“The opportunity didn’t arise,” I say through panting breaths.
I take a couple steps away from my brother, and Annika rushes to me. I pull her tightly to my chest, and even with the blood splattered on my face, she grips my cheeks and kisses me. I return it with the same passion, not caring if I look weak in front of my men or not.
“Oh my God,” Annika breathes as drops her head to my shoulder, “I thought it was over. I thought he was going to kill you right in front of me.”
“I’m okay,” I soothe, letting her wrap around me as tight as she needs to. “I’m okay,devochka.We’re all going to be okay.”
For a second, I think it’s true. That we’re all out of danger. Then I hear a sickening wet cough as I’m suddenly shoved to the side.
“No!” Annika shouts as I flail, and I watch in slow-heart wrenching motion as the sound of another shot goes off and blood gushes from my wife’s shoulder.
My heart stops as I see Annika’s eyes roll up as she starts to fall, and as I reach for her, I pull out my gun and fire two shots into Pyotr’s head. Annika collapses into my arms as a cacophony of sounds explode. Yulian and Valya’s screams. My brother’s dead body flopping to the ground. Footsteps surrounding us as my men surge in to form a protective circle around Annika and me.
“Devochka,”I rasp, cradling Annika close with one arm.
My other hand is tearing off the sleeve of her shirt so I can see where the bullet went, and I panic as I’m unable to find an exit wound. It could be lodged in her shoulder, or it could have gone in at an angle and-
“No,” I say aloud, stopping the thought as I rise to my feet with my wife in my arms.
I’m not losing her like this. Not after everything we both just survived.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Annika
“Wake up,devochka.Come back to me.”
I hear Kirill’s deep voice by my side, but it’s different. His voice is deeper, thicker. It trembles slightly as he whispers the words over and over again.
Slowly I pull myself up from the dark space I’ve nestled in, and feeling hits me all at once. Pain, deep and ebbing, radiates from my shoulder and in my upper chest. It hurts so much I almost want to crawl back into the comforting blackness- but another feeling stops me.
It’s in my hand. Warm, firm, soothing, and I realize that it’s Kirill's hands, both of them, stroking and holding my hand.
“Come back,” he keeps whispering, “Come back.”
It takes far more energy than I ever thought it would, but slowly, I force my eyelids to lift, and soft white light pours in. I let outa whimper of pain as I feel myself growing more awake, and Kirill’s hands still and tighten around mine.
“That’s it,devochka,come on,” my husband urges by my side.
I struggle some more, and when I’m finally able to open my eyes fully, I see Kirill’s face staring down into mine. His forehead is etched with worry, his normally piercing blue eyes faded and watery. There are little hollows beneath his eyes, and his skin is pale- but he’s there.Alive.
“Kirill?” I croak, and the tense look on his face floods with relief.
“Thank God,” his voice trembles as he drops his head to my hand and covers it with kisses.
I try to swallow and move my body, wanting to comfort him and tell him I’m alright, but both seem impossible.
“Here,” Kirill says, reaching somewhere next to him. A glass of water with a straw in it appears, and he brings it to my lips.
“Drink, devochka.”
I obey, taking long pulls of the cool, refreshing water, and I feel some of the soreness in my throat fade away. When my lips let go of the straw Kirill takes the glass away, and he kisses my lips softly, whispering praises in Russian. Even though I’m weak, I manage to move my lips and kiss him back.
“What happened?” I rasp as he pulls back from our kiss.
I reach for my memories, but all I can grasp is a sense of fear and the act of pushing Kirill out of the way of something.
“You were shot,” Kirill tells me, caressing my cheek. “The bullet got lodged in your shoulder and nicked a main artery.”
