It was from Davýd. A second later, Lebedev screams.
I don’t turn around. Davýd needed the win more than I did. My priority is to make sure Molly is safe. He’s handling the logistics.
The scream cuts off abruptly, replaced by the sound of his body hitting the floor. It’s over. Molly clutches the collar of my jacket tighter, burying her face against my throat. She’s trembling so violently that I feel every shiver through my chest.
“You’re safe.” I press my lips to the top of her head. “You’re safe now,moya krasavitsa.”
She sobs harder.
I carry her through the warehouse as my men flood in silently. They see the blood, see the bodies, see me holding her, and they give us our privacy. They move into cleanup mode without further instruction from me.
Davýd emerges near the exit, wiping blood off his hands with a rag. His face is blank and controlled, but I see a small smile on his lips.
“That’s what he gets for breaking the code,” he says quietly.
I nod once.
He glances at Molly, who’s still shaking and clinging to me, and his expression softens. “Take her home,brat.”
I adjust my grip on her. “We’re going.”
We move out into the cold night. I feel her breath against my collarbone, small and uneven, but steady. She doesn’t say a word, and I don’t expect her to. I can’t imagine how traumatized she must feel after everything. Even though she’s out now, it may take her a while to get back to herself.
That man was going to hurt her. I knew that the first night I found her, and I know it now. He was a predator deprived of his prey. He deserved nothing less than the brutal way I murdered him, and I just wish I’d done it weeks ago. Maybe we never would have ended up here.
I force myself to think of something else, anything else, because otherwise I might scream. I think about how this is all my fault. I almost lost her because of this life. I almost had to bury the only woman I’ve ever loved.
I carry her toward the SUV, her fingers still gripping my jacket like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. She’s crying so hard now that she can’t breathe between sobs. I lift her closer, murmuring softly to her in Russian, comforting her the way I’d always hoped to be comforted as a child but never was.
“Ty v bezopasnosti,” I whisper. You are safe.
That’s the truth for now. The monsters are gone. The man who attacked her in that alley is finally dead. Lebedev is dead.
There’s no reason to keep her locked up in the penthouse anymore.
There’s no reason for her to stay.
That’s the most terrifying thought of all.
26
MOLLY
Somehow, we make it back to the penthouse. I remember nothing about the ride. It’s all a blur except for Samuil holding me tight. He still has his arms around me when we arrive, and I feel him maneuver me out of the car. It’s all I can do to stay conscious. I want to throw up, or faint, or curl into a ball in my bed and stay there for days.
When he carries me into the penthouse, my body starts shaking so badly he has to hold me in a vise grip.
“It’s okay,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re safe now. You’re home.”
His words sound like they’re coming through a glass wall. Even though he’s right next to me, he sounds a million miles away. The words bounce around my head, but they don’t really mean anything. Safe. Home. They’re just sounds.
He sets me down gently on the couch. It’s such a contrast to how he looked in that warehouse. His face was murderous.Hewas murderous. He shot Alex at point-blank range, and if I look at his face, I may just see blood spatter there.
It was horrific. Almost as horrific as being chained up to that wall, trying to breathe through my fear on that dirty mattress. Knowing what Alex wanted to do to me. Knowing his thoughts were filled with disgusting ways to torture me.
My breath stutters and catches, the edges of a sob rising in my throat. I hold it back. I don’t want to break down now. I’m afraid if I start, I’ll never stop. And it’s probably true. I feel like an endless cavern of pain.
Samuil crouches in front of me, his hands hovering without touching. They tremble faintly. I’ve never seen him look like this, not even during our fight, not even when we were screaming truths at each other that neither of us wanted to hear. His face is bare in a way that startles me, stripped of every ounce of composure he usually wears like armor.
