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“The men will never follow you,” he said with a smirk, one last attempt at maintaining the upper hand.
I returned his smirk with one of my own. “But they will. After they watched me pay the price for Sasha leaving? Seeing what you did to your right hand? I could have seized power the moment I was healed.”
He shook his head, letting his gaze drop for a moment. Looking up again, his mouth pressed into a hard line. “I’ll see you in Hell, Misha.”
“Probably.” I pulled the trigger twice, shooting him in the head in rapid succession.
Sergei’s body slumped to the side, smearing blood and chunks of gore on the headboard along the way.
“What now, boss?” Sasha asked, holstering his gun.
“How long are you in town?”
He shrugged. “I bought a one-way.”
I nodded, thinking quickly and plotting the next series of moves. “We need to kill some more people. But not tonight. Can you stay?”
A flicker of indecisiveness shot across his face. “It shouldn’t be a problem, as long as you don’t tell Roan what we did.”
“Trust me, I have no desire to get you in trouble at home.”
Sasha snorted and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Do you live with yours yet?”
“Not full-time.”
He chuckled darkly. “Just wait. You might run a criminal enterprise but that boy will run your life the second you walk in the door.”
“So things are going well in California?” I asked with a smile, clapping a hand on his broad shoulder.
He glared at me and stomped off, muttering under his breath. The only part I caught was him repeating, “Just wait.”
41
MAREK
I was prettysure by the time Nadia and I were done pacing, Misha’s exotic wood floors were going to have ruts worn in them. She kept me company, though, for what felt like hours. Back and forth. Waiting. So much fucking waiting.
Cracking my knuckles, I looked at the time again and swore at the realization only a minute had passed. I forced myself to sit on one of the barstools, alternatively scratching Nadia’s head and drumming my fingers on the granite countertop.
The kids had gone to bed hours ago, well before Misha and Sasha dressed up like commandos and left to go kill some people. Not going to lie, the whole military aesthetic was hot, with the cargo pants and the thigh holster, but it was also such an extreme departure from the Misha I was used to. Until that point, he’d either been naked or in a suit so I was kind of surprised to see he owned any other sort of clothing.
After they left, I wandered through the miniature department store in Misha’s closet just for something to do. The distraction didn’t last long and there was no way I could even think about sleeping. I was too keyed up to sleep. I needed to know what was happening, if Misha was alright, or if he’d been caught. Or killed.
The sickening possibility of either outcome hit me like a freight train. What was I going to do if he got caught?Orkilled? Over the last few months, our lives had become so entwined, I couldn’t imagine trying to pick apart that knot. Between work and our living situation and everything he’d confessed to me. Shit, everything I confessed to him? Aside from my siblings, I’d never once uttered those three words to anyone. I wasn’t even sure I knew what love was until Misha came into my life. The thought it might all be gone left my stomach lurching.
When the elevator doors slid open, I exhaled a sigh of relief and scrambled off the barstool. My anxiety vanished—until I saw the two of them slam through the front door a second later.
Sasha was covered in blood like a fucking ax murderer; Misha didn’t look much better. A gash on his forehead had crusted over with dried blood and his face was swollen, like he’d been punched. Repeatedly. The more concerning part was the fact Sasha had Misha’s arm draped around his massive shoulders and was practically dragging him since Misha’s legs gave out every couple of steps.
“Oh my God! What happened?” I rushed forward but Sasha ignored me and kept going, hauling Misha straight to the couch.
“I need towels, warm water, and a sewing kit,” Sasha said in a flat tone, not the least bit concerned his so-called friend was literally bleeding out in front of us.
“Trauma kit. Bathroom closet,” Misha added before Sasha slung him onto the cream cushions I’d been desperately trying to keep clean for the past two days.
Misha clamped a hand to his side and hissed at Sasha in Russian. Swearing, if I had to guess.
“Go,” Sasha snapped at me, flinging a bloody hand down the hall before he ripped open Misha’s shirt like it was a paper towel.
