by Rie Warren
The pillows rustled on the bed, and my eyes popped to her face. One second she lay sleeping. The next, she struck up her arms, eyelids peeling back from a frantic unseeing gaze.
“Stay away! Get away!” she screamed hoarsely. “I won’t play any more of your games, Oleg!”
Leaping forward, I gently restrained her, curling my hands around her wrists and dropping them back to the bed.
“It is me, Sashenka,” I whispered as her hurt spilled into me.
“No. Nyet!” Her head thrashed, feet pedaling beneath the soft coverlet. “Get off!” she bleated, her chest rising off the mattress.
“It. Is. Me.” I pushed my face into hers, meeting those wildly spinning irises. “It’s Maksim. You are home. You are safe.”
Moments passed as she stilled to stare blindly up at me.
A wave of release broke over her like a surge along a shoreline, and she finally sagged back.
“Maksim.” My name was a tendril on the air, her lips hardly moving now that the terror had passed.
I let her wrists go to gingerly touch her neck and then her face.
She cringed, a moan rising out, and I snatched my hands back because I must’ve caused her discomfort in my clumsy attempt to provide solace.
“Oooh.” Her eyelids crimped closed. “My everything hurts.”
I didn’t doubt it. The surgeon had been thorough in her report of Sasha’s injuries. It appeared someone had stabbed her on the thigh—the surrounding tissue angry even though it had been cleaned and stitched as one would at a field hospital.
That was when my stomach had dropped to a new level of low because I knew Sasha had done the stitch-up job on herself.
Without the aid of help or painkillers.
Fuck.
The bullet wound was less tricky. Through and through. But still . . . Oleg had shot my woman.
At that point I’d been grinding my teeth down to the gums.
A litany of other abrasions and cuts completed the really ugly roster from where apparently Oleg had dug a blade into her flesh at various deep points to locate the tracker chip Sasha had refused to tell him about.
Watching her breathe shallowly now, I swallowed bile that gurgled up from my stomach.
Eyes still shut, Sasha whispered, “I think there’s a desert in my mouth.”
Rushing up before she even stopped speaking, I crashed into the kitchen. I returned to her side moments later with a tray laden with everything that she could ever want. Iced water, ice chips in a glass, fresh juice, a fucking stupid bottle of champagne she peered at with the light of humor returning to her eyes.
I quickly removed the champagne because what kind of a dumb fuck was I?
“The water please.” She pointed, and I popped a straw into the glass before bringing it over.
I made sure not to spill as I ran an arm around her back to brace her up.
She wet her lips before taking her first swallow. A moan of satisfaction tumbled from her, and I settled on the bed, careful not to dislodge her.
After she drank, her head fell back, right into the crook of my shoulder where she should always rest.
I placed the glass aside. “Better?”
She nodded.
Then she struggled upright again, hissing as pain hit her when she twisted around to me. “Please tell me Joanna and Saoirse and Baba are okay?”
“Da.” I cupped her bruised face tenderly, my fingers tracing along the fine features hidden beneath purplish swelling. “Everyone is all right. Everyone.”
Even as I reassured her, though, I remembered the craziness of what she’d done. The stunt she’d pulled that had ensured everybody’s safety but hers.
Withdrawing from her, I got off the bed.
I paced a few feet away. Then back again.
Unbridled anger raged beneath my skin, and the rage rolled out of me when I bent over her. “You fucking foolhardy woman!”
“What?” she blanched and rightly so.
My finger shook as I pointed. “You took a bullet for me!”
“I . . .”
“Shut up, Sashenka!” I bellowed. “You put your life at risk. YOU GAVE YOURSELF UP TO OLEG!”
The very opposite of shrinking back, she bolted up. “I did what I had to. I did what anyone of you Krasnovs would’ve done if given the choice between losing loved ones or risking your life to rescue them!”
“It is not the same.”
“Don’t you frigging dare tell me that just because I’m a girl I have any less responsibility to the Bratva than you.”
“You are a woman. Not a girl.” I narrowed my slivered eyes at her.
“Well, I am so glad you finally noticed.”
I wanted to rip the hair from my head then smack ripe stripes across her ass, but she had already been through hell and back so how could I punish her more than she’d already been?
Unclenching the fists I’d made without conscious thought, I towered above the bed. “You . . .” I shook my head. “You could’ve gotten killed.”
“I didn’t.”
Rage left me as fast as it had come, and I dropped to my knees.
I found her hands, twining my fingers through hers. “What did they do to you?”
Sasha tugged one hand free. She slowly threaded her fingers through my hair, and I groaned at the slow caress.
“They didn’t rape me, Maksim.”
“I saw what was about to happen with the bottle,” I said quietly.
Her soothing motions halted. Then continued as she played with my hair this way and that. “I know.”
I lifted my eyes. “I shot him so he couldn’t.”
“I know.”
It isn’t enough.
“I’ve been looking for you the whole time, Sashenka.” My voice broke. “I put up a reward for information.” Shaking my head, I kissed her hand. “I am sorry I wasn’t there sooner.”
“Shhh. I know.”
