He…put trackers on me? Plural?
Now, it makes sense that he could follow me so closely. I honestly thought the only tracker he could put on me was the one on my phone, but, of course, he’s always one step ahead. He must’ve slipped one in my jacket when he kissed me or something.
God, to think that I could’ve prevented this whole nightmare by checking my belongings makes me want to scream.
“Answer me.” Viktor shakes me again.
I twist my arm free from his brutal hold and raise my chin. “I told you to ask him when he wakes up. Our priority is to get him out of here before we’re attacked again.”
“Listen to me, Lipovsky—”
“No, you listen to me, Viktor! I know you’re suspicious and want to find out what happened, but I’m telling you that now is not the time. You need to channel your energy into flying him out of here, and only when he’s safe can we talk about this.”
He reaches an open-palmed hand to me, but before he can bash my head against the nearest surface, a nurse peeks from around the corner.
The smile on her face falters upon seeing the tension between us, but she still says, “The patient just woke up.”
My stomach dips, and an urgent need to cry hits me again, but I manage to rein in those emotions as I kill the distance between us and ask in a word vomit, “Is he fully conscious? Were there any side effects? Did he speak? Can he breathe without the machines? Did the doctor mention anything about his ability to fly? Will there be any complications due to cabin pressure?”
She offers me a kind smile. “You can ask the doctor all of those questions.”
Viktor and I basically jog to the room Kirill is being treated in. The bodyguards, probably mercenaries, judging by their aloof stance, are stationed by the door.
Through the glass, I catch a glimpse of the doctor and another nurse injecting something into Kirill’s IV drip.
His eyes are open, but they’re unfocused and look almost dead. Their intense blue color is dull and washed out, like the endless snow in Russian winter—lifeless and without purpose.
Heartless and…cruel.
My heart shreds to pieces as I continue to stare at him, but at the same time, I can’t control the euphoria I feel at the knowledge that he’s alive. I don’t care what happens as long as he continues to breathe.
Maybe he senses a presence or sees a shadow, but Kirill’s eyes slowly move in our direction.
I stop breathing as they clash with mine.
For a moment, it feels like we’re no longer in the hospital. Instead, we’re both standing in that field he followed me to. We’re surrounded by the bloody snow as he looks at me with the most terrifying expression I’ve ever seen.
One that says he’s my enemy now.
Without realizing it, I shake my head slowly.
I didn’t know, I say in my mind. I swear I didn’t. I would never do this to you.
But that changes nothing in his unwelcoming gaze or the small muscle that tightens in his jaw.
It hits me then; he doesn’t like me being here.
As fast as his eyes opened, they close again, and I think my heart falls to my knees due to the impact.
Soon after, the doctor emerges from the room, and I rush in his direction until I nearly collide with him. “What’s going on? Why did he lose consciousness again?”
“He didn’t lose consciousness, he fell asleep.” The doctor is apathetic and collected, and it reminds me of Kirill’s manner of speech.
There’s something seriously wrong with me. I’m even seeing him in other people now.
“Will he be okay?” Viktor asks.
“Yes. His vitals are almost back to normal, and he’s not suffering from an infection.”
It takes everything in me not to sag against the wall from gratitude. Instead, I keep my head in the game. “We need to fly him home. Now.”
“I don’t recommend that,” the doctor says. “It might put a strain on his injury. It’s better to wait at least forty-eight hours—”
“We don’t have one hour,” I cut him off with a nonnegotiable tone. “We have a medical crew who will take care of him during the flight, so I’m sure he’ll be okay. Viktor, have you gotten everything ready?”
The mountain of a man narrows his eyes on me. “If this is another one of your games, I swear to fuck—”
“This is about ensuring the boss’s safety. You and I might not get along, but we have that in common.” I face him, chin up. “I’m asking you to put our differences aside and focus on him. After we get to New York, you can do whatever you want.”
He still stares at me with apparent suspicion. Viktor has never trusted me, and he hasn’t shied away from voicing it to Kirill, but I really hope he sees that we’re on the same page here.
If we clash, we have no way of fixing this situation.
After almost a full minute of silent contemplation, he faces the men he brought and orders them in curt Russian to get the plane ready.
I still don’t breathe in relief, though. I can’t until Kirill is safely out of Russia and my uncle’s reach.
Even if temporarily.
I’m on edge.
The claustrophobic sensation I’ve had since the hill hasn’t disappeared. Not when we left Russian soil, not when we landed at the airport, and not even during the trip to the house, throughout which we were accompanied by most of Kirill’s bodyguards—Yuri and Maksim included.
I only manage to release a breath when Kirill is settled in the house clinic, and the doctor says that he only needs rest to make a full recovery.
Anna wails upon seeing him. Karina runs the length of the garden, trips and falls, but she stands up again and bawls her eyes out when she gets to his bedside.
Yulia watches from the doorway with her emotionless expression, then turns and leaves. As if the man fighting for his life isn’t her flesh and blood or her eldest child.
It’s like she couldn’t care less what happens to him. Hell, she might even wish for his demise.
Konstantin, however, comes over and holds his sister as she sobs and calls Kirill’s name.
The scene digs the black hole in my chest deeper until it’s hard to breathe or remain in the same place as all of them.
Despite not wanting Kirill out of my sight, he has many people who care about him by his side.
And I need to get out. Now.
I slip out of the clinic’s back entrance and stride through the side garden without purpose or destination.
When I’m far away from all the chaos, I lean against a tree and close my eyes.
The cold breeze slips through the barrier of my clothes and clashes against my bones. I inhale deeply, but I’m still unable to breathe properly.
I tap my chest as I stare at the cloudy sky through the tree’s leaves. But the longer I tap, the harder it is to breathe.
Something is trapped inside, and it’s impossible to let it out.
What am I supposed to do now?
I clearly chose Kirill over my family, and if I ever want to see them again—under peaceful circumstances, at least—I need to prove that he had nothing to do with the massacre.
But since this incident happened, I doubt he’ll ever trust me again. Hell, he might kill me.
What do I do then? Beg? Abandon ship and look for a new career?