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Nothing.
He shoved the man to the ground and got to his feet, stalked back to the door.
Alek and Markus were outside the room, both leaning against the wall. They straightened when they saw him.
“Blackhawk,” Lyon said.
Alek’s eyebrows furrowed. “Blackhawk?”
“I think that’s what he said.” Lyon was just beginning to feel the pain in his hands.
“What is it?” Markus asked.
“Find out.” Lyon walked past them. “And take out that trash. Make sure everyone knows.”
He headed for the door. He needed to get back to the hospital.
38
Kira stepped into the apartment carefully, not entirely trusting her legs. She could walk, but every move was painful, and the painkillers she’d been prescribed had a tendency to make her woozy.
“Let me carry you,” Lyon said, one hand on her elbow, the other around her waist.
“I’m good.” She tried not to gasp as she said it, tried not to let on how much it hurt.
He’d wanted to carry her from the wheelchair outside the hospital to the car a few feet away, from the car to the elevator in the parking garage, inside the elevator on the way up to the penthouse. He wasn’t used to feeling helpless, to being helpless, but it was important to her that she maintain her independence as much as possible.
She looked up and saw Zoya standing in the hall, tears streaming down her face.
“O, bozhe,”she said. “Tvoye krasivoye litso…”
Dear god… Your beautiful face.
“I feel so much better about it now,” Kira managed, attempting humor.
She knew it was bad. She’d dared a look at herself in the bathroom mirror at the hospital and had wept until she’d been forced to stop by the tears that burned the cuts on her cheeks.
But it would heal. The doctor told her she may have a couple scars, but they would be small and they would fade with time. Kira didn’t care. She had plenty of scars on the inside. What did the outside matter?
Besides, the important thing was the baby she carried inside her.
Alive.
Healthy.
She held the thought close, let it give her strength.
“Let’s get you upstairs,” Lyon said.
Zoya advanced on them and Lyon glared at her. “I can take care of my wife, thank you. Why don’t you make her some tea?”
Zoya hesitated, her eyes lit with anger, but she retreated down the hall.
“Be nice to her,” Kira said, leaning on him as they made their way into the apartment. “Please.”
“Of course,” Lyon said soothingly. “Of course.”
He’d been this way since she’d woken up: gentle, amenable, helpful nearly to the point of annoyance. It was thoughtful, but she wasn’t sure what to do with this version of her husband. She feared it hid something glittering and dark, something that might put him in more danger than he was already in.
