What the ever-loving fuck was going on?
My eyes adjusted to the bright light, allowing me to see my surroundings. I was in a private room in the hospital, with one chair in the corner and a TV on the wall. It was a rather modest room, if you asked me, but then again, when I did end up in hospitals, they usually had VIP rooms ready for me in advance.
What the fuck happened to me? The last thing I remembered was getting us out of the fire and passing out on some grass that tickled my nose.
Ignoring the pain this time, I pushed up and noticed my hands were covered in bandages. I furrowed my brows in confusion. I wasn't injured, so why would I even be in the room?
"You have second-degree burns on both of them. Some of it was painful to look at, really. You'll have scars, man, not to mention the smoke you inhaled," Vitya said from the doorway, as he stood there with Michael, both of them holding coffee mugs in their hands and wearing grim expressions. "Maybe those will teach you to actually include your family in your business next time you have a death wish." His voice was harsh and full of anger. S was an unpredictable killer and a sociopath, so endangering more people than necessary was out of the question. We both knew he would get no comment from me, so I focused on the information he had given me first.
I shrugged. "Won't be my first scar." Michael came inside, patted my arm, and sat down on the chair. Vitya kept glaring and just rolled his eyes.
"Seriously, babe, let it go. We all know how these things usually go."
Babe? Clearly, being in the States changed how freely they felt about displaying their relationship. "At least tell me you had a good fucking reason to exclude me?" Vitya continued.
I held his eyes with mine, as I steadily replied, "Yes." After a beat, he nodded and joined Michael in the chair by lifting him up and settling him on his lap. "So… how long am I stuck here?" I always hated hospitals, useless waste of time unless you had some serious injuries, and second-degree burns on my hands weren't something I considered serious.
Michael snorted. "They want to keep you for a week."
"I'm not staying here for a week," I growled, as they both lifted their eyebrows.
"Tell that to those doctors. We wanted to take you back to Russia immediately. Anton came here last night, but that Connor guy who thinks he is the king of the fucking world"—Michael's accent thickened when he was annoyed—"wouldn't let us. Said you had some unfinished business here. That true?"
I rested my head against the headboard. "Yeah." Closing my eyes for a second, the memories of seeing my brother for the first time came back and a familiar longing settled in my gut. I wanted nothing more than to go to him, see how he was, and have a conversation about our life.
However, I knew the risks I took when I agreed to endanger Kristina in this plan. One thing Damian never forgave was a betrayal, so a warm reunion with my brother was out of the question, but we still had unfinished business. "Where are those motherfuckers?"
"In FBI custody." My lips lifted in a half smile at the idea of the pain they would soon experience. The state could fucking have them to rot in prison, but not until we got our fill first.
"Good." To fully inflict what we always wanted on them, we both needed to heal, and even though Damian would hate my guts once he woke up, he'd never pass up the opportunity to get his final revenge.
Once it was done, I could go back to my useless existence in Russia with the knowledge that some broken things couldn't be mended.
Vitya cleared his throat, which made me frown, and I snapped my eyes open. "What?" Both of them had their attention on the door with their brows raised in disbelief. My head automatically turned as my body tensed.
Rosa stood there, wearing some kind of silky red dress, her dark hair in a ponytail, her eyes wide with shock. She held my cross in her hands, the one I had given her right before I left her at the park and rushed into the car to save Damian. Her eyes kept on blinking rapidly. "Well, hello," Michael said, amused.
Rosa ignored him. Then after a few seconds, she took a few steps toward the bed and stopped right in front of me. She lifted her hand and softly touched my cheek as her eyes roamed over my body and face in wonder. She frowned, noticing my bandages, and she asked softly, "Does it hurt?"
I gulped, too shocked at her presence and caress to answer, so I just shook my head in denial.
She ran her fingers over them, pressed the button above me for the nurse, and in a moment, a middle-aged woman wearing green scrubs appeared. "Yes?"
Rosa adjusted my IV drip, and replied, "The patient woke up. Could you page a doctor to check on him? He needs pain meds."
My mouth opened in protest, but she covered it with her hand, and I barely restrained myself from licking and biting the soft flesh. "We both know you are in pain, so cut the macho bullshit."
The nurse gave her a skeptical look, but Rosa hurried her, "Now." Clearly understanding it wasn't the fight she wanted to take on, the nurse promised to call the doctor and left the room.
"I'm Michael, by the way." His face spread in a wide smile, clearly enjoying her bossy nature.
"Rosa." Then she cast her eyes down. "Nice tattoo."
Michael lifted his left calf, which had a Siberian white tiger on it. "Well, thank you, honey. You into tattoos?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Nope, never wanted to have one. I can appreciate good art, though. I just prefer my skin not to be a canvas for it." Why were they having a stupid conversation over my bed when she came to see me? Despite the pain, my hand twitched with a desire to smack Michael and then choke him for taking her attention from me.
"Well, Dominic here has his whole body painted." And just like that, he was granted life again. I gave him a sideways glance and noticed his wink at me.
