Page 130 of Violent Pawn

Heart in my throat with fear, and in my hand ready to be crushed if a single hair on her head is harmed, I throw the car into Park beside the fresh tire tracks. Without a vehicle, there are way too many possibilities of what I’ll find inside—if she’s been taken or if she’s still here.

Unholstering my gun, I remove the safety and head for the half-open metal door, slowly peeking inside while raising the weapon—but lowering it at the sight of three bodies on the ground. All coated in blood, none of them moving.

It’s the middle one I rush to. The scrap of a woman who has so much strength inside her, she’s torn me open and made me a new man. Being strangled and having my limbs torn off would be gentler than the pain felt when rolling Anastasia onto her back.

Blonde hair dyed with as much red as her bridesmaid dress is stained with, and the straps are ripped off. Her face is swollen black, blue, and red while a slice runs down her arm and breasts, her dress parted to reveal the gushing wound. Her knuckles prove a fight well done, and a knife rests beside her.

“Fuck.” I tilt her head, pressing two fingers to her pulse, letting everything else shut off—the beat of my own heart, the deep-rooted echo of her agony, and every regret from last night—to listen for the proof she’ll be alright. “C’mon, Petrov. You can do this.”

A little knock to my fingertips pulls me back from the brink of my own death.

“You’ll be okay. You’re alive.” Palming her cheek, I brush aside the strands of hair that cling to her injuries, press a kiss to her forehead, and then turn my head to hear the gentlest intake of breath, using that little noise to seal the ache inside my chest. “You’ll be okay. Let’s get you out of here.”

Careful to move her, I slide my hands beneath her shoulders and knees. Blood transfers from her skin to my suit, but I’ll happily take it all—blood and injuries—if it could have protected her. If only I hadn’t left her last night. If she didn’t come after me, only to be fucking assaulted.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the ripping, icy tendrils of fault re-emerge after weeks of healing. No substance will make this better. Seeing her open her beautiful eyes again, hearing her curse at me, that’s what I need. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing for tonight.

My second biggest regret is finding her long after she took care of her captors. The souls that’ll burn in hell for harming her. Tucking her closer, I stop beside one, rolling him onto his side until his face is recognizable.

“Fuck.”

She needs medical help, so no matter my hatred over their insubordination, I keep walking to the warehouse’s exit.

In my head and heart, the fact of last night won’t be silenced—stronger than even the craving for liquor—that she nearly died. My ballerina almost never danced again. My Petrov could have lost her fire. My cara mia would never be around so I could tell her how much I love her.

My grip on her tightens until the gentlest whimper drifts to my ears. My steps falter, needing every other noise gone in order to hear hers. The little breath she takes as she turns her face into my chest and destroys everything but the senses attuned to her.

“Ne…”

“I’m here. I have you. You’ll be alright.”

“Did I…” Her lashes flutter. “Win?”

Despite everything, a smirk tugs at my mouth because even injured, my fighter remains exactly that. “You did. You saved yourself, like usual. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you and sorry I wasn’t here. I need you to rest now, okay? Rest so I can get you help.”

Help. Home. Hospital. Doctor.

I don’t fucking know.

“I was co…coming…” She flinches with her next cough, hissing as her cut side presses into my shirt. “Hurts.”

“I know, cara mia. I’ll get you help.”

My silent prayers being answered, Zeno’s SUV speeds into the area, tires screeching over the dried marks. Two dead men and no vehicle, which means there were more here. Those logistics fade with her next staggered inhale, though. Once she’s looked after, I’ll go hunting.

“Ana!” Vanessa throws herself from the car, stopping short of touching her friend when I protectively draw the fragile woman closer to my chest. Like an animal, my chest vibrates with the instinct to defend Anastasia from everyone and everything. She’s injured and is done caring for herself and needs someone else to be responsible for her. That someone is me.

Zeno comes up behind Vanessa, barely sparing each of us a glance before heading deeper into the warehouse to check the damage himself. Vanessa nudges me to the SUV, where she opens the back door and helps settle her friend.

Anastasia groans as she’s laid onto the backseat. Once inside the vehicle, I take her back into my arms and draw her close to my chest, cheek against my heart so she can hear for herself how she nearly killed me today, all without raising a hand.

Zeno returns and peels out, his phone dialling through the speakers. Distantly, I hear him instructing Elio to bring a cleanup crew and detailing what he’s pieced together. Then he calls one of our private doctors, directing him to the hospital because her injuries seem too severe for home care. And finally, Lev, catching him up on what’s happened and telling him to go to the hospital.

After hanging up, he meets my eyes in the rear-view mirror. “She fought by herself, and none of us fuckin’ knew. They were our guys.”

“At least you learned who stole from you,” Vanessa offers, sliding her hand atop his over the wheel.

“I’d be happy if it remained a mystery if it meant sparing her from that.” He stretches until she’s in his view within the mirror. “She’s not doing well.”