“Ashley,” Pasha calls from behind me.
“Nobody is going to keep me from him!” I yell, turning to face Pasha with tears shining in my eyes.
“Okay,” Dr. Pavlov whispers from behind me.
I’m too busy challenging every single male pair of eyes that are focused on me to register his words.
“Yakov has saved me time and time again. From others, from myself, and from himself. He’s mine.”
A sob bubbles from my throat and my legs shake a little harder.
“Take her to him,” Pasha orders.
“He saved me. He’s always saved me,” I whisper.
“Yes, he always has,” Dr. Pavlov murmurs as he sweeps me into his arms and carries me away from the room full of completely silent men in expensive black suits.
“I’m sorry,” I cry.
“Do not be. You have been through much and he has been your rock every step of the way. It is understandable,” he murmurs as he sets me down inside of a room.
The beeping from the machines that surround Yakov, is low and the room is dark. I turn and face the bed. Yakov is naked, a sheet pulled up to his waist and machines hooked up to him, including a breathing tube in his mouth. He looks so powerless, so small, and so incredibly pale.
The door clicks behind me and I know that Dr. Pavlov has left us alone. I grab a chair and drag it with me as I step closer and closer to him. Then I stop and sit down in it at his slide. I take his free hand in mine and wrap my fingers around it.
“I love you, Jacob. Come back to me,” I whisper.
My tears fall for hours. Silent and steady as I stare at him. I watch his chest as it rises and falls with the help of the machines. Its rhythm is nothing like his unaided breathing.
I don’t know if he can hear me or not, but I speak to him anyway. I need something to kill the deafening silence of the empty room. I need something to keep me from going crazy in my own head.
“You have to wake up. We’ve been trying for a baby, what if I’m pregnant? Don’t you want to meet your son or daughter? You promised me everything, Jacob. If you don’t deliver your promises, then what will I do? Who is going to love me the way that you do? You’ve promised me a house, marriage, and a family. Don’t leave me and take all of that away.”
I continue to whisper to him throughout the night, lying my head on his hand when it becomes too heavy to hold up. Then, eventually, I fall asleep.
THE FIRST THING I notice is the smell. I know exactly where I am—a hospital. There is beeping, and a tube is shoved down my throat. I lift my arm and pull it out of my mouth. Big mistake. It hurts like hell; but the unnatural oxygen was already making me sick just seconds after opening my eyes.
I try to lift my other arm, but there’s a pressure weighing my hand down, so I don’t bother. I crack an eye open and see the machine next to me is alive with obnoxious beeping, right in my ear.
My eyes travel the length of my body and I flex my thighs, I almost scream out in pain. I was shot. Once in the arm, once in each thigh, and once in the chest. The chest wound is probably what landed me here. Arm and leg wounds Dr. Pavlov can stitch up in his office.
“Jacob?” a sweet voice whispers from my hip.
My eyes travel down to my side. Ashley lifts her head and the pressure that had been weighing my hand down is now gone. I flex my fingers and almost scream out again. The pain radiates through me.
“Hi,” I grunt hoarsely.
“You’re awake,” she whispers.
Her eyes light up in a way I’ve never seen before. They’re bright, and if I ever thought she was happy before, she wasn’t. These are the eyes of my girl ecstatic. Then tears start to fall from her pretty, brown eyes. I try to lift my hand again to cup her cheek, but I end up hissing with pain instead.
“I’m going to call the nurse,” she mutters.
“Not yet. I want a minute with my pchelka,” I murmur.
“You scared me,” she whispers.
“It wasn’t my intention,” I admit with a grin.
“I love you so much,” she whispers.
“I love you, Ashley, so very much,” I admit. She leans forward and gently presses her lips to mine.
“Thank you for coming back to me,” she breathes against my lips.
“I always will,” I rasp.
I lift my free hand up to touch her temple as she reaches for the call button. A few minutes later, she’s kicked out of the room as nurses and Dr. Pavlov surround me. I close my eyes and let them poke, prod, and test me.