Her hot tears fell like liquid crystals onto our joined hands, and my heart broke anew.
“Those two assholes really were in love. That’s why I wanted you to kill Feliks first.” Her hand cradled my face, her eyes clinging to mine. “Best news ever because I didn’t have the right parts to get their motors revving like that, right?”
“But—”
Her lips brushed against mine as soft as a summer breeze. “No buts.”
Then she became silent, and so did I.
“I wasn’t supposed to live,” Sasha whispered at length.
I stared at her, curling my fingers around her hips where no bandages bulked. “Do you really think I’d ever let anything happen to you?”
“It’s because of the whole bodyguard doing-your-duty-thing, right?”
This woman.
“It sure as hell is not because of any vow I took to the pakhan.” My voice deepened, strengthened. “It is because of the vow I took to you on our wedding day, and the nights between us since.”
Bending my head, I kissed the rings on her finger, my rings.
When I looked at her again, I asked slowly, surely, “Still think love is pointless, Sashenka?”
Motionless, she blinked at me.
I captured the tears still tracking down from her mesmerizing irises and making her eyelashes sparkle.
“Do you need me to say it?” I asked.
She nodded once . . . twice.
I tried to smile but could not. “I have loved you for longer than I knew. I have watched over you not because of a job or a paycheck. I’ve fallen in love with you, Sashenka, when I never thought such a thing could be mine or should be mine.”
My hand moved to my chest, my palm covering my heart that beat for her.
“Now tell me you still think love is pointless.”
She shook her head . . . twice.
She reached out to touch my lips then my chest. “I love you too, Maksim.”
A rush poured through my body, and I ached to be beside her on the bed, be inside of her on the bed.
Finally, that all-powerful relief burst wide open. I bent my head over her hands, kissing her flesh, needing to feel her.
Her voice soft, she said, “Hey. I’m here, Maksim. I love you. You can stop with the deathbed act now.”
“Sometimes you are not very funny, Sashenka,” I growled out.
She lifted my face, her gaze unswerving. “I’m sorry for what I put you through.”
Closing the distance, I pressed my lips to hers, just tasting her again in an unhurried kiss unlike any we’d shared before. Her lips moved against mine, quickening my pulse.
I drew back, scared I’d crush her or hurt her, but her smile was a slow dazzling thing that made any space between us difficult.
How had it always been her, and it had taken me so long to figure out?
I slid beside her onto the bed.
“You brought me home to our place?” Her fingers slowly traced from my chest to my throat.
“Yes.”
Her hand raised to my face, and I pushed my stubbled cheek against her palm as if her touch was the benediction that eased my soul.
“You haven’t slept much, have you?” she asked.
I hadn’t eaten either, but none of that physical shit mattered to me. Not when she was here. She was all right.
Blyad.
Sasha loved me?
When I remained silent for too long, she nudged at me. “Maksim?”
“Mmm.”
“Do you think I could eat something solid now? Because my stomach is about to grizzly-bear-growl for some food.”
My voice guttural with things I still wanted to say to her, I pushed away from the bed. “Da. I can feed you. But you do not move.”
“Sweet. So now you’re going to be my own personal sexy manservant?”
“You do have a way with words, Sashenka.” Unlike me.
But she didn’t seem to care about my grumbling ways any longer.
Within twenty minutes, I returned with a tray. She’d already fallen back asleep so I woke her gently. I fed her small morsels of food that were meant to be easy on her stomach but promised she could go back to her preferred favorites soon.
Once filled up, she drooped back onto the pillows. “I don’t get how I can be so tired when I’ve been doing nothing but sleeping.”
I brushed the hair from her temples. “Your body is recovering.”
“Annoyingly slowly.” She huffed in irritation. “And I stink really bad.”
I snorted. “No, you don’t.”
“Have you caught a whiff of me or are your olfactory senses dead or something? I’m making my own eyes water.” With a pleading gaze, she looked up at me. “Help me shower?”
I thought about the one other time we’d gotten cleaned up together. Fucking had been involved. That would not be the case this time.
After getting everything ready in the bathroom, I carried her through. I stripped off first before carefully removing the comfortable clothing she wore.
With the hot water on, steam began pouring out of the large cubicle. The fog did nothing to hide her injuries however. I winced when I saw the full extent of Oleg’s abuse, vivid and violent on her body.
“Okay. I know I’m not looking so hot right now but no need to make that face. You’re gonna give me a complex.”
Her attempt at humor didn’t make me want to laugh. Not that time.
Inside the shower and under the water, I stood behind her. I kept one arm around her waist and washed her while she leaned against my front. The suds made appealing designs on her flesh, especially when they slipped off her high nipples or slithered down her belly.
Swallowing roughly, I tamped down my male needs in order not to alarm her.
I cleaned her with care and, afterward, I helped her dress again.
In the bedroom, I rested, at last, beside her.
I did not tell her I wanted to . . . make love to her. To sate the needs of my own body, da. But also to erase what Oleg and that other asshole had done to her. To imprint upon her my real, warm flesh. To give her me in order to take away them.
I didn’t make any moves on her except to gently wrap her in my arms. And we slept.
