Still, my big mouth opens. “Don’t ever agree with me for the sake of agreeing with me. I won’t be holding back if I think any of you are doing something wrong or doing something I don’t like.”
Aleksei talks in Russian, Santiago speaks in Spanish, and Kade uses his eyes to do his talking. They all seem fine with what I said. Very fine.
“Bebe, we need to go. We’ll talk to you soon,” Santiago says, his voice not as clear as it was a second ago, like he’s turned his mouth away from the phone. “Sorry, hang on.”
I stop talking, focusing on driving, and Kade stays quiet as we wait.
Before Santiago says another word, the call drops. Considering everything that’s happened, I’d have good reason to start freaking out, but my stress stays level. It might be that I’m distracted by my two patients or that I’m trying to survive driving in Russia. Or it might be simpler than that—I’m opening up and am more accepting that we’re better than okay.
Just because our call got disconnected doesn’t mean shit has hit the fan again. I mean, it could well be the case, but I’m going to start relying on faith, as opposed to constantly reverting back to being mistrustful of every person and situation. It’s just another layer of the massive metamorphosis I’m going through. Seriously, I better be the most glorious butterfly ever after this constant flow of BS.
Kade tries to call them both as I keep driving towards our destination.
“Each time I try, it says they’re out of service. Well, that’s what I assume it says. My Russian isn’t great.”
“I’ve got Google Translate set up on my phone. You could use that. Or just leave it,” I suggest as the navigation starts directing me into narrower streets.
Kade fumbles his phone, and I reach over to take his and mine from him, dropping them in the center console.
“I’m fine, I promise. They’re fine too. They’re both strong Alphas, but they also have Roshka. He won’t let anything happen to them.”
And again, the GPS interrupts, and the arrow on the map confirms how very close we are to our destination. Kade sits up and rests his gun on his lap, his gaze more alert as we make the final couple of turns to arrive where Aleksei sent us.
“There’s the driveway,” Kade says, pointing at a small gap in the yard.
If you weren’t looking, you wouldn’t notice because your focus is pulled everywhere else. The house is a livid lilac thatdemands attention, the fence is blue, which distracts from the house, and the yard is overgrown but not like it’s been allowed to grow wild; it’s manicured to the point it’s almost overwhelming. But it also matches the rest of the street. For as far as I can see, it’s a chaotic kaleidoscope of colorful houses and gardens.
This side of Russia is nothing like the Rublyovka district where the Petrov family estate is. It’s diametrically the opposite. Where Sergey lived, it was massive mansions and opulence. Here, it’s like a street of life-size gingerbread houses.
“Not what I was expecting,” I say, turning to Kade, who’s looking around wide-eyed too. “There’s the keypad. Don’t freak out on me, but I’m getting out of the car. I’ll keep the door open, and you’ve got a gun, so I’ll be fine.”
I’m probably more assertive than I need to be, but I don’t want him trying to climb out and be a gentleman to get the code. Which he would, because that’s Kade.
When he doesn’t argue, I get another unnecessary confirmation he’s off this game. He glares at me, though, before he gets hawk-like in the way he assesses the street.
Not leaving myself vulnerable for longer than necessary, I’m back inside the car before Nalla has sat up and the gate has finished opening.
I drive us through the small gap, then wait for the gate to close behind us. And once we’re past the gate, driving further into the property, confirmation that Aleksei spent time here becomes more obvious. The security precautions are a blatant indicator, but there’s also a sprinkling ofhim. An empty dog bowl is near a bench in the garden and a large tug rope tied to a metal bar cemented into the ground. But the most telling is a small handprint pressed into what would have been a concrete step years and years ago, withAleksei, heart,babushka, now embedded as part of a newly constructed wall on an extension.
I reverse into the car space and see his influence again. By the time our car is positioned, it’s completely tucked away. If you were walking past the front of the house, you wouldn’t know there was a car parked here.
Turning off the car, I reach over to Kade, brushing his hair off his face. “Don’t tell me you're fine. You look tired.”
He snatches my hand, bringing it to his mouth so he can kiss my fingers. “I am tired. My leg is throbbing like a bitch, but I’m fucking happy, Quinny.”
I cup his cheek fast before realizing I need more than a passing touch. Leaning over, I brush my mouth over his, only for a moment. And it’s enough for the both of us.
“I’ll be quick, but I want to set up a place where I can treat you both and you can also rest. The less movement once you’re settled, the better your recovery.”
“Be safe,” he insists.
“Of course.”
Climbing out of the car, I do a quick scan of the area before I go to the door and start unlocking the security measures installed, deadbolts, door locks, and even padlocked drop bolts. With access to the inside of the house, I search out a light switch, finding it where you’d expect.
Once the lights are on, I don’t go on a full expedition of the house, more focused on getting my patients inside as quickly as possible. Not far inside the house is a laundry and utility room set off the kitchen. It also looks suspiciously like it was designed to shift into a makeshift medical zone if needed.
Checking the cabinets lining one side of the room, what I find lends more evidence to support my thinking that Aleksei has used this area before when he was injured or looking after people when they were sick. Grabbing armfuls of towels and heavy mats, I set up a couple of makeshift beds.
