Page 76 of Enemy of the Heart

“They’re just jealous.” I grin up at him.

He slides a palm over my cheek and adjusts my head so I’m peering up at him. His lips find mine again, making my knees weak. The kiss is chaste, but it says everything words don’t.

Sean

“Fuck, I’m wired,” Jace mutters as he drops into a blood-splattered chair. He runs a hand over his head as he props a foot on the coffee table. “I feel like I could go head-to-head with a mountain lion and win.”

“That’s your adrenaline talking,” Viktor comments, striding into the room with a bottle of clear liquid dangling from his fingers. He thrusts it toward my best friend, his torso now exposed to reveal streaks of blood across his chest and back that leak from his apparent gunshot wound. He doesn’t seem all that worried about it, though. “Here. This should help. It’ll bring you down enough to get a couple hours of sleep.”

He’s been on the phone with both his cleanup crew—who are coming tomorrow—and the Russian authorities to tell them this was Bratva business and not to get involved.

Mercer looks exhausted as he drops another soldier on the heaping pile in the corner. Tacky blood is smeared over his neck and arms. The gash on the outside of his shoulder is still seeping so much that nearly his entire arm is bright red.

His onyx hair is wet-looking, and it’s not from fucking hair gel. Not that I’ve fared much better. I’m covered in scratches and blood from my buzzed head down to my boots. I’m looking forward to a nice, hot shower.

There’re two more piles outside. “That’s the last of them.”

He falls onto the stained couch dramatically, and I take the seat on the other end.

It’s a damn miracle we survived that. They had everything they needed to take us out: the numbers, the surprise attack, the intel. The only thing that saved our asses was that they underestimated engaging two professional killers, a weapons expert, and two best friends hellbent on not dying tonight. It was a close call, though. Too close.

“Where did you get that?” Lou asks, glancing up from her examination of the SIG Sauer M17 she pilfered from one of the dead soldiers.

“I found it at the back of the cupboard. The one over the oven.”

Jace pops the top and scrunches his nose when he sniffs the contents.

“Huh, I didn’t realize that was here.” Louhi pulls a face and shudders as she picks up a Beretta M9. She inspects it carefully, empties the clip, then shoves it into her pants. It takes everything in me not to snort at the ridiculousness. Like she can’t afford to buy a thousand handguns from Viktor.

She looks as though she’s breathing oxygen for the first time whenever she’s in possession of a deadly weapon. I’ve never seen someone smile more than Lou does with a gun in her hand. She looked incredible tonight, pulling triggers and giggling while she did it. Not prettier than when she was telling me she loved me, though.

“Uh, does vodka go bad?” Jace wonders as he takes a long swig from the glass bottle. He blanches, and I wonder if he regrets waiting for an answer before tasting it.

Viktor drops into a seat and dabs at the wound below his clavicle with gauze. “Maybe after fifty years or so. It has a long shelf life.”

“When did you buy it, Louhi?” my best friend asks.

She shrugs, her attention still on the various handguns. “I don’t like the implication that I’m fifty.” The corner of my mouth lifts. “I don’t remember purchasing it, though, so it might’ve been here when I bought the place.”

“If I get sick, I’m going to be using your bed as a trash can,” Jace tells Viktor.

He lifts a blond eyebrow. “Might I suggest using a toilet like an adult.”

Jace glares back at him. “Just for that, I’ll wait until you’re in bed before I empty my stomach.”

My head drops back against the cushion as Lou’s tight, toned body falls into the vacant seat between me and her brother. She tucks herself into me, and I wrap a hand around her shoulders, my blood tingling when our skin touches.

“You’ll be waiting a while,” Louhi tosses out. “Viktor never sleeps in bed.”

Mercer sniggers as he reaches for the bottle from Jace and tilts it nearly upside down before shaking his head like a dog.

“Why don’t you sleep?” I question. It strikes me how easy the conversation is, like we’ve all been friends for longer than we have.

Viktor smirks as he continues to bandage himself up. “I sleep, just not in bed.”

“Do you even have a bed?” Jace wonders, and I groan. He’s sporting a long, vertical cut in his forearm and another small puncture in his side that he must’ve gotten after we were separated.

“I have a bed,” Viktor confirms smugly. “It’s reserved for…entertaining.”