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Viktor led me away, his touch gentle on my elbow. He pushed open the door I’d come through—the same one he’d burst through seconds before. I barely registered that the latch on the door was broken as we stepped through and returned to the exhibits.
“Where are we going?” I breathed as we wove through the hideous art.
Viktor cut me a look. “Men’s room. I need to wash the blood from my hands.”
“I hate to break it to you, but your shirt is ruined.” I laughed, the sound forced and a touch manic.
Viktor grinned, a mixture of wolf and boy. It was arealsmile, though. This was Viktor. “I keep a spare shirt in the trunk for such occasions.”
“You always get bloody at these events? How does that not surprise me.” I shook my head.
“Generally, I’m beating up someone outside the syndicate—not one of our own. Our soldiers are usually molded into shape.”
I stopped, clutching his sleeve. “Am I getting you in trouble?”
Viktor froze, dropping his gaze to where I touched him. “I won’t let anything happen to you, suits.”
That wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear, but the fierceness in his eyes spoke volumes.
“Why did you come after me, Bri?”
I blinked, frowning. “When?”
“You watched me all night. Then I went to show Volkov the art, and you followed.”
“I—I didn’t,” I gasped.
“Yes, you hid behind the partition. And then Anya said something stupid about wedding venues, and you took off into the back access—where Alexie found you.” His voice grew harder as he spoke. “You came for me, suits.”
Dropping my hand, I took a step back. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him none of it was true. But the words died on my lips. It would be a lie, and I’d told myself plenty of those in the last few hours; I didn’t need to tell him them as well.
I lifted a shoulder. “So maybe I did watch you. What of it?”
Viktor opened his mouth but then snapped his head to the opposite end of the hall. I heard it too.
“Was that...?” I breathed.
“Gunshots. Fucking hell,” Viktor cursed.
