The Hit

by SR Jones

  I rush to the door from the living room where I’m putting some finishing touches to making the space more comfortable. Justina must hear me run to the door because she jogs out of the kitchen, her face expectant.

  “They’re late,” she says.

  “I know. I was getting worried.”

  Ethan gets out of the driver’s side and goes to open the passenger door for Andrius. He also opens the back door and takes out a set of crutches. They’re bog standard NHS crutches, but I’ve already been looking at some better ones we can get, which will aid his recovery better.

  Andrius takes the crutches, and I can tell it hurts for him to balance on them. I resist the powerful urge to go help him. He is a proud man from a masculine culture, and he won’t appreciate it. Instead, I smile as he approaches.

  When he nears, he turns to me and gives a smile in return. I can see the pain etched in lines around his eyes.

  He looks older. I’ve always known, of course, we have a fairly large age gap, but suddenly I can see his age in a way I never have before. He’s still stunning. Still big and powerful with no grays in his hair or the rough stubble on his chin, but there are brackets around his mouth and those tiny lines under his eyes.

  We head inside, and Ethan drops Andrius’ bag by the door.

  “I’ll be here if you need me,” he tells me.

  “I’ve told you, you can go on home.” Andrius is terse.

  Ethan doesn’t seem bothered at all by the tone. “Part of the contract, need to stay until the threat is resolved. Until we know for sure what is going on with Boris and the organization, we don’t know the threat is resolved. As I say,” he repeats firmly, “I’ll be here in the hallway.”

  Andrius bristles. I dread him sending Ethan away and putting himself in renewed danger if any threat does come calling, but I see the moment the battle goes out of him. The very moment he looks at me. I also see something else, and I don’t like it. He seems deflated somehow.

  Justina and I help Andrius settle on the sofa, and she pulls a blanket over him, muttering about him needing to stay warm, despite it being a hot day. He rolls his eyes but lets her, and then she heads out of the room saying she’s going to get on with the cooking. She’s not the best cook but can do a few basic dishes, including some of Andrius’ favorites, one of which is a broth he likes. Right now, he’s on a liquid and soft foods diet for a few weeks while his jaw mends.

  When she’s gone, I go to the door and close it all the way and then walk to sit on the floor by the sofa Andrius is on. I lay my head by his hand and close my eyes when he strokes my face.

  Turning my face up to him, I wait until he looks at me in return. “What’s wrong? I don’t mean the pain or the recovery; you’re different. You seem depressed. What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, God, is this the new you? The therapy you? Are you going to be trying to get closure soon?” He says closure in a mock American accent.

  I ignore the hurt at his words and know it’s because he’s hurting and lashing out, but I want to know why he’s hurting.

  “Andrius, don’t do this. Talk to me.”

  “I don’t talk, not in the way you mean.” He sighs and pinches his eyes closed.

  “Try. For me.”

  Eyes still closed, he says, “I have a lot, how do the English say, a lot on my plate. Decisions to make. Changes, big changes to make, and it feels as if it’s been forced on me.”

  “By me?” I’m to blame here, aren’t I? Justina and me both in some ways. I’m sure without us in the picture, Andrius would go on a glorious blaze of revenge seeking, and if it ended his life, so be it.

  “No, not by you.” He looks at me now. “I’ve always been strong. Physically. I’ve been injured, of course, but this, this … stupid gunshot is going to take a lot of time to get over. It makes me feel older, weaker. I don’t like it.”

  “The best soldiers can be injured and need recovery time. Look at Luka. He took a long time to get better after the incident he was in. And look at Reece now. It’s not a sign of weakness. It’s because of your strength and bravery you were injured in the first place.”

  I shut up for a moment and think. Wanting to word what I say next the right way. “The strong thing to do now is to allow your body to recover and not push too hard too soon. That will take strength and patience, and I believe you possess both.”

  “I hope you’re right, my little rabbit.”

