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Eight
Eoghan
She’d beenquiet ever since the night I returned home with her father’s blood on my hands, and truthfully, I didn’t like it.
She was pretty mouthy, something I was surprised hadn’t been leached out of her, but even though her focus had been on her books and audiobooks again, it was different.
I thought our conversation in the kitchen, followed by the beyond bizarre ragu we’d shared, and our tumbling into sleep together in a bed that was fit for a king, had changed things.
Well, it had, but not for the better.
Which surprised me.
I thought we’d cleared the air, and yet, she seemed sad. I knew it wasn’t about her father either.
It was about something we’d discussed.
Even as I was pulling into the ward in which Vasov was being kept, and I saw the guards lining the walls, I pondered what had gone wrong.
We were going to my family’s later on today, and I’d have liked for her to have been her relatively chirpy self.
Instead, she was downcast at my side, her shoulders hunched as we walked toward her father’s room.
The sight of her had the guards relaxing somewhat, but they still moved their hands to their weapons—smart boys, with a killer walking toward them.
“Inessa?”
Her name being called out pissed me off, as did the subsequent conversation in Russian that excluded me.
She didn’t really look at the guard, but he was young, not ugly, and from the blush on her cheeks, it didn’t take much to surmise he was Maxim.
“Inessa wants to see her father,” I stated, speaking over them, not willing to bullshit around too much.
No one was late for Ma’s Sunday Roast. Not unless it was on pain of death.
And, I had to admit, I was curious what the little gift boxes that were sitting in the trunk contained.
Though I’d asked her what the gifts for my parents were, she’d just smiled at me and said it was a surprise.
Which probably meant it was something weird that I didn’t need to know about.
I was kind of praying for vodka. That was fitting, right?
Maxim’s eyes narrowed at my statement, but Inessa merely twitched her shoulders, said something else, and Maxim opened the door, letting us inside.
Vasov was hooked up to machines, lines coming out of him from every orifice, but as the door opened, his eyes flared wide.
I understood.
If I was in the hospital, the only way I’d ever truly be able to sleep was if they drugged the shit out of me. We were in constant danger, and being here was a vulnerability that no one needed.
Aidan had gone through this nightmare after he’d been shot, but he had more allies than enemies, unlike Vasov, who ruled through fear.
Da was a bastard, but he was a kind one. If a husband died, leaving a wife penniless, that woman would never have to worry about bills, either until she died or remarried. He was charitable and generous with his bonuses come Christmas, and while he was a psychotic piece of shit with a knife, you were only on the receiving end of that if you betrayed him. Otherwise, you were rewarded for your loyalty.
Ruling solely through fear worked, but it meant you could never expose any weakness.
Hence Vasov’s current predicament.
