by Zoe Blake
Boris wiped his brow with the sleeve of his suit. “Gregor, I swear on my dear mother’s grave, I know nothing about… Wait. No, no, no…”
I straightened. “What?”
“It’s not possible. It would be too great a betrayal.”
“Start talking, Boris.”
All my attention was on him. I needed to resolve this issue, and quickly. I wouldn’t stand for my wife to be in danger for another moment.
Just as he opened his mouth, he looked over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
I turned my head… then everything went black.
Chapter 36
Gregor
Blood-curdling screams.
Each one piercing my brain like an ax.
All I wanted to do was sink back into the deep, quiet darkness, but a primal, survival instinct had me forcing myself onto my knees. Lifting my hand to brace myself against the corner of the desk and rise further, I realized I was clutching a .38 Special revolver.
What the hell is going on?
“He killed your father! Oh God, the monster killed your father!”
Samara’s answering cry propelled me to my feet.
Tossing the gun on the desk, I rubbed my eyes to clear my blurry vision. When I finally looked up, I followed Samara’s horrified gaze. My shirt was soaked in blood.
On the floor at my feet lay her father. His eyes were open and his mouth hung open at a grotesque angle. There were at least three bullet wounds to the chest and one to the head.
Fuck.
“Samara, I….”
Alena Federova raised her arm and pointed an accusatory finger at me. “You killed my husband. I saw you.”
“Malyshka, you know I didn’t do this.”
“Of course he did! He’s a criminal. He’s probably murdered hundreds of men in cold-blood,” sneered her mother.
Samara stood rigid in the doorway, her hand over her mouth and her arm wrapped around her stomach. She stared at her dead father with horrified eyes.
Needing to protect her, I took several steps toward her but froze when her head snapped up to train terrified eyes on me.
Fuck. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when I finally convinced her to truly be mine. I couldn’t lose her this way. I tried to keep my voice calm and steady. “Samara, listen to me.”
“Don’t listen to him! He’s the monster who chased you away from your home and your family for years. He took advantage of your poor father. Forced him into that despicable arrangement. It broke your father’s heart to do it. We both loved you so much,” cried Alena as she brushed away non-existent tears.
This finally broke through Samara’s shock. Her head slowly turned toward her mother. Her brow furrowed. Her words came out barely above a whisper. “That’s not true.”
Her mother’s voice faltered as she smoothed back her hair. “Of course it is! Your father and I didn’t want you to marry this… this thug! He threatened to kill us if we didn’t agree to the arrangement.”
I held my breath as I waited for Samara’s reply. It was more than I deserved if she agreed with her mother. I was the monster who had been chasing her for years. I did force her into all of this against her will. And no amount of tailored suits or art acquisitions would erase the fact that at my core, I was nothing more than a criminal, gun-running thug.
She could do way better.
She deserved way better.
Unfortunately, none of this changed the fact that I would fight to the death to keep her by my side. She was mine and not just because of some deal with her father or because of the money. She was mine because I loved her. Against the odds and the sins of our family’s pasts, I loved her.
And I had to hold on to the belief she loved me, too. I wasn’t fooling myself. I knew she loved me beyond her better judgement. I knew she still had doubts about the truth of her feelings and whether I was the right future for her.
We could work through all of that… if given the chance.
Samara shook her head. “I don’t believe you. I remember that night. The night of Nadia’s party. You and father were insisting I marry him. Telling me I had no choice. You’re lying.”
Alena dove for the gun on the desk and swung her arm between Samara and me.
I lunged across the room, blocking Samara’s body with my own.
Samara’s hands fisted into the fabric of my shirt. “Mother, what are you doing? Put the gun down!”
My gaze narrowed. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
Her mouth twisted, but she didn’t say a word.
I continued. “That’s why Boris had no idea about Egor. You’re the one who arranged the second marriage deal.”
Samara looked around my upper arm. “Mother, how could you!”
Alena rolled her eyes. “I’ll give you five million reasons. Your useless father pissed away the money Gregor gave us. I did what I had to do to survive.”
“Well, it’s over. Samara’s mine, and I’m going to make sure you never lay eyes on her again.”
“You men are all the same. You think you’re so smart. Well, I got news for you—it’s not over.”
“There’s a ring on Samara’s hand and a dead body on the floor that says otherwise,” I fired back.
Alena threw her head back and cackled. “You think Egor still wants to marry Samara? She’s damaged goods now. He’s moved on.”
“What do you mean?”
Alena shrugged. “My deal with Egor wasn’t about marrying Samara. It was about selling her to the highest bidder in the Middle East. You ruined that when it became obvious you were fucking her. Now he’ll have to settle for selling her to some brothel I suppose. She can work off her fee.”
My stomach twisted. I had seen and done some messed up things in my life, but nothing came close to hearing Samara’s mother casually talk about selling her daughter into the sex trade.
At Samara’s shocked gasp, I reached my left arm back and pulled her in closer.
