Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“I’d die a thousand times—”
He places a palm over my mouth, his hand trembling. “Don’t say that.”
I smile against his palm, but that makes him frown harder.
“The moment I saw you slumped unconscious, my life flashed before my eyes, and it was full of regrets, of