just left me to die in my own blood.
“He….” The word came out as barely a whisper, my throat protesting even that small sound. “He killed her.”
Kirill’s whole body tensed. I felt it through his hand still wrapped around mine, felt the way every muscle went rigid, the way his breathing changed. Controlled fury radiating off him in waves.
I couldn’t stay sitting up. Couldn’t maintain the distance. My body moved without conscious thought, leaning forward, seeking shelter. Seeking safety in the only place that had ever felt remotely safe in the past few weeks.
I buried my face in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around me without hesitation.
No questions. No demands for clarification. Just solid warmth and the steady beat of his heart against my ear and arms that held me like I was something precious instead of broken.
“You’re safe.” His voice rumbled through his chest, low and certain. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me now.”
The words broke something inside me. Some dam I’d been holding in place for five years finally cracked, andeverything came pouring out. Not tears—I was too dehydrated for that—just shaking. Trembling in his arms while he held me together.
His hand moved to my back, rubbing small circles with a gentleness I didn’t know he possessed. Slow, soothing movements that gradually brought my breathing back under control. That made the shaking subside from earthquake to tremor.
When I could finally breathe normally again, he slowly pulled back. Just enough to see my face. Just enough to reach for something on the bedside table.
