I would find them. And I would make sure none of them ever walked again.
The grim edge of my fury sharpened as we cut through the curve in the road, headlights sweeping over the ridge where the forest thickened. And then I saw him. Timofey was slumped against the base of a rock shelf, one hand pressed to his side, jacket torn, shirt soaked through with blood. His gun hung loosely from his other hand. He lifted his head when the lights hit him, squinting against the glare.
“About time, asshole,” he muttered, in classic Timofey fashion.
I was out of the SUV before it even fully stopped.
“Let me see.”
“Don’t baby me,” he grumbled, even as he let his hand drop.
The wound was bad, the cut going deep into his skin. A gash along the ribs, long and messy from being stabbed by someone who was either unskilled or panicked, or simply wanted to hurt without killing. My jaw locked. This would need tending to at once.
“You’ll live,” I said. “Unfortunately.”
“Touching,” he smirked weakly.
I grabbed his arm, slung it over my shoulder, and hauled him upright. He winced but stayed conscious. Situations like these were not foreign to us, and Timofey had been through his fair share of wounds up until now. There was nothing a Chernykh could not get out of.
“Who were they?” I asked, as the guards opened the back door so I could put Timofey inside the car.
“No idea,” Timofey said, “But they spoke Russian.”
I stilled.
Russian. They were clearly not American or local, which meant that they were not random men. They could be the same men who had kidnapped Ilana. My suspicion almost tightened into certainty.
“It’s either this group of kidnappers, who I believe are in the area these days, or the new Russian family is getting bold,” I muttered.
Timofey snorted. “Or bored.”
I didn’t smile.
I helped him inside the SUV, barked an order for one guard to scout the ridge while the rest stayed alert, then climbed in beside my brother. As the car turned back towards the house, I glanced at my phone again, realizing there were a lot of missed calls from Ilana’s brother. I deleted the number without a second thought. She was safe with me and was under my protection. And it was going to stay that way.
No one else needed to know more than that.
Not even her family. If they couldn’t protect her before, I hardly doubted they could protect her now.
The night thickened around the SUV as we sped back, danger in the air, blood on my hands, and a storm building in my chest that had nothing to do with the men who had attacked Timofey. And everything to do with the woman who was waiting at home. After all, she was about to get her very first introduction as my wife.
We reached back the house within minutes, but getting Timofey inside was a controlled mess of blood, curses, and half-limping arrogance.Typical. He slung an arm over my shoulder as we crossed the threshold, muttering, “If you tell anyone I needed help, I will kill you.”
“You can barely stand right now,” I replied dryly. “And let’s not forget I am stronger than you and a better shot.”
“Yeah, but I will die trying.”
I snorted at his absurd remark and guided him into the living room. Dimitri and Abram, my guards, rushed towards us, but I waved them away until I needed one to grab me some gauze and alcohol.
“Get me the first aid box, gauze, alcohol, clean water, and towels.”
Timofey dropped onto the couch with a hiss, pressing a hand to his ribs. I had tended to enough wounds in my life, but it had not made it easier. Looking at blood gushing out of someone’s body always made me turn the other way.
“You sure they did not accidentally leave the knife in?” he asked.
“Obviously,” I said. “Otherwise, you would be screaming much louder right now.”
He grinned. “Maybe I like screaming.”