  I look at him, and he grins, small but real.

  “Zaika,” I say, confirming its meaning.

  “Zaika,” he repeats.

  He sighs again, but this one is more dramatic. “And, of course, this injury also means your punishment for doing such a bad thing as running away will have to be deferred.” He waggles his arm. “No strength.”

  I giggle. I’m sure he has more than enough strength remaining to tan my hide, but I don’t tell him so. It’s best not to go giving him any more ideas.

  He turns serious again, his face losing its playful countenance.

  “The real issue between us is trust. You don’t trust me, little one, and without trust…” He trails off.

  “I do,” I tell him. “I trust you with my safety, my life. I don’t trust me. Don’t believe I can be enough for you and be what you need, but I’m working on it. And no therapy jokes; it’s helping me.”

  “If it helps you to trust me then I won’t make jokes.” He’s solemn, and I smile.

  “I too am at fault.” I glance back at him, surprised he’s said this. “I’m not an easy man to be around, Violet. This I know. I don’t chatter and laugh. Even Ethan makes more conversation than me. And I don’t always tell people important things. Not because I’m hiding them, but because I’m used to going through life alone and making decisions alone. So how about a deal? If I promise to try to remember to share things more, will you promise to not immediately think of the worst-case scenario if anything comes up?”

  I nod. And then I lean into him and kiss him.

  His taste is as potent as ever. He groans, and his big hand cups the back of my head, pulling me in.

  He might be injured, but to me he’s as powerful as he ever was. One groan, one command, one word in his heavy accent, it’s always going to be enough to bring me to my knees.

  I remember then there is a lock on the door of the library, and I stand. “One second.”

  I go to it, lock it, and return to him.

  “You know, I once read about a nurse in a hospital who used to help out her male patients by giving them what she called a helping hand.”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  “What the fuck were you reading?”

  I laugh and hold up one of the magazines Justina bought. “It’s in the true stories section, so it must be factual.”

  “Oh, yes. Very factual.”

  “I hope you didn’t have such a nurse during your hospital stay, but I think you need a helping hand now.” I flush at my own silly words, but Andrius doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he pushes the blanket down, revealing a thick bulge in his soft sweatpants.

  I reach for him and pull the cotton down, and my eyes widen when I see the tip of him poking out of his boxer briefs. He’s wet and glistening there, and I bet he’s desperate for release. Andrius is a highly sexual man, and he’s been on a mixed hospital ward for long day after long day, no chance of any release. Hell, I should have thought of this when I helped him shower the other day. Although, the state of the bathrooms… I shudder.

  He narrows his eyes. “I’m not used to it getting that reaction.”

  I smile at his words. “Oh, I was thinking about the showers in the hospital.”

  “Can you stop talking about the hospital now? It’s going to put me off.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His eyes darken at that. “Say it again,” he commands.

  So I do. “Sir, can I touch you?”

  “Yes.” The word is clipped.

  I take him out, marveling at his beauty as I hold him
firm and warm in my grip. With one hand I cup his balls, while I use the other to stroke him. His head drops back, and he closes his eyes, but when I bend forward and take him in my mouth, he hisses and bucks up into me.

  I feel a sense of power as I place my hand on his stomach and hold him still while I take him as deep as I can. Soon his breath is coming more rapidly, and he’s moving his lower body in that ancient rhythm of fucking. I know he’s close, so I take him even deeper.

  “Violet,” he warns.

  I don’t pull away, though, because I want to swallow down everything he gives me. He comes copiously down my throat, and I work to swallow it all, but some escapes out of the side of my mouth. When he’s finished, I sit back and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling like a thoroughly dirty girl.

  “Come here,” he says, reaching for me, but I move away.

  “Uh-oh. No. You need to rest and recover,” I tell him.

  “I want to taste you. Come here.”

  I stand and stare at him. “No. I mean it. You need to rest. This can be something to look forward to in a day or two.”

