Chapter 83
1497words
Kostya's car is sticky from blood. Mila is slumped against the passenger door, her eyes open but staring blankly into the ethers. 'How did the cops know?" she whispers.
I don't have an answer. My mind has been too tangled to puzzle it out yet.
We roll through the gates of my mansion. Every rocking motion of the car sends new waves of pain through my leg. I wiggle my toes to make sure my foot hasn't gone numb.
Kostya jumps out of the driver's seat. I see him through the window as he sprints to the front doors. I heard him on the phone as we sped here at top speed, so I'm not shocked when Layla, Dr. Helsan, and a few other staff and soldiers I left behind rush toward us.
I don't look at any of them.
I only have eyes for Camila.
She runs faster than the rest, her hair whipping behind her like a kite. Even at a distance, I spot the red rims of her swollen eyes. She's been crying. Her lips make the shape of a single word.
'Asher!" she sobs, ripping the door open beside me. Carelessly, she leaps at me in the seat, hugging me as new tears dribble freely.
'I'm okay," I insist, though I fight back a grimace. Her weight on me is making the bullet in my leg pull, digging into the muscle. The sharp pain had become a distant ache, but moving forces the gash to shift along with me.
Ignoring the pain, I hug her back. I'll suffer ten times this if it means I get to bask in her existence. One bullet is nothing compared to being deprived of the woman I love.
'You're not okay!" she gasps, leaning away to stare at my blood-soaked leg. 'What happened?"
'Got ambushed by the police. If it wasn't for Kostya …"
'You could've died!" she yells.
'But I didn't." My smile is bittersweet. 'I made it back to you. That's all that matters."
She stares, battling with her desire to hug me again or make space. The choice is taken from her when Layla grips her arm, guiding her away so the doctor can lean in.
Dr. Helsan looks down, scowling as he purges all semblance of proper bedside manner. 'You look like shit."
Chuckling, I hiss between gritted teeth as he and Kostya assist me out of the car. Layla and Camila help Mila out behind me.
We've got quite the audience. Every member of my staff is crowded on the front steps or at the windows.
'Easy now," Dr. Helsan says. He and Kostya start to carry me, but I refuse to be seen in such a state of weakness in front of the people who rely on me. Though it causes explosions of gut-rattling pain, I make myself walk stiffly to my front door without their assistance.
Everyone clears a path for me. There's an air of unease shrouding my return. They only have to look at my bloody leg or Mila's wounds, or the fact Katinka isn't with me, to know we failed.
The doctor is grumbling under his breath about me acting like a prideful fool. I appreciate that he keeps his voice low enough that only Kostya and I can hear him. When I reach a large, padded brown leather chair in the main room, I lower myself into it with a grimace. Colors dart behind my eyelids from the throbbing in my leg.
But Mila is in worse shape.
'It's cold," she gasps, breathing heavily. 'Why is it so cold?"
Layla makes room for her on the love seat. 'I'll get you a blanket."
'Take care of Mila first," I tell the doctor.
He gives me a long, uneasy stare. 'You've got a bullet in your thigh, Mr. Volkov."
'And she's got one in her shoulder."
'I'm the doctor," he insists. 'Let me decide how to triage this."
'Go over and help her. Now," I say crisply. 'Eto moi prikaz! I'm fine."
My eyes dart to Camila, who is coming toward me, her face shiny and pale.
Now that I'm here with her, death can't touch me.
Dr. Helsan shoves a pile of gauze and bandages into my lap, then jerks away with another series of offended mutterings. This time he doesn't shield them from everyone else.
Camila glances at him as she passes before she runs the last steps, dropping to her knees beside me. 'This needs to be cleaned right away. Give me the gauze."
Kostya bends close, offering her a small bottle. 'Here. To stave off any infection."
Her brow furrows as she squints up at him. To my memory, Camila has never liked Kostya. He has every reason to loathe her too, since she was the reason for his broken fingers. But for now, their enmity is forgotten. She gives him a quick smile and takes the antiseptic with a tiny nod. 'Thank you."
My brigadier rubs the side of his neck awkwardly before shuffling away to help with Mila. Camila cranes closer to my wound, dabbing at it with some gauze she's soaked with the antiseptic.
'The bullet has to come out."
'Camila."
'I can't do it. I don't know how."
'Camila. Look at me."
She does, though I get the sense she wants to go back to tenderly fixing me up.
I search her face, trying to make sense of where her head is. 'I'm sorry I couldn't bring your mother home."
Her brows make perfect little arches, her mouth going slack. 'Asher. I'm just relieved you're alive. I just …" She frowns, hanging her head so her hair covers her face. 'I can't lose you too."
'You won't," I reply grimly. My men were murdered. 'But the fact that the police were there means we have bigger problems." I jump, startled, as she packs gauze into the bullet hole, patching it until the doctor can handle it. 'Yannick found the upper hand. It was a trap."
'Madison." Her face contorts with regret. She's reliving her part in allowing Madison to get close enough to nearly kill me. 'He sent Madison knowing that she'd say the right things to get us to act."
'Yes," I agree. 'He planned this from the start."
'He couldn't have known you'd spare her."
'He knew you would." I adjust in the chair, going rigid as pain shoots through my body. Camila squeezes my knee with worry; I give her a reassuring smile.
'We have to tell Jonah about this."
I nod in agreement. 'Yes. For all we know, the cops are already on Yannick's payroll."
'I'll get my phone." She half rises, eager to jump to the next step. Camila wants to put the fact that I nearly died on the cold, dark street tonight as far behind her as possible. But the mind doesn't work like that. Running from our mortality won't help us take big, full breaths the next time danger comes around. If anything, it will make her more skittish than ever.
Before she gets away, I stand up, wrapping my hands around the smooth skin of her forearm. 'Wait."
She turns, ready to reprimand me for standing when I'm hurt. I keep pulling until she stumbles against me. When she lands in the chair, off balance, it jolts me with enough pain to leave me silent.
Luckily, I don't need my voice to kiss her.
Camila stiffens, but soon, she melts into my embrace. Her clothes will be stained by my blood, but neither of us cares. People are watching; we don't care about that either.
'When I was out there," I whisper against her lips, 'standing in front of the police with their weapons drawn, I was terrified."
'Who wouldn't be scared of dying?" she asks.
I shake my head.
'It wasn't death I feared." Stroking each cheek in turn, I rub my mouth across hers with a shudder. 'I was afraid that I'd never see you again."
Her arms circle my hair, my throat, my shoulders. She wants to touch every inch of me as if to confirm I'm not a ghost. I lift her arm, kissing the sensitive skin inside her wrist. She smiles until she notices the prayer beads she wears are stained red from my blood. 'Oh no."
'It's fine." I study the beads before plucking them carefully off her wrist. 'Let me wash them. I'll return them tonight."
'At this rate," Dr. Helsan grunts, appearing behind Camila, 'you'll be in the hospital from sepsis before you're in your own bed. Let me get that damn bullet out."
Camila smiles with chagrin, moving away so he can get close with his bag of tools. Her eyes remain on me as she backs away, as if she's worried that I'll vanish if she loses her line of sight.
Fingering the prayer beads, I consider them for a long moment.
Yes. I know exactly how she feels.
