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Galina
“She’s dead,”a familiar male voice breaks through the fog, though it takes me a moment to place it. “That’s right, Ginger Russell is out of the picture. Yes. I’ll be waiting.”
I hear footsteps and the faint whir of a fan, but otherwise, it’s silent. I don’t feel dead? Exhaling deeply, I take inventory, and find I can’t feel my body.
I try to sit up, but my body doesn’t cooperate. Instead, I barely shift as a whimper leaves my throat. Large hands are beside me only a second later.
“Galina? It’s okay, you’re safe.”
I manage to see a bit through the haze, my eyes clearing enough to bring Dmitri’s face into focus. No, I correct myself. Sin’s face. My sweet brother is long dead, and in his place is a fierce man.
A man you still love, a voice whispers in the back of my mind.
I try to bring a hand up to wipe away the tears that spring to my eyes, but it drops almost immediately, and I let out a choked sound.
“Don’t try to move yet,galya,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “You’ve got a lot of drugs pumping through you still. It’ll take a few hours for them to wear off completely.”
I try to swallow, to speak, but my throat is completely dry. My eyes land on a glass of water beside the bed, and Sin rises, bringing it over and placing the straw next to my lips. The tiny glass in his massive hands, the tenderness with which he holds it for me while I sip, brings a fresh wave of tears to my eyes.
“Thank you,” I rasp, both the voice and the phrase unfamiliar to my ears. I look around and realize I don’t know where we are, a bedroom of some kind. It’s plain, simple. Blacks and whites everywhere other than the pale wooden floor. A few machines are hooked up to me including an IV in my arm. I look down and see my torso is wrapped in bandages, trying to think back to the last thing I remember.
Being stabbed. In the stomach.
“What happened?”
Sin’s movements slow as he puts the glass down, seeming to consider my question.
“Krystof stabbed you,” he begins slowly. “You … lost a lot of blood. And….”
I see the difficulty he’s having, the misery written on his face, and finish the sentence for him.
“And I miscarried,” I all but whisper. His eyes look up to mine, and for the first time, I see regret in their depths. I try to bring up a hand to reach to him, but my limbs feel like they weigh a thousand pounds, so my arm drops back to the bed. His hand comes up, taking mine in it, squeezing before he stands to pace the floor near my bed.
I want to tell him it’s okay, that I’m not upset. Somehow, the words drop from my lips, though. I think back to the conversation I woke up to and try to clear my throat.
“You told someone I was dead,” I croak. “Why?” He looks at me, and I notice the curl of his lip.
“This amuses you?” I ask.
Moving back to the bed, he takes my hand in his.
“Yes, it does, but you already knew I was a twisted fuck.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t lie to them,” he tells me, his eyes falling to our hands. His dwarfs mine, and I swallow at the sight. He looks back into my eyes, and I can’t seem to pull away from the vivid blue gaze.
“Ginger Russell is dead,” he tells me. “And CASH-ULTY, it isn’t coming back.”
I start to open my mouth before he interrupts me with a hand on my cheek, the gentle caress more welcome than I care to admit.
“You are Galina,” he explains softly. “You are my Galina, and you always will be.”
The frog in my throat threatens to choke me, but I manage a small nod, my lower lip quivering.
Fuck, I feel like such a pussy for crying so much lately, but I can’t help it. The tears come out of me harder than ever before. My entire body is wracked with sobs as Sin gently gets on the bed beside me, pulling me into his arms.
My hand manages to come up to grasp his shirt, and I cling to him like a woman drowning. He says nothing, just pets me gently as he holds me, letting me release years of pent-up tears and emotion.