I close my eyes as I lean against the wall next to Yakov’s room.
He’s alive.
He’s breathing and his lips even kissed mine.
He’s alive.
Yesterday, they still weren’t sure he would make it, and they kept a close watch on him. I never left his side. It’s been thirty hours since he was admitted. They said the longer he stayed out, the less likely he was to wake up. I didn’t give up hope. If Tatyana could survive her horrific accident, then so could my Yakov.
“Have you slept at all?” a deep voice asks.
I turn to see Ziven standing at the mouth of the ICU hall.
“Ziven,” I exhale.
“Came as soon as I heard,” he rumbles as I run and throw myself in his arms.
Never really one to embrace him, it seems right in the moment. Ziven, my friend, a man who has always been nothing but a friend and always worried about my best interests.
“I thought I lost him,” I cry out as I bury my face in his neck. He caresses my upper back and shushes me.
“You didn’t,” he murmurs against the top of my head.
I calm myself and step away, wiping my eyes before looking up into his.
“Thank you for coming, but why did you?” I ask.
“You know why,” he grunts.
“Because you’re secretly in love with me?” I ask, arching a brow and grinning.
Ziven throws back his head and bursts out laughing before he drapes his arm over my shoulders.
“No. Though, you aren’t hard on the eyes. I have my own pain in the ass blonde I’m trying to tame. I can’t handle two,” he chuckles.
“Is she still giving you a hard time?”
“She thinks I’m scum.” He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter to him, but I can see in his eyes that it does.
“If she can’t see you for the wonderful man that you are, then she doesn’t deserve you. How many times do I need to tell you this?” I ask with a small grin.
“Tell me again how wonderful I am,” he chuckles.
I roll my eyes just as Dr. Pavlov arrives. He looks between me and Ziven, who explains that he’s one of Kirill’s men who was also my driver in California. He goes on to say that he came as soon as he heard about Yakov. Dr. Pavlov doesn’t respond before turning to me.
“He looks damn good. He’ll be sore, but the nurses will get him up and moving here shortly. I want him to stay at least one more night for observation, and then, hopefully tomorrow, he’ll be able to go home. Now, he’s going to have a hard time walking because of his stitches in each leg. He’ll probably need a cane and help.”
“I’ll be helping him at the hotel,” I murmur. “Can he stay at The Mark?” I ask.
“Does your suite have stairs?” he asks. I shake my head and he confirms that he can stay there.
“Maybe I’ll get the suite next to yours in case you need help. That guy is too heavy for you,” Ziven suggests. Dr. Pavlov agrees and then tells me he’ll be checking up on Yakov later.
Together, Ziven and I walk into Yakov’s now empty room. When Yakov’s eyes scan and see Ziven, he scowls a bit before he grins and shakes his head.
“Ziven,” he rasps.
“You look like shit,” Ziven chuckles.
“Feel like shit. Come, pchelka,” Yakov orders. Without a thought, my feet carry me to his side and I sit down on the bed next to his hip. He hisses as he lifts his hand and places it on my thigh.
“Do yo
u need water?” I ask.
“Nyet,” he grunts. “Why’d you come?” Yakov asks, eyeing Ziven.
“I heard what happened. Kirill can’t come, Tatyana is still sick as a dog. Radimir and Maxim are too busy, and I’m wrapping up my duties, anyway, in preparation for Denver,” he shrugs. “Plus, I had to make sure Ashley was doing all right.”
“I’m doing just fine,” I say with a grin as my eyes go from Yakov’s to Ziven’s.
We spend the better part of an hour talking until Yakov drifts off to sleep. Ziven and I step out of his room, but I refuse to leave him completely. We talk in the hall for a little longer, then suddenly, his phone rings.
“Hello?” I watch as his face goes from relaxed to tight. Too tight. His jaw clenches and then he curses under his breath.
