I’m still not breathing. Not able to stop the terror rushing through my veins.
“It’s a message,” Ravil says grimly. “Someone’s trying to scare you.”
I’m going to kill all of them. Every last person who threatened Story’s life. I turn and stalk off the roof, carrying Story like she’s the only thing keeping me alive.
“I’m okay,” she murmurs in my ear, even though she still clings to me as tightly as when she flung herself into my arms. “It just scared us. We didn’t know we couldn’t be hit.”
My swallow. I never want to put her down again. I carry her into my bedroom and pace in a circle with her.
“I’m okay,” she repeats. She leans her cheek against mine. “Your fever broke. Are you feeling better?”
I pace another circle.
“Put me down, big guy. I need to get dressed. Of course, I have no clothes to wear.”
I set her gently on the dresser and fish out a long-sleeved t-shirt for her to wear as she peels off her wet panties. She pulls the shirt over her head. The sleeves drape down over her hands, making her look like a rag doll. She laughs and takes her arms out of the sleeves, then pushes them up through the neck hole, bringing it down below her shoulders. She then ties the long sleeves under her breasts, creating the appearance of a strapless shirt-dress. It’s bohemian and beautiful. I gather her back up in my arms and kiss her forehead.
“I’m all right,” she says again. “Come on, let’s get back out there to talk about this.”
I know she’s right, but I’d rather keep her locked in my bedroom.
Indefinitely.
I’m also extremely distracted knowing she’s wearing no panties beneath my t-shirt. My hand covers her ass as we walk out together, my fingertips tracing the curve of her buttocks.
She tips her head up to me and gives me a secret smile.
Everyone’s in the living room when we get there. Sasha has also changed into her clothes, and Lucy’s standing with baby Benjamin over her shoulder, patting his little diapered butt. Her expression is tight. I’m sure the high-strung lawyer doesn’t like any of the bratva violence coming close to her child. It was the reason she tried to hide her pregnancy from Ravil in the first place. Ravil only won her over after abducting her and holding her as his prisoner.
“We were too late. The team found the office building they were shooting from, but the shooter had already escaped,” Maxim reports to me.
Fuck.
I catch Sasha’s eye and finger Story’s makeshift dress and then point to her with a questioning face.
“Story needs some clothes!” Sasha guesses. She beckons to Story. “I meant to get you some when we got out. Come with me.” They disappear into the bedroom together, and when they emerge, Story has a pair of leggings underneath my shirt and a pink cropped hoodie sweatshirt to cover her arms. She looks every bit the rockstar she is.
“Listen, I’m going to need to go and get some things if I’m staying here all week,” Story says.
Over my dead body she leaves this place. I shake my head.
Maxim and Ravil exchange a look. “It’s not a bad idea,” Maxim says, appealing to me. “We just bump up the plan by going to her apartment. It would be easier to control things there versus at a nightclub.”
Story looks at me.
I shake my head at her.
“Story wouldn’t necessarily have to go. The two of you could stay here, where they can’t touch you. We send a crew to her apartment to get her things. If we see anyone, we take them,” Ravil says.
I nod. I’ll agree to any plan that doesn’t involve Story. I pick up the paper and pencil still on the counter from before and write, It’s hard to see how that would work without me there. I hand it to Ravil.
He reads it aloud. “True. Then you come. We leave Story here. You’re the bait. It’s far more simple. We need to get this thing resolved immediately.”
“I would like to go, though,” Story says. “You know, to figure out what I need.”
I shake my head.
“Oleg, you’re being irr—”
I cut off Story’s argument with a slam of my fist to the wall beside me. I didn’t mean to show my aggression, but she’s had a gun pointed to her head and now bullets fired at her. There’s no fucking way I’m letting her walk into danger again when she doesn’t have to.
“Hey,” she snaps, her eyes flashing. Clearly she’s not afraid of me, which is a relief. In fact, she gets right up in my face—well, as close as she can get to my face considering how much shorter she is than I am—and points her finger. “Don’t do that again.”
I blink at her. I know I should apologize, but I also can’t promise it won’t happen again. I am fucking irrational when it comes to her safety.
“She has more guts than I do,” Pavel mutters.
“Right?” Dima answers.
“As if he’d ever hurt her,” Sasha scoffs. “You two? You’re a different story.”
“Story stays.” Ravil’s authority cuts across any more arguments. “Oleg comes. Maxim, arrange for back up. We’ll leave in one hour.”
“Not you,” Lucy warns, wide-eyed from the corner.
Ravil hesitates, his gaze flicking to his baby boy and his mother.
“Pakhan stays,” Maxim says, as if he’s the boss rather than Ravil. He knows Ravil wouldn’t choose to protect himself, though, and his marriage depends on sheltering their family from bratva violence.
I hate myself for bringing this violence upon them.
If I had any decency, I’d leave. Walk out alone, offer myself up to the thugs who want me and free everyone else—especially Story—from the danger I’m dumping on them.
But leaving Story feels like an impossibility. My life began the night I took her home. I woke up from the dead. Wanted to connect. To share.
And so I’m trapped now, between the need to keep Story and the need to protect her.
Story
I make a list of things I want from my apartment, and the guys leave.
I’ve seen some crazy shit in my life. I’ve watched my parents have the kind of fights that involved flying dishes and broken furniture. I’ve had to check my mom in and out of mental hospitals. I held my brother while he was on a bad drug trip. In middle school, my best friend slit her wrists, and I sat beside her at the hospital.
I consider myself resilient. It’s why I didn’t totally freak when I found Oleg shot and bleeding in my van. Or when I watched him kill my three attackers. I’ve built a high tolerance for trauma.
But right now, I’m about as keyed up as I’ve ever been. My stomach’s up in my throat, and I’ve never felt so helpless. The idea of anything happening to Oleg terrifies me.
I pace the length of windows that look out over the lake in the penthouse living room, too keyed up to even put my thoughts together.
Sasha watches me with sympathy. “He’ll be all right. They all will.”
I look over to see if she’s trying to convince herself. Her fingers are intertwined tightly and she’s also standing aimlessly.
But she says, “These guys are badass.”
“Yes.” I remember how efficient and skilled Oleg seemed to be at Rue’s. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s not alone.