Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Little harsh, no?” Nikolai mumbles right before I slam the door.
3
Natasha
He dies, you die.
Dima just threatened my life. Dima, the bratva bad boy I thought was the nicest of the guys in the Kremlin. I should have listened to my mom. She tried to tell me this. These men are dangerous, and they won’t hesitate to kill anyone who threatens them.
I don’t know how I could’ve thought there was potential between us.
I steal a glance at his twin Nikolai.
He raises his brows. “He’s pissed,” he says with exaggerated awe, like he’s surprised, too. Like Dima never gets mad.
I rip open the package of gauze with trembling fingers while he holds the balled up shirt in place over his wound. Every part of me trembles—lips, chin, fingers, knees.
I’m not even sure what happened back there. Alex shot Nikolai! —that’s what happened. I quickly unravel a length of gauze and use my teeth to rip it, then move Nikolai’s hand and the combined bloody shirts—his and Dima’s—to stuff the gauze in the wound the way I learned in my training to be an EMT. Before I realized it was too much trauma for me to stomach and set my sights on becoming a naturopath instead. I repeat the action for the exit wound.
I hear the ringing of a phone coming through the speakers. Dima’s making a hands-free call through the car’s system.
“Da?”
“Nikolai’s shot,” Dima clips. “He needs a doctor and blood. Type O positive. I can donate if you can’t get any.”
“Take him to the clinic—I’ll get Blake to meet you there. What happened?” I recognize Ravil’s terse voice. He’s all-business.
In the rear-view mirror, I see a muscle in Dima’s jaw tick. “Natasha brought a fucking Fed to the game.”
A wave of ice cold washes over me, and my shaking increases five-fold. The parts of the puzzle my shocked brain hadn’t been able to fit together suddenly snap into place.
Alex is a federal agent.
He used me to get to Nikolai.
God, I am such an idiot! How could I be so stupid?
“What?” Ravil asks in disbelief. “Blayd’. So what happened?”
“He was a rookie. Spoke Russian, that’s probably why they put him on us. He panicked when he got made and took a pot-shot before we had a chance to disarm him. I told Oleg to leave him there for the Feds to deal with.”
“Is he dead?”
“No. Knocked out.”
“Why was Natasha at game?” Ravil asks, dropping the article.
Dima punches the dashboard, and I gasp at the crunch of hard plastic and the violence behind the gesture. “My fault. She asked and… I don’t know. I couldn’t say no because it was Natasha.”
“Blyad’, Dima.” Ravil sounds disgusted.
Because it was Natasha.
I flip that phrase over and over in my head, trying not to run too far with it. Part of me secretly rejoices. I was right—I do mean something to him! He couldn’t refuse me the favor when I asked.
But then the twisting in the pit of my stomach tightens even more. Because that means the betrayal Dima feels over my actions must cut even deeper.
“Where is she now?”
“In the back seat with Nikolai.”
“I see. I’ll deal with her when I get there.”
Another wash of cold floods through me. I nearly pee my pants like a frightened puppy.
“No, I’ll deal with her,” Dima snaps back.
I’m not sure what either of them means by dealing with me, but it can’t be good.
It’s probably really, really bad.
I just betrayed their organization and may have gotten Nikolai killed.
Dima probably meant it when he said if Nikolai dies, I die. Oh God, if they kill me, my mother will never survive the grief.
“Who is pakhan here?” The bark in Ravil’s voice makes Dima stiffen.
“You are.”
“Indeed. Now keep a cool head for Nikolai’s sake. I will meet you there with help.”
Dima purses his lips but doesn’t answer. The call ends.
My next breath comes in on a silent sob—one of those terraced, hiccuping kinds.
“Shh,” Nikolai says softly. “Everything will be fine.” But his eyelids flutter closed.
“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” I whisper urgently, not wanting Dima to hear.
I believe Dima now. My life depends on Nikolai not dying.
Nikolai’s lashes flicker back open. “I won’t die,” he promises me. “It takes more than one cowardly bullet to put me down.”
Tears stream down my face as Dima weaves through the Chicago streets. I sit sideways on the seat, my back and arms cramping from the awkward position I maintain to keep compression on Nikolai’s wounds.
I try to catch Dima’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. “I didn’t know Alex was a Fed—I swear. I’m sorry.”
“We’ll discuss it later.” He shuts me down.
I try not to think about all the bad things that could happen. To me. To Nikolai. To my mother. Will Ravil kick us out of the Kremlin? Will they shoot me and throw my body in Lake Michigan?