I took a deep breath. Now I was on familiar ground. At its core, this was about business, and I now had leverage over Alena. She had screwed over a powerful and dangerous family. She would now need my help.
This wouldn’t be the first time I had to negotiate a deal staring down the barrel of a gun, but this was the most dangerous because of Samara. I needed her safe. Nothing else mattered to me.
“So, it looks like you and I need to make a deal. You need to repay Egor for his investment. I’m guessing you don’t have the funds… but I do. Let Samara leave, and you I will come to our own arrangement.”
Her gold bangles rattled as she raised the gun higher. “I’ve already made my deal. Fortunately for me, Egor blames you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took your little bride from you before the honeymoon is over.”
“You know that happens over my dead body.”
“Suit yourself.”
Alena pulled the trigger.
Chapter 37
Samara
I screamed as I clung to Gregor but there was no powerful discharge, just a hollow metallic click.
Misfire.
The gun must not have been fully loaded.
I doubt even a second had passed. My mind caught up quickly.
Four bullets at my father.
One misfire.
Six chamber revolver.
The laws of probability theory
First rule of Russian roulette: The sixth shot always fires.
My mother raised her arm again.
Shaking off his grasp on my hip, I threw myself in front of Gregor.
“No!” I screamed.
“Samara!” Gregor grabbed me by the shoulders and swung me violently around, shielding me just as the gun discharged. His body pitched forward but absorbed the blast. He had taken a bullet for me.
“Oh, my God!”
I clung to him as he stumbled against the desk. My mother ran out of the room, but I didn’t care. My thoughts were only of Gregor.
Fresh crimson blood bl
ossomed just below his right shoulder. I pressed my hand against the wound trying to stop the blood but it kept coming so fast. Oozing over my fingers in thick, sticky streams. My gaze distorted as my eyes filled with tears.
“Gregor, please you can’t die. Please, don’t die!”
His left arm wrapped around my shoulders as he grasped my hair and leaned in to kiss the top of my head. “I guess I have my answer,” he rasped. “Those pretty green eyes of yours would cry for me if I died.”
I sobbed as I tried to press his wound harder. “I… I… have to get to a phone. You need an ambulance.”
“No ambulance. No cops,” came an assertive voice from the doorway.
Startled, I whirled around as Mikhail stormed into the room, followed by several of Gregor’s men.
They swarmed about us. One tried to pull me free, but I would not be moved.
“Are you crazy? He’s been shot! We have to get him to a hospital now!”
Mikhail wrapped his hands around my upper arms and physically pulled me away from Gregor. He then nodded to the men. One man pulled off his shirt and held it against the wound as another supported Gregor under his good arm. “Let’s get him to the car. We have to move fast.”
“I’m going with you.”
Mikhail shook his head, “I don’t think—”
“I’m not leaving him,” I asserted.
My doubts were gone. This was Gregor’s life… and now it was my life, too. It was messy and bloody and violent but between us there was still beauty and light and love. I was done running. I had found where I belong and with who, and now it was time to fight for us.
Mikhail looked at Gregor who managed a slight smile despite his pain. “You heard my wife.”
We bustled outside and into one yet another of Gregor’s intimidating black SUVs. Once they had settled Gregor slightly prone on the backseat, I joined him, cradling his upper body as I pressed the makeshift bandage to his wound.
Transparent Earth Red. The color of blood.
Cadmium Red Deep. The color of blood.
Perylene. The color of blood.
Italian Pompeii Red. The color of blood.
I rocked back and forth. One of my tears fell on his cheek. I went to wipe it away and left a trail of blood on his face, not realizing my hands and clothes were soaked. Soaked with his blood.
“Please, don’t die, Gregor. I love you. Please!”
His voice was low but still strong. “It will take more than a bullet to take me away from you, malyshka.”
Mikhail looked over his shoulder from the front passenger seat. He had been on the phone giving terse instructions to someone. “We’re almost there.”
“What hospital?”
“I told you, Samara. No hospitals. That’s not how we do things.”
“Who’s going to take care of Gregor?”
“I am.”
“You?”
Gregor reached his left arm across his chest to place his hand over mine. “Mikhail is a man of many hidden talents. Don’t worry, baby. It’s going to be… it’s going to be…” His eyes closed, and his head lolled to the side.
“Gregor? Gregor?”
Mikhail glanced back. “He’s lost too much blood. We don’t have much more time.”
The security gate to Gregor’s home was already open and ready as the SUV careened past. Before the vehicle had stopped, Matilda was rushing down the front stairs. “I have everything ready. Bring him through the hallway into the kitchen.”
They forced me to release Gregor and let his men carry his body into the home. Matilda wrapped her arm around my shoulders and led me inside. “You should go upstairs and change while the men work.”
I shook my head. “I’m not leaving his side.”
When we got to the kitchen, they lay Gregor out on a blue tarp covering the kitchen table. The shades from the hanging lamps had been removed so the bare bulbs could cast more light. Off to the side was a sinister-looking tray of medical instruments.
Mikhail stripped off his jacket and ran to the sink to wash his hands.