“Ziven?” I ask once he’s ended his call.
“I shouldn’t give a shit,” he mutters.
“Does it have to do with her?” I ask.
He nods once and then turns from me.
“Can I give you some advice?” I ask, not really caring if he says no because I’m giving it anyway.
“Go for it,” he grunts.
“If you want her so badly, you need to just take her,” I shrug.
“Ashley,” he scolds.
“Not kidnap her.” I roll my eyes. Like I would ever want another woman to live in the fear I have endured. He’s crazy if he thinks I could ever suggest it. “No, be a fixture in her day-to-day life. Don’t just show up when it’s convenient for you. And for goodness sake, take her out on a date.”
“A date?” he asks.
“Have you ever even asked her out?”
Ziven shrugs and I growl.
“No wonder she thinks you’re scum. You’re not wooing her,” I say, exasperated.
“Woo? What is this, the eighteen-hundreds?”
“Wooing a girl, being romantic and gentlemanly, never goes out of style,” I point out. “Let me guess, you’ve only told her how badly you want her?”
“I’m not talking anymore,” he grunts.
“You need to take her out, without trying anything. Maybe she’s shy,” I offer with a shrug.
“She blushes practically every time I talk,” he points out with a sly grin on his face.
“Take her out on a date, a real date, with dinner and dancing or a show.”
“Maybe I will,” he grins.
“If you want her, if she’s what you want, then you will,” I smile.
“Yeah.”
Ziven goes back to his hotel and informs me that he’ll be back tomorrow to help me get Yakov back to The Mark. I thank him and make my way back into his room, to take my position on the chair next to his bed. It’s where I’ve stayed since Dr. Pavlov carried me into his room.
“Ziven is too friendly with you,” Yakov grunts.
“We’re friends, nothing more,” I murmur as I rest my cheek on his hip, careful not to touch his thigh.
“You looked too happy to see him,” he says.
“Are you jealous?” I ask, grinning.
“Nyet,” he growls.
“I was giving him advice on a woman he has a thing for. You’re the Russian that has my heart, nobody else,” I whisper as I reach my arm up to cup his bearded chin.
“You know how I feel about men touching what’s mine,” he says.
“Yes, I know. I feel the same when a woman who propositions you is hanging off of you.”
“That was different,” he mutters.
“He gave me a simple hug as a show of comfort. It was nothing more than that,” I whisper.
“I can’t fuck you right now,” he announces.
“Yakov.”
“I can’t fuck you to remind you who you belong to,” he rumbles.
I sit up in my chair and stand before sitting down next to his hip. I wrap both of my hands around his cheeks and I lean down and press my forehead against his.
“I don’t need you inside of me to remind me who exactly I belong to. My heart belongs to you, Jacob. My body and my heart are all yours. I’ll never forget it, not in a million years,” I whisper.
“I feel helpless,” he breathes.
“Not for long. You’ll be up and walking, drinking, and fucking in no time,” I grin. “Until then, I’ll be your nurse when we get back to the hotel.”
“Will you dress up for me?” he asks with a smile tipping his lips.
“Would you like that?” I ask, dipping my voice a bit.
Yakov doesn’t answer me with words. His good hand wraps around the back of my neck, and he pulls my head further down so that his lips are on mine. I feel his tongue slide across the seam of my lips and I open for him. His tongue fills me and swirls around mine, causing me to moan into his mouth. My nipples pebble against my bra, and my thighs clench with want. His hand massages the back of my neck while his tongue massages my own. Then he peppers my lips with gentle kisses before he nips my lower lip and grins.
“I want you in nothing but an extremely sexy nurse’s outfit—no panties—taking care of me and doing everything I ask of you,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Yes,” I exhale as my chest heaves.
“What a good girl,” he rumbles.
I shiver with anticipation.
I leave the hospital feeling a bit lighter.
A date.
