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It’s odd, caring so much what happens to them.
When this whole thing started, I wouldn’t have cared one way or the other if some bigger, badder criminal took out the Voronin brothers. It would’ve meant they’d be out of my hair, and as long as he didn’t come for me, then I would have been fine with it.
But now I’m worried sick about them.
They made it sound like it would be so easy. They have the element of surprise, and Ilya’s guard shouldn’t be up yet. They’ll go right to his hotel and take him out, and the problem will be solved.
Easy. Simple. Right?
But as it gets later and later, those words get harder to believe.
It’s dark outside by the time the door finally opens. Heavy footsteps come down the hallway, and Malice strides into the living room first, with Ransom right behind him, limping a little bit. All it takes is one look at their faces to know that something went wrong.
“What happened?” I ask, glancing between them.
“He got away,” Malice bites out, yanking a gun out of the waistband of his pants and slamming it down on the end table by the couch.
“Mal had a good shot on him,” Ransom adds. “It should’ve worked. But he flinched at the last fucking second, and we got into a shoot-out. Shit got dicey, and we had to get out of there before he got a good look at us.”
He steps forward as he speaks, still limping, and I realize his jeans are soaked with blood.
“Oh my god. Ransom!” My jaw drops as I rush over to him. “What happened?”
He shakes his head, sinking down onto the couch. “It’s fine. Just a scratch I got while we were running.”
“You need to deal with it, though,” Malice tells him. “Let me see it.”
Ransom rolls his eyes, but he unzips his pants and peels them down enough to reveal a nasty looking gash on the side of his leg, just a few inches up from his knee. The edges of it are ragged and dark with blood, and I suck in a breath, the sight making my stomach flip over.
Malice takes a quick look at it, his gaze practiced and assessing. Then he leaves and comes back a moment later with a first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey. He sets them both on the couch before crouching down in front of Ransom to poke and prod at his wound.
Ransom grabs the bottle and takes a deep swig from it, wincing either from the burn of the booze or from whatever Malice is doing to his cut.
“This needs a couple stitches,” Malice says. “It’s too deep.”
Ransom makes a face. Then he reaches for me, snagging me around the waist with one arm and pulling me down onto the couch beside him. His hand sneaks under my shirt, brushing across the skin of my belly, and I shiver at the touch before pinning him with a look.
“What?” he says, looking back at me with wide, innocent eyes that don’t fool anyone for even half a second. “I need this to help ease the pain. Weren’t you just concerned about me a second ago?”
I roll my eyes at that, but don’t protest. Instead, I settle in against his side and let him touch me, watching as Malice soaks a gauze in some disinfectant and starts cleaning blood away from Ransom’s wound.
He hisses in pain, and I stare down as more of the wound is revealed under all that blood. I’ve seen two dead bodies now, and it was horrifying both times. But there’s something about seeing one of these men hurt that makes me realize all over again how dangerous their lives are.
They’re not gods.
They’re breakable.
They’rekillable.
Even though they came out of the encounter with Nikolai and the one with Carl unscathed, there’s no telling if that will always be the case. They work well together as a team, and all of them are quick on their feet and skilled enough with weapons that they’ve survived until now, but…
Seeing Ransom hurt makes concern twist in my gut.
It feels odd to realize how much I care, but I can’t deny that I do. I was worried before they left to go kill Ilya, feeling like there was a chance something could go wrong. And I was right.
Sure, it wasn’t anything terrible, and a cut that needs a few stitches is probably par for the course for men like this. But still. Maybe the next time they go after him, it’ll be worse. Maybe they’ll get hurt worse. Maybe…
Victor steps into the room, and I jump, because I was so busy thinking that I didn’t even hear him on the stairs.