I rushed to the end of the table to stroke Gregor’s hair and cheek. “I’m here. I’m here.”
He didn’t respond. His usually tan and robust skin had a pale, purplish pallor.
One of his men rolled up his sleeves and inserted a needle attached to a long tube, which another put in Gregor’s arm.
Mikhail gave me a reassuring wink. “Battlefield blood transfusion. As good as any hospital.”
Another man tore away Gregor’s shirt. I cried out at the jagged exit wound.
Mikhail pulled one of the standing lamps positioned around the table closer and inspected the wound. “Fucking bitch used a RIP.”
“RIP?”
He shook his head. “Radically Invasive Projectile. It’s a hollow bullet designed to break into eight fragments to cause the maximum amount of damage.”
“Oh God.” My stomach twisted. I had to swallow down the bile in my throat.
Mikhail probed the wound. Gregor groaned, and his body shifted.
“The good news is the bullet went clear through his shoulder. I can see only two fragments but they must be dug out.”
Gregor regained consciousness the moment Mikhail began. Waking with a curse, he complained, “Jesus Christ, what are you using a spoon?”
“Shut up and let me work,” groused Mikhail in return.
It took five men to hold Gregor down, but eventually Mikhail got both jagged pieces. He placed several stitches over the exit wound, and then Gregor was carefully turned so he could stitch up the entrance wound.
One of his men walked into the kitchen carrying a bag with the logo of a local veterinarian. “Got the antibiotics and bandages.”
I cast an annoyed look at Mikhail, who only shrugged, “It’s how we do things around here.”
“What about… what about my parents? Don’t we need to call the police?”
Gregor and Mikhail exchanged a look.
“That is being taken care of.”
Gregor reached up to run the back of his knuckles down my cheek. “The less you know, the better, malyshka. You’re just going to have to trust me on this.”
Clasping his hand, I held his open palm against my cheek. “I trust you.”
And I meant it. We may not have started our relationship the normal way, but normal was overrated. Gregor had more than proven to me that he did truly love me. He had more than earned my trust.
As Gregor liked to say, our choices had consequences. My parents chose greed over love, and now my father had paid the ultimate price. I guessed my mother would, too. I tried to feel sorrow but only felt the pang of regret of what could have been if they only returned half the love I tried to give them.
“So, Doc, will I live?” Gregor joked.
“You’ll live. You’re too stubborn to die.”
With help, Gregor slowly rose off the table. Brushing aside any further help, he made his way up the three flights of stairs to our bedroom with me by his side.
“We need to get you out of those pants.”
Gregor smiled. “Thought you’d never ask.”
The hard outline of his cock pressed against his upper thigh. “Seriously? You literally have a bullet wound in your shoulder!”
“Nothing wrong with my cock,” he said with a wink as he pulled me in for a kiss.
“You really are impossibly stubborn, you know that?”
Using his good arm, he wrapped his arm around my waist. “It’s a good thing for you I am so stubborn. Only a stubborn man would pursue the same female for three years.”
Slowly lowering to my knees, I flicked open the first button of his jeans.
Gregor inhaled. His dark eyes on me.
I flicked another button than another till his erect shaft sprang free. Wrapping my hand around the hot length, I flicked the head with the tip of my tongue.
“I think we both need to get out of these bloody clothes and into a hot shower,” he said gruffl
y.
Taking in his powerful chest, the tattoos showing more brightly against the white of the gauze, I warned, “You’ll ruin your bandages.”
Driving his fingers into my hair, he pulled me to my feet. “Fuck my bandages!”
My mouth opened in feigned shock. “Language, husband!”
“Guess, you’ll just have to give me a tongue lashing, wife.”
Chapter 38
Samara
One week later.
I took a deep breath. This would not be easy. I’d thought about it long and hard over the past week, and I really saw no way around it.
I had to divorce Gregor.
The manner of my father’s death had been skillfully covered up. It was listed as a home robbery gone wrong. The news reported that my mother had left the United States to grieve with family. From what I understood, she was shipped back to Russia and had not left willingly.
Unfortunately, the whole thing reeked of a cover-up scandal. There were salacious rumors running rampant.
The Federov name and prestigious reputation were now irreparably tainted.
The very reason why Gregor had married me in the first place was gone.
I gave Matilda a stiff smile as she dropped off a lunch tray set for two on the small table by the window inside my painter’s studio. Of course, his injury had not slowed him up one bit over the last week. In addition to his own affairs, and helping cover up my family’s scandal, he had overseen turning a side room in his house into another studio for me. When he was home, he joined me each day for lunch. Outside of our time in the bedroom, it really was my favorite time with him.
“I like your use of orange.”
I turned my head as Gregor walked into the room. He came up behind and wrapped his left arm around my waist as we both studied my current work. “It’s very Toulouse-Lautrec of you.”
I loved when he talked Impressionist art with me. It was so sexy.
Screwing up my nerve, I set my paintbrush aside. “Gregor, we need to talk.”
He stroked my cheek. “What is it, malyshka?”
