My legs about gave out as I lowered into the passenger’s seat. I slammed the door, cracking my neck. Daniil grabbed the keys and dove into the car after opening the hatch to put Kirill in the back.
Daniil started the car, and turned to Zane, seeing him sitting on top of all our bags with Grigori lying over his lap as he ripped his top off him. There was blood pouring from a chest wound, and I swallowed hard. “He needs a doctor.” His tone was calm and smooth, not ruffled and distraught seeing his son bleeding out. “Keep him alive until I get us there.”
“Fuck,” Zane muttered harshly, examining the wound. He talked to himself as our car reversed at breakneck speed from the alley. “Not near the heart, but the bullet didn’t exit. I can feel it stuck in his rib cage.”
My phone kept buzzing in my pocket, and I heard Grigori’s and Kirill’s buzzing in their pockets as well. I didn’t even need to look. I knew it was Ember. That woman had an uncanny knack for knowing when Grigori was in trouble.
Seven minutes after we left the alley, we came to a stop outside a red duplex. My heart was hammering, and I seriously wanted to throw my fucking cell out the window. If Grigori died—possibly from blood loss at this point—I wasn’t sure I could ever show my face to Ember again. I would owe her for the rest of my life. That’s how much I knew she loved the bastard.
Two men rushed down the duplex stairs, and unbelievably, through it all, Zane ripped the wig off Grigori’s head and tossed it in the front seat, apparently preserving Grigori’s man status even though he was bleeding out. The two unknowns opened the back door, and Kirill suddenly sat up, shouting in pain and holding his head. They stared at him like he was a wild creature.
Daniil shouted, “That one is fine for now.” He jumped out of the car and opened the door where Grigori was. “My son needs immediate attention.” He raised a gun with a silencer aimed at their heads. He stated calmly, even as he repeatedly blinked, “Understand?”
I peered out the window, watching silently.
Both nodded their heads, mumbling together, “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Daniil stepped back from the car, motioning to it with his gun. “Hurry the fuck up and get him inside.”
The two lifted Grigori out of the car, and the four of us followed with Zane and me on either side of Kirill since he wasn’t exactly steady on his feet. He had taken his shirt off—the woman’s shirt with fake tits—and was bare-chested as we hurried him through the front door. There was a long, thin hallway that went straight back along with a staircase leading upstairs where I could hear a lot of banging happening on the second floor. They had taken Grigori up there. To the right, there was a living room and an older man with a cane gestured for us to go in there.
We did, sitting down on a flat, timeworn yellow couch. Cane Man sat down in a chair next to the yellow eyesore, staring at us. He didn’t say anything but nodded to Daniil, who nodded back before dropping his head in his hands, staring at the floor. Instantly, I wrapped my arms around his stomach, and I felt myself start to shake just as much as my phone was doing in my pocket.
I choked, and I hated it, but I started to cry.
Daniil jerked against me when my tears hit his heated skin, and I was suddenly enfolded in his embrace. He held me tight and kept kissing my forehead as I clung to him. He held me as I shed relieved tears—my body shaking as adrenaline and shock left my system, crooning in a soft whisper, his voice keeping me grounded.
Zane was the only one who answered his cell while we sat for half the night, only using four worded answers each time Ember called, and then hanging up—the same thing repeated each time. Those words were: He’s still in surgery. ‘Surgery’ was a large jump for the place we were in, but Ember stopped calling Kirill and me, and focused all her energy on Zane.
Three hours later, Cane Man looked away from us, gazing outside the room’s entrance. I couldn’t see what he was looking at, but he glanced back, gesturing with his cane for us to go into the hallway. No one had come in to talk to us, or offer a drink, or even turn on the television. It had been silent except for the banging upstairs.
I think we all about passed out when we exited the room into the thin hallway and saw Grigori propping a wall up, looking haggard with a face that was almost as white as the huge bandage around his chest. The two men who had taken him inside had blood all over their hands and forearms but were standing next to him scowling. Grigori immediately stiffened at their expressions, and his face went even whiter with the movement. Right before his lids lowered, he threw up.
I had seen a lot of blood and guts in the past week, but there’s just something about seeing someone puke right in front of you. It was never a pleasant experience. It was like seeing someone yawn—it kind of sucks you in and makes you want to do the same. I swallowed hard and held my breath, keeping my eyes firmly away from his spew.
The bloody helpers had glanced at Daniil when we came to a dead stop, gripping Grigori by his shoulders as he heaved onto the cracked tiles. One of them starting speaking harshly and speedily in Russian, and I had to listen closely to catch it all. “Stubborn man won’t stay. Won’t take the drugs. He wants to leave.”
“What have you done for him?” Daniil asked slowly in English, studying Grigori.
The same man continued speaking, but also answering in English, “We’ve removed the bullet, and since we already knew his blood type, we were able to give him blood.” It was long past apparent that the Kozar family had used their services before. “We’ve cleaned and stitched up his wound, but he’s got two cracked ribs. His right ankle is also banged up prettily badly, but it isn’t broken. He needs rest and pain medication before he leaves.”
Grigori gasped, rasping, “I’m leaving, dammit.”
“Take the drugs,” Daniil stated calmly, walking over to him and helping him stand straight. “We’ll go if you take the drugs.”
Grigori eventually nodded. “Fine. Just get me home.” He barely made it to the car without falling down the stairs.
I mumbled under my breath, “Grigori, you are ridiculous. You should have stayed there.”
He snorted, his dad helping him into the car. “Ember would have been too worried. Plus, she’s supposed to be at her most fertile in two days.”
I stared. “You aren’t really going to try—”
“Beth, my sweet, get in the car,” Daniil growled, his worry finally seeping through.
I nodded. I guess now wasn’t the time.
Zane drove this time.
