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“Said he tripped while walking.” Giving another light shrug. “In front of a fucking car.”
“Bullshit.” I groan loudly and he nods in agreement, not believing Roman’s half-arse lies too. Roman tripping in front of a car? What kind of bullshit is that?
“Although, he did leave the party pissed.” Alec shrugs, stopping short at opening the door to a private room. He twists the door handle before entering inside.
“I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel like a bloody accident.” My arguments die on my tongue as I find an injured but smiling Roman lying on the hospital bed.
He turns his head hearing the commotion and grunts lightly, attempting to lean his back against the headrest.
There’s a bandage stretched across his forehead, his right arm is strapped into a sling, held too close to his body.
“Sergei.” He almost chuckles, his eyes shining, not losing his natural mischievous spark. “What’s with the long face, Moscow princess?” His attempt to make me feel at ease fails, as I only grit my teeth harder.
He is in pain, yet his ego—perched on a pedestal of its own making—refuses to allow even the slightest acknowledgment.
Besides, he thinks showing any reaction would cost him his so-called “aura points.”
My fingers clench and unclench as I glare at his hand.
I’m too scared to voice out my speculations but I need to know.
I have to know.
“Did my father do this?”
Two pair of eyes widen and turn to face me. He glances at his hand bent at ninety degrees in a sling, a slight grit in his teeth as he slowly shakes his head.
“Of course not, you think I’d let that piece of shit hurt me?” He chuckles, gaining his composure back again.
“If you’re lying, I’ll break your other hand to keep the first one company.” I murmur; my voice edged with my control barely hanging on by a thread.
I know it was my father, he’s not foolish enough to step here again after what happened the last time, he has a plan. And fuck me, because he knows about Elara. I need to protect her too.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have been so reckless.
“It was not your father, Sergei.” Roman tries again but I’ve already begun mapping out my next moves. “I was fucking walking and tripped, that is all.” His left arm rests on his heart with an easy-going grin sitting on his face only for my assurance.
My gaze keeps on flitting between his sling and his forehead, unbidden memories surfacing, of all the scars Vasily gave me when I was a kid.
“Be serious.” Roman scoffs. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that dustball couldn’t touch me, let alone break my arm.”
His tone turns sharp enough to bite.
“What will people say about me, for fucks sake? Are you not thinking about that at all?” He continues. “At least credit someone plausible, I mean, Alec—after hundred years of harsh training—might pull it off. And even that’s a generous stretch. So no way it’s your all-meat and no-brain sperm donor.”
“Oh, shut up. The only reason I’m not making you one with the ground is because you’re hurt.” Alec snaps, his tone harsh. “Stop lying and tell me who hurt you, so that I can tear them apart limb from limb and feed it to Zoya and Kira.”
Roman’s blue gaze darkens for a second, his control slipping at Alec’s biting words—or perhaps…something else—only to snap back as he lets out a chuckle.
“I’m fairly certain your dogs won’t take kindly to a diet of car parts.” He pouts. “Speaking of dogs, when are you bringing them for a visit? I miss my babies.”
Fuck this shit.
“They are allergic to liars. No need for visits either because the doctor already said you’re being discharged. Go get hit by a bloody car for all I care.” Alec crosses his arms, probably restraining the same violent urge clawing beneath my skin to punch Roman in the face.
“Roman!” A high-pitched cry forces me to stop glaring at the injured liar and turn around just in time to see Alina bursting through the doors.
Her mascara dripping down, mixing with her tears, as she stumbles past us and pulls her brother in a tight embrace.