  Then I soften my words with a smile. “God. Andrius, allow me to do something for you for once. I’m going to see how Justina is doing with the food. I won’t be long.”

  I go to the door, and as I’m slipping out into the hallway I hear him say, “You do a lot for me already, dusha moya.”

  I want to know what those words mean, so I rush to the kitchen.

  “Justina, what does dusha moya mean?” I ask her.

  She smiles at me. “Oh, my. It means … my soul.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Andrius

  I watch Violet as she dusts the windowsill. She’s dusting and using an old sock to do it. It should be about the least sexy thing she’s done, but it’s not. Her hair is piled up in a messy knot on top of her head, and she’s wearing no makeup.

  Often, these days, she puts on mascara, some lip gloss, maybe some blush… I don’t know. But today she has on none. It reminds me of when I first saw her, pale and wan looking, clearing tables, and I noticed something in her no one else did.

  It’s been no time since then, not really, but it feels like years in some ways. In others, barely days.

  I want her, but she’s still saying I need to recover. Fuck that. If I wait any longer, my balls will explode, and I’ll need more medical treatment.

  I’m about to order her to come and sit on my face when the door opens, and Liam enters the room.

  “Time for physiotherapy,” he says.

  I sigh and get up.

  Justina and Violet have conspired with these men to get me a private physio who comes to the house to work in the pool with me.

  I must admit, I had a moment of sweet revenge when she arrived, and I saw Violet’s face. She’s a stunning woman, and it makes my little rabbit jealous. In truth, the woman does nothing for me. Still, I haven’t let Violet know this fact yet because she deserves a little bit of jealousy for riding me so hard to do everything right in my recovery. Including giving me blue balls.

  Shit, I can hardly go in the pool in this condition. I need to think of something deeply unsexy.

  Luckily for me, at that moment Justina also marches into the room and announces she’s making a fish pie. My stomach turns. Justina knows this was one of my favorite dishes growing up with my aunt. But my aunt made a gorgeous pie, and Justina’s is awful. I have to open some red wine each time she makes it and force the pie down by drinking the wine after every mouthful. Now poor Violet will get to experience the same torture.

  There is a knock at the door, and I sigh as Liam goes to open it.

  The physiotherapist, Angela, comes into the hallway and stands by the open door.

  “Hi all.” She waves at us and smiles. When she sees Justina, she colors slightly, and Justina gives her a dimpled smile and mutters something about needing to get back to her cooking, flashing Angela a couple of glances as she goes.

  Interesting.

  I didn’t think Justina did shy, but maybe this woman has brought it out in her, which means Justina likes Angela. A lot.

  I file the information away.

  Then I stand from the sofa. I can walk without my crutches now, but I have to concentrate, as my leg is weak from the damage to my muscles. I get stronger daily, though, and I’m lifting weights for my upper body every other day, rebuilding my strength.

  I might need it. Allyov is back, and we need to talk.

  I haven’t decided what the fuck I’m going to do in the future yet, but as each day passes, I grow more and more deeply in love with Violet and find myself wanting peace for the first time in my life. So whatever my future holds, it won’t be the same kind of work as my past.

  I also need to tell my little rabbit how I feel, but she’s not sleeping in the same room as me at the moment because the first night we went to bed together, she rolled onto my leg, and I think I woke up the souls in Hell itself with my shout of pain. So between us sleeping separately, the daily coming and going of what seems to be a village worth of visitors to the house, and Justina’s fussing, I haven’t found an opportunity. Plus, the painkillers are still making me sleepy and slow, so my brain feels like it’s working in a thick soup of nonsense, thoughts floating about in there. I swear, last night I started thinking about whether or not dogs actually love us. I don’t have these kinds of thoughts. Ever. My brain is not my friend right now, and I’m scared I’ll get the words wrong and fuck it up. I have to face it, though, and tell her because not being honest got us in the mess in the first place.