Apparently, these are still something people do, regularly. I knew Mika took Ashley out, but I haven’t gone out on a date since I was in high school. Most of the women I meet are at clubs. I just fuck ‘em and leave ‘em, or I’ll hire one of our call-girls for a night, depending on my mood.
I think about the phone call I’ve just received. Quinn was leaving with a man, older, distinguished, and definitely not someone she would normally go out with. I had Mika follow them and keep a close eye on their happenings. I feel as though I should leave and go back to LA.
Something is happening with her, with her father, and I aim to find out. Standing in the lobby of The Mark, I send a text to Ashley, informing her of my departure. My stomach twists at being so far away from Quinn. She needs me. I can feel it.
I’m lucky the pilot hasn’t left the private airport hangar, and I ask him to fire up the plane and get ready for a trip back to Cali. He doesn’t protest. He knows if he did, he wouldn’t get another call to fly for the organization, and we’re the reason he makes as much money as he does.
I speed through the city, thankful that there are no police officers around to pull me over as I head toward the airport.
“Hello?” Mika murmurs into the phone.
“I’m on my way to the plane. I’ll be back in five hours and change. What’s happening?” I demand as I park the car and gather my suitcase.
“They’re in the car, talking. I’m not feeling good things about this. He looks like he could be authority,” Mika mutters.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“She doesn’t know anything, does she?” he asks.
“She knows that her father owes money to the Bratva; she knows that I am Bratva,” I say as I wave to the pilot and climb inside of the plane.
“Shit,” he exhales.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep a close watch. I’ll call you when we’ve landed.”
Once I’m situated on the plane, I try to close my eyes to rest, but all I see are visions of Quinn in my mind. Her blonde hair, her green eyes, and her fantastic body.
I’m going to make her mine.
The time has come.
No more fucking around.
Quinn may not think she wants me, but I can see in her eyes that she does. She leans toward me when I talk to her, and she blushes at the things I tell her.
I’ve seen her watch me.
Until tonight, there’s been no other man sniffing around her. She’s mine and its time she accepts that. I’ll protect her better than her piece of shit father ever could.
YAKOV GLARES AT ME from his position in bed. I ignore his murderous gaze and shrug as I walk a
way from him to take his empty dishes to the hall. We’re going to look at a house today and we need to get started, but my patient is currently not thrilled with me. He’s joining me, but not the way he would like to. His sutures are better, but not completely healed, so today, he’ll be in a wheelchair.
“I am not an invalid,” he announces as I make my way back into the bedroom.
“No, you certainly are not,” I agree as I slip on my high heels and smooth down my hair in the mirror before adding my lip stain.
“I refuse the wheelchair,” he grunts.
“Then you’ll be staying here?”
“Pchelka,” he warns.
I walk over to the bed and sit down next to him. He’s been home for only a few days, and he’s mad because he isn’t one hundred percent healed yet.
The wounds on his thighs need to close properly, otherwise it means more stitches and more downtime for him. His arm is in a sling, and he doesn’t feel like the strong man he usually is.
I understand it.
I completely understand it.
I have been there myself.
“I want you to get healed, Jacob. I want you better, but you have to rest your body and let it heal. You can’t push yourself. Please, for me, let me care for you the way you’ve cared for me so many times,” I murmur, cupping his cheek with my palm.
“You play dirty,” he huffs.
“Probably. Then again, so do you,” I grin.
“I love you, Ashley,” he whispers.
His words of love have come more frequently and more freely since his attack. I don’t know if it’s because he was hurt or now wants to make sure I know of his deep devotion and love. I honestly don’t care. I’m soaking up every single voiced affection he wishes to throw my way.
“I love you, too, Jacob. But you’re still going in a wheelchair,” I announce. His eyes narrow on me again before he grins.
“Okay, fine,” he huffs.
I help him dress in dark slacks and a cream button up shirt, carefully rolling his sleeves up to his elbows the way he likes.
“Do you need a coat? It’s chilly today,” I ask.
Living for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 4) Page 20
