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I walk downstairs to see what Dimitri is up to, only to find a body lying on the couch with blood covering the whole white seat. Rushing closer, I notice it’s Mikhail.Why the hell didn’t he tell me he got back?Better yet,why the hell is he lying on the couch covered in blood?
I flick his forehead hard, hoping he’ll wake up, but he doesn’t. Panic clouds my mind as I think about the possibility he could be dead.
“Mikhail!” I scream his name and dig my fingers into his shot wound.
He hunches over quickly, reaching to cover the hole in his body. “What the fuck is your problem, Sloane?”
“I was just making sure you were alive. Fuck, Mikhail! Who the hell passes out on their living room couch with a bullet in their body?” I scream at him. I’mfuming.
“I dug it out—I’m fine.” His voice is different. He doesn’t seem as if he cares about anything right now. He stands up from the couch and shakes his head.
“What’s wrong?” I ask hesitantly.Was this Giovanni’s doing? I was never able to put a face to the name, and now I have, things feel serious.
He shakes his head again and looks at the ground.
I step up to him and lift his head. “Hey, talk to me. Who did this to you?”
“You need to back the fuck up,Koldunya.”
I’m taken aback by the anger he directs at me. I’m not the one who shot him—he has no reason to be pissed at me. If anything, he should be thanking me for being kind and worrying about him.
“No,” I say, taking small steps toward him.
He brushes past me and stalks off to the kitchen.
“What happened to the version of you from a couple days ago? Why can’t you just pick one mood?” I ask.
“That would be too easy.”
I talk back to him, saying things I’m sure I’ll regret, but my anger gets the better of me while he ignores me. Taking the flowers out of the vase I put them in the night I got back, I throw the whole bouquet at him, and Mikhail slowly turns toward me, his smile so bright it irritates me.
“You get it out of your system?” he asks.
I clench my jaw and walk toward him. “Did I get it out of my system!” I practically yell.
“That was my question, yes.”
I push his chest, but he doesn’t budge—not even an inch. I pound my fists against him until he wraps his fingers around my wrists. “I told you not to fucking leave me!”
“Is this your way of telling me you missed me?” he asks, bringing his lips close to mine.
“No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He steps away from me, taking containers out of a plastic bag on the counter.
“What’s this?”
“I got you dinner,” he says. “A movie and a board game. What we do tonight is up to you.” He hands me a container of Thai food. It smells so good my mouth waters.
“Thank you,” I say carefully, feeling the anger I just had wash away.
He nods his head and takes a phone out of his pocket.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I tell him.
“I know.”