  Tonight, I’m going to ask her to come and watch a movie with me in bed, and I’m going to tell her how I feel.

  I want her in my life. Not only as my charge or my … fuck, some people might still say she’s my captive. I want her as more. She’s mine, and I’m not letting her go, and it’s time she knows it. Understands what I feel for her and what it means. She doesn’t get to run away again because if she tries it, I’ll tie her to the motherfucking bed for a month.

  On that thought, I head out of the room to get changed for my therapy. I see Violet watching me go and throw her a wink. She’s jealous but has no need to be because if I’m right, Justina and Angela have the hots for one another.

  Going upstairs hurts like a bitch, and it takes me an irritatingly long time to do it. I persevere, though, because the only way to get through this is to go through it. I need to build muscle and strength up, which means using my leg but giving it plenty of rest time.

  My jaw doesn’t hurt too much these days. I’m still mostly eating liquid food but can eat soft foods too, hence the dreaded fish pie. Sudden inspiration hits as I get to the top of the stairs. I’m going to tell Justina my jaw is extra painful this evening and I can, sadly, only face eating soup.

  Smirking to myself and then wincing because smirking definitely hurts, I walk into my bedroom and change for therapy. As I do, I catch a glimpse of my naked form in the full-length mirror.

  My leg is going to carry a scar for the rest of my life. A couple of inches above my knee in the side of my lower thigh, it’s a not too nice hole, but the back is worse. I turn around slowly and look at the mess the bullet made when it exited. Thank God I didn’t get hit somewhere with vital organs because that fucking piece of metal tore me up.

  I face the front again and look at my jaw and cheekbone. Still some swelling and bruising, but they should eventually go. As the nurse said to me with a wink, ‘You’ll have your pretty face back again soon enough’.

  I’d smiled at her as best I could and ignored her words. I’m not pretty. Luka is a pretty boy. I’m … cold looking. I think it is why some women like me. They see a challenge.

  I don’t think Violet falls into that category, though. I think she saw beneath the cold and the shell I wear to something deeper. It should have scared her away, but it didn’t; it drew her to me.

  Let’s be honest, Violet is wonderful, but she’s more than a little messed up
in the head. Maybe we match one another in that sense. We both carry dark secrets, awful family pasts, and we’re both haunted by ghosts.

  The voices of my ghosts used to drown out everything else. They were deafening at times, but when I’m with Violet, they fade away.

  With her, I can be in the here and now for the first time in years. It’s precious to me, and one more reason for my infatuation with her. One more reason I can’t and won’t let her go.

  Not that she wants to go, but it’s a good thing she’s on the same page as me because if she wasn’t I’m not sure what would happen. And the thought scares me.

  I turn from the mirror and tell myself to get a grip. Allyov used to say I was a true Russian, and more Russian than Ukrainian. When I asked him why, he said I suffered with the melancholy of mind all true Russians did. He said we are a beautiful nation, but a sad one.

  I’ve had enough of being sad. I want to feel the sun and the light, and I want to do it with Violet.

  I’ve had the house valued, and it’s worth more than I thought. I’d make what I put in and more if I sold it. But I’d make even more, long term, if I rented it. You can charge a fucking fortune for renting out a place like this.

  Not only to tourists. But also to film and television companies. My research shows they’d pay a fortune to film in a house like this. An absolute fortune.

  My investments are performing well. I have a broker I use for some of my investments, and he puts them in a variety of funds. But I also research the markets and do my own investing. I see him as a backstop in case one day I make totally the wrong call.

  So far, I haven’t.

  If you watch the news, keep abreast of events, and have good knowledge of the money markets, you can make a killing. I also think having a grasp of history helps.

  Maybe it’s wrong for me to use a seemingly innate grasp of these things to make money, but money is a means to an end. For some it is about power, I don’t care about that. For me, money is freedom. It means I can walk away from something if it isn’t working for me because I can survive, for a long time if need be, from the profits I’ve made.