Sergei is a dead man—nothing said or done will change that.
When Roman’s worldly eyes fail to subdue me, he uses words. “Think of the repercussions of this with your father. Sergei is family. He may not have the Popov name, but he has the blood.”
“I don’t care if he has the blood of a Popov, his disgrace will not be tolerated! You don’t disrespect me and not suffer the penance for your poor judgment.” Blood gurgles in Sergei’s throat when I yank his head back far enough his close-to-death eyes can lock with mine. “You were warned I’d slit your throat if you touched her. Unlike my brothers, my threats aren’t idle.”
I’m about to charge, sentence, and execute Sergei for his crimes when the faintest plea stops me. “Don’t.”
It didn’t come from Roman. It came from Justine, who’s slumped on the floor, shuddering through a massive surge of adrenaline and fear.
When I stare at her in shock, confused as to why she’s pleading with me to give Sergei a second chance when I’ve already given him many, she says, “Two wrongs won’t make a right.”
Realizing there’s only one person in this room capable of stopping me, Roman joins Justine’s campaign. “Listen to Justine, Nikolai. She doesn't want this.” He lowers his eyes to Justine. “Tell him this isn't what you want.”
When he nudges his head my way, Justine returns her eyes to mine. They’re still full of fear, but she’s no longer in fear for herself. She’s worried about me. “I don’t want this.” Her strength doesn’t surprise me, I saw it in her eyes in under a second, but what she says next sure does. “No woman is worth a fracture to the order, remember? You said that only an hour ago.”
My blood blackens, frustrated she took my comment as literal, but I’m also determined to show her differently. “He hurt you.”
Red waves topple down her shoulders when she shakes her head. “No, he didn’t. Look at me; I’m fine.”
There’s barely a scratch on her, but my mood is too hostile to realize that’s a good thing. “He touched what is mine.”
“I know,” Justine replies, unfazed by the possessiveness in my tone. “But I’m fine. Look at me, Nikolai. I am perfectly fine. Sergei is the only one injured.”
My focus shifts from the fading of Sergei’s pulse to Justine when her attempt to stand has her wobbling as much as Sergei’s knees. Roman’s hands shoot out to settle her sways, but since her emotions are still fueled by fear, she shrugs out of his hold.
“Ahren...”
As the color from her face drains, she mutters again, “I don’t want this.”
When she careens toward the floor, I thrust Sergei out of the way. I catch her in my arms, but the movements of her head are too fast to avoid a collision with the floor. Her right temple hits the tiles with a sickening bang, fracturing a muscle in my chest I was certain died years ago.
As I pull Justine into my chest, Roman orders for Trey and Viktor to remove Sergei from the kitchen. He’s not foolish. He knows this is his one and only chance to save Sergei from the wrath of my blade—for now.
He won’t be so lucky when Justine wakes.
“Get Dok.”
My men part like the red sea when I walk through the trashed living room with an unconscious Justine in my arms. They look a little lost, unsure if they are coming or going. I can’t blame them. I’m a little stumped as well. I’ve never had the urge to protect someone as I do Justine. In all honesty, the need riddles me with guilt.
When I was ordered to place a hit on Rico’s wife, I never stopped to evaluate what Rico would go through. I was too busy gauging what my punishment would be if I failed to follow through with Vladimir’s request. I was already struggling to hide my true birthright from those who’d use it against me, so the last thing I wanted was to be placed on any team that wasn’t Vladimir’s.
It was only after witnessing Vladimir’s lack of grief about Rico’s murder did my thoughts change. Your teammates aren’t your family. It’s the people who walk through gates of hell beside you as they trust you’re not dragging them there for no reason.
“What happened?” Dok asks, following me into Justine’s room.
I place Justine onto her mattress, cover her with a knitted blanket for modesty, then pivot around to face Dok. “She hit her head when she fell.”
When he steps toward Justine’s bed in preparation to assess her, I puff out my chest, wordlessly warning him about the fury he’ll face if he so much as causes her to whimper. My mood is so erratic, I can’t trust a single groan won’t have me snapping necks. Considering Dok is one of the rare good ones, I’d hate for him to endure the punishment I plan to finish issuing Sergei the instant I know Justine is okay.
Dok’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down, proving he heard my silent caution. “I doubt she is concussed, but if she is, rest is the best possible solution. Is she running a fever?”
I shake my head. When I carried her to her room, her body was minus the heat that blazes through it whenever I’m in her presence. It’s partly responsible for the spike in my pulse. I love the way she responds to my touch, but Sergei’s filthy motherfucking hands ruined that.
“Then let her rest. We will reconvene when she wakes…” Dok’s words trail off when Roman enters the room. He doesn’t say anything. He merely runs decoy with the hope Trey and Viktor can carry a slumped Sergei through the living room without incident.
“Is he dead?” The low hang of Sergei’s head has me hopeful.
Roman waits for the front door of Justine’s apartment to close with Sergei on the other side before shaking his head. He shouldn’t look so smug. A stay of execution only delays the courts order. It doesn’t overturn it.
