I turn and swing.
My fist connects with his jaw in a satisfying hit. The pain that shoots through my hand? That is decidedly not.
“Oh my—damn it—what are you made of?” I hiss, shaking my throbbing knuckles.
He barely flinches. But I do see the red mark beginning to bloom along the side of his face, and that makes me feel better, if only marginally.
His mouth curves slowly.
Not that I expected the man to cry.
But the second he sees me cradle my hand, the expression vanishes, and something unhinged flickers across his face, shifting from protective to territorial to downright dangerous.
It feels like I am finally seeing the Bratva butcher people whisper about.
Before I can step back, he pulls his hoodie off in one movement.
“What are you doing—”
I don’t get to finish, as my world flips upside down.
He hauls me over his shoulder as though I weigh nothing, throws his hoodie over my arse, how thoughtful of him, and starts walking.
“Put me down!” I yell, pounding his back. “You barbaric beast!”
He ignores me and keeps going.
We barrel down the stairs, out of the building, across the courtyard, my hair hanging loose, all the blood rushing to my skull, my temper boiling with every passing second.
By the time he shoves through the doors of the infirmary, I am seconds away from taking a blade to his spine.
“I need a doctor,” he barks. “Right the fuck now.”
I feel a rush of cold air as a door swings open, and then, finally, I am set down on an examination table.
My vision swims for a second and I steady myself, blinking hard.
He stands in front of me, his arms folded, staring at my hand as though it is a mortal wound.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I demand.
But the infirmary doctor sweeps in before I can continue, her face creased with confusion.
“What is the emergency? I was told it was, good lord, life or death.”
She looks me over, taking in the fact that I am sitting upright, perfectly conscious, not bleeding, or dying in any capacity.
Then she turns to Markev.
“You said it was… urgent.”
He doesn’t look away from me. “It is. Check her hand. Now.”
The doctor glances at my hand, then lifts her eyes to Markev. “I was attending to a patient who is actually in critical condition. The nurse can look at Miss Bellanti.”
She shakes her head and takes a step back.
The next instant, a blade is pressed to her throat, and she stops dead in her tracks.
