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My breathing is labored, a gritty crackle burning low in my throat each time I inhale. Blood is congealing in my hair where Timur hit me, and I’m sick to my stomach from oxygen hunger and the effects of the anesthesia. It would be a relief to lie here and succumb, and if I only had myself to consider, maybe that’s what I’d do.
But no. The thought of Lilyana propels me forward despite the excruciating pain that courses through my body. I roll onto my front again and pull my elbows to my sides, bracing below my chest so I can push off the ground. Slowly, I begin the painful journey back to the world of the living.
Each step is a torment, each movement a struggle. My clothes are torn and grimy, and every breath feels like fire in my lungs.
I can’t stop. I won’t stop until I find Lilyana and know she’s safe.
I have no sense of time as I stumble back to the road, following it toward home. My mind is a haze of pain and determination; how far I’ve come, how much farther I have to go—none of it matters. I will keep going or die. My wife needs me.
Be alive, Lilyana. Don’t let him hurt you. Don’t give up.
Finally, I reach the familiar streets of my neighborhood. My heart sinks as I realize it may be too late, but I have to do this. I have to find my wife.
I turn onto my street, my body trembling with exhaustion and pain. If I can just make it home, there’s a chance she’ll be there, but if not, I can get to my guns, my spare phone. Call Sasha and Avel, raise every loyal hand from Long Beach to Yonkers, and—
The sight of her almost brings me to my knees. Lilyana, blood-streaked and scared, is running for her life, with Timur in pursuit.
“Arman!” she screams. “Is that you? Oh my God. Please don’t let him hurt me!”
A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins, and I find a new gear, pushing to reach her.
I need only keep going long enough to take out Timur and save her. I don’t care if I die. Lilyana is worth a million of me, and it’s my job to protect her. I’ll do it while there’s breath in my body.
“Hold on, Lilyana!” I yell. “I’m here, baby girl. I’ve got you.”
46
Lilyana
It can’t be him. That’s it. I’ve lost my mind.
Arman sure looks like a ghost. Blood runs down his face, and his suit is thick with grime. He’s soaked to the skin, his hair matted to his head, and his eyes flare with a distilled, visceral rage. He breaks into a run, stumbling as he reaches me, and I clutch desperately at him, unable to comprehend what’s happening.
He’s real. Larger than life, back from the dead, and the first thing he did was come back for me.
He grabs my face with both hands and stares into my eyes. “I love you. Now get behind me.” He pushes past and strides away toward the man who may yet kill him.
“You thought you could walk into my life and steal it?’” he shouts. “I warned you, Timur. You’ve hurt my wife?” His voice rises into a roar. “My wife? You’ll suffer for this. I swear to God!”
Timur is in bad shape, too, but my blood runs cold as I size the two men up. Arman is definitely at a disadvantage. Am I going to watch the man I love be murdered for the second time in one night?
“Arman, don’t!” I cry. “You don’t need to protect me this time!” Anguish shakes my words. “You can’t!”
Too late. Timur covers the last few feet with a short sprint and powers his boot into Arman’s shin. Arman’s knees buckle, and he can’t move quickly enough to avoid Timur’s knee as he brings it up to his chin.
“I’ve suffered enough,” Timur says, kicking Arman in the ribs as he rolls on the ground. “All those years with my goddamn Mom telling me I had to find my father and kill him. She murdered your bitch mother, but it wasn’t enough.”
Arman groans and spits blood. Timur grins in satisfaction and steps back, locking his eyes on mine.
“You watching this?” He delivers another blow, and Arman curls his body into a fetal position, clutching his chest. “Wait; I have an idea. Maybe I let him watch while I slit your throat, whaddayasay?”
The blade in his hand shimmers in the light, rainwater dripping from the tip. Arman twists painfully and tries to focus on me, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to speak.
I could run. I should. But there’s no way I’m leaving my husband this way. Whatever happened to him, he fought Death bare-handed to get back to me. I’m not letting it go down like this.
“I’m not afraid, you cowardly fucker.” I square my feet and face him down, forcing the words out so my voice doesn’t quake. “You murdered Arman’s father—your father—and almost killed my brother. Then you tried to take out Arman, but he’s still here. So out of three, you only successfully took one life. I’ll take those odds.”
Timur’s lip curls. “You smart-mouthed little cunt. Someone ought to have taught you some manners.”