After that, Sasha’s recovery was long and painful and not an easy road, not that I expected it to be. She had to undergo physical therapy, which she threw herself into. She woke me up in the darkest hours of night, thrashing and sweaty from terrors. She suffered from trauma of the body and the soul.
I could hold her and comfort her and soothe her, but I still felt helpless.
I showed my love to her in different ways since talking was not and would never be my strong suit.
A week into her convalescence, I surprised her with a gigantic bouquet of flowers. I’d never bought flowers for a woman before, and male pride puffed up my chest when Sasha grabbed the arrangement and stuck her nose right in them.
Her stunning diamond blue eyes rose above the dark purple almost black petals, such a contrast to her creamy skin. “You remembered?”
I rubbed a palm against the center of my chest. “Peonies. Same color as the ones you ordered for the wedding.”
She lifted her head, a sweet smile on her lips. “They are so beautiful, Maksim. Thank you.”
Then the gesture completely backfired because big fat tears eclipsed her eyes before spilling over.
“You’re not supposed to cry.” I frowned.
“No one’s ever given me flowers before.” She sniffled.
A small grin began then formed fully. “So this is good thing?”
“Yes, Maksim. A very good thing. Now come here and give me a kiss.”
The kissing lasted only as long as I could control myself, which was mere seconds around the woman.
I also organized for a steady—but not overly taxing—stream of visitors.
Lucia and Arkady were first, and when Sasha saw the other woman enter the bedroom, she burst into instant tears.
Shit.
Lucia rushed over, gathering Sasha in her arms. “Oh, sweetie.”
Sobs wrenched from the younger woman, and I was beginning to think this wasn’t such a hot idea.
“I think you two should leave us,” Lucia said, stroking her hands up and down Sasha’s back like I’d done many times before.
Arkady looked at a loss as much as I was, and he propelled me from the room.
I scrubbed my hands down my face, listening to the sad wrecked sounds that would probably be burned into my mind forever. “Blyad. I thought some company would be good.”
Arkady headed straight for the vodka, his mouth pinched tight.
After handing me a shot, he downed his own. “It was the right thing to do.”
Didn’t feel like it while the wailing continued.
My oldest brother regarded me. “You do love her, da?”
The vodka oiled my throat, making it easier to speak. “Yes.”
He nodded. “How long?”
“Don’t know. Hit me like a ton of bricks.”
He gave a small chuckle. “Love will do that. Especially when they’re hurt, and you can’t fix it because it’s inside.”
“Am I enough?” I asked then rolled my eyes because it sure sounded like I’d developed a pair of ovaries to go with all the new feelings.
“You are enough.” Arkady cleared his throat. “Not all the time though. Don’t you remember Lucia and her cutting?”
I did. We all did.
We didn’t talk about it.
“I got her help for that,” he added.
Knew that too. Also did not discuss it.
None of us Krasnovs were big on sharing.
He poured more vodka. “And Sasha might be tough and trash-talking but—”
“She is actually more sensitive than she ever let on,” I finished.
&
nbsp; His hand fell to my shoulder, squeezing hard. “She is home with you and that is enough for now.”
I hoped so.
It probably was good for Sasha to talk to Lucia. She’d been through similar with the Sicilians.
After that sad interlude, I decided a lighter approach might be better.
The next day, Jo and Kirill stopped by with the baby. That situation also quickly devolved—at my expense—when Jo promptly passed the little poop machine to me.
I tried to shove Saoirse back to her. “I don’t know what to do with her.”
Instead of bursting into tears, Sasha broke out in a giggle.
Jo swanned away, leaving me holding the infant that was no longer than my forearm.
I glanced at Kirill.
He leaned back and smirked.
They were all assholes.
Very slowly, and very carefully, I rearranged Saoirse in my arms. Holding her close to my chest, I breathed out quietly when I noted she was asleep.
I heard the others talking in the background, but suddenly I couldn’t look away from the baby girl.
Her cheeks glowed rosy, and her hair was an exact copy of Jo’s tresses, a short cap of curly red. She didn’t smell like anything except . . . all things good and long forgotten.
I didn’t believe I’d ever been so fresh and innocent.
“Look at you, Uncle Maksim.”
I glanced up to find Sasha beaming at me.
I quickly cast my eyes back down, whispering urgently, “I am scared of dropping her.”
“Babies are super resilient though. They bounce,” Jo announced lightly.
“Malyshka.” Kirill’s stern voice was enough to make Saoirse’s eyelids flicker open, as if she heard her papa and knew him by the sound alone.
“What? They know I’m joking,” the new mother said.
Thankfully Kirill came over and took his perfect progeny off of me.
I exhaled in relief.
I’d sooner handle a gun than someone else’s young.
“Besides. She’s so freakin’ precious I’d kill Maksim if he dropped her,” Jo tacked on in a sing-song voice.
“Good to know,” I said gruffly.
“Sort of kidding, but not,” she added.
While she and Sasha talked, I watched Kirill. How . . . odd to see him with an infant in his arms. He cradled her and rocked her and cooed to her in a deep tone.
