His fingers trembled as he punched in the numbers, Volkov’s gun finally at his temple, letting him know that Volkov was on our side—for now, at least.
“Suka.”
The strangled-out word came from beyond the door. Bill visibly recoiled, his hand slipping on the keypad. It flashed red, emitting a buzz, and he swore under his breath. Weheld still as he attempted it again, and this time, the keypad beeped and flashed green.
We tore into the room, dragging Bill with us so he had no chance to escape. The first thing I noticed was the huge man sprawled face down over a chair that had been upended on the floor, and then I saw the blonde hair spilling everywhere, strands coated in crimson.
“Nova!” I threw myself across the room, tearing the man away from her. I didn’t care where he landed or what happened to him. The only thing that mattered to me was the woman lying there, one arm chained to a chair with her legs taped together. The woman who was far too still. Her skin was paler than I’d ever seen it, her eyelids were blue, and dark contusions were blooming on her face and throat.
No. No, no,no.
Ryker cried out, a sound I’d never heard him make before, dropping down next to me. His knife clattered to the floor as he took his sister’s face in his hands.
“Nova,” he whispered brokenly, and something inside me cracked wide open. I gently placed my fingers on the bruised skin of her neck, holding my breath until I felt the faint pulse beneath my fingertips.
“She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive,” I repeated until I believed it, until Ryker looked up at me, his eyes wide and hopeless.
“What?”
“She’s alive.”
His lip trembled, and he bit down so hard on it that he pierced the skin, a bead of blood appearing instantly.
“She is alive?”
I tilted my head to meet Volkov’s icy gaze. It was only then that the room came back into focus, and I took in the two menthat he’d single-handedly managed to incapacitate. They were handcuffed together, their arms, legs, and mouths wrapped in electrical tape, and as they stared at us, I noticed with a detached satisfaction that their eyes were bulging with fear.
Wrenching my gaze away from the two people I wanted to hurt until they regretted every single fucking finger they’d dared to lay on Nova, I returned my attention to Volkov. “She’s alive, but she needs medical treatment.”
“We will get it.” He strode for the door and then paused, turning back to me. “Attwood. Thank you. You saved my life today.”
I nodded, unable to speak. Fucking hell. I blinked rapidly. My vision was going blurry.
A loud pounding came from overhead, followed by shouts. Volkov lifted his gun, peering around the corner, but then he relaxed. He called out something in Russian, and a moment later, a crowd of people burst into the room, Thorpes and Volkovs, and—my dad.
“Dad.” My voice was nothing more than a croak, but he heard me. His eyes met mine, and he immediately crossed the room to us. I could barely see him through the tears that were now obscuring my vision, but I felt the warm grip of his hand on my shoulder, and I clearly heard his words.
“It’s okay, Jay. It’s over now.”
44
NOVA
When my eyes opened and a crystal chandelier came into view rather than the cracked plaster of my uni room ceiling, it took me a moment to work out where I was. I was in my bed at the manor. How had I ended up here?
I groaned, struggling to sit upright.
“Whoa. Hold on a minute.”
An arm steadied me, carefully sliding another pillow behind my back so I could prop myself up.
“Priya?” I blinked at Jay’s sister, and she smiled.
“How are you feeling?”
“Um…” I stretched my body out, noticing the bruising on my wrist. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt, although maybe that had something to do with the tube coming out of my arm, attached to an IV drip. “Okay? I think?” Bloody hell, my voice was raspy. I supposed that was a side effect of someone trying to strangle you.
“Good. My dad sedated you as a precaution, and when it was clear that most of your injuries were of the more superficial kind, he left you in my hands.” She smirked atme. “Your father urgently needed him to make sure certain people stayed alive. Someone did a number on Igor Volkov. They made quite a mess of his mouth, or so I heard.”
