D's lips quirk. "John okay?"
"Yeah, the old man’s fine. Couple broken ribs. He's high as a kite on whatever Dr. Tits McGee is giving him. Getting discharged tomorrow."
We fall silent.
My fingers still on his chest, feeling each breath.
His eyes lock onto mine, intense.
My throat tightens.
Fuck. What now? There's no reason for me to stick around, is there?
I break eye contact, clearing my throat. "So, about this Skull Collector-"
Before I can finish, D's face contorts. He starts coughing violently, his whole body shaking. Shit. I lunge for the water glass, a sharp pain ripping through my abdomen. I can't hold back a hiss.
D's eyes narrow, zeroing in on my wince. "You seen a doctor yet?"
I scoff, trying to mask the discomfort. "Please. I'm fine. Worry about your own ass, tough guy."
He opens his mouth to argue, but a knock cuts him off. The door swings open and - sweet baby Jesus.
A maid straight out of a Playboy centerfold slinks in. Tits defying gravity, ass you could bounce a quarter off, carrying a tray like she's about to break into a striptease.
"You've got to be shitting me," I groan. "What, is this place run by Hugh Hefner's horny ghost? Did they raid a strip club for staff?"
The maid blinks, all doe-eyed confusion. I wave her off. "Just leave it there, Bambi."
She casts a nervous glance between me and D, set the tray down and scurries out. I turn back to D, rolling my eyes. "I swear, this clinic's more silicon valley than medical facility."
D chuckles, then winces. "Careful. Laughing hurts like a bitch."
"Yeah, well, maybe next time don't play human shield," I snap, but I'm already leaning in, adjusting his pillow. My fingers brush the nape of his neck, and I linger a second too long.
His hand catches mine, rough and warm. Before I can react, he tugs me closer. My breath catches as his lips brush mine, gentle but insistent. For a moment, I forget how to think, how to breathe.
Then reality crashes back in.
What the fuck are we doing?
52
Dimitri
Poshol na khuy!I limp through the halls, a bloody mess, snarling curses under my breath. Fuck the pain, fuck everything. The hidden meeting room waits at the bottom of this fucking mansion.
My body’s a fucking mess, but worse is to lay down for weeks without seeing Wren.
I need a drink.
Or ten. Anything to drown out these thoughts, this… whatever the hell it is I’m feeling.
The door creaks open. I drag my sorry ass inside, gritting my teeth against the pain.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,mudak,” Erik drawls, sprawled in his chair like he owns the place.
I grunt, easing into my seat. My shoulder throbs, a constant reminder of Elena’s parting gift. Three weeks, and it still feels like yesterday.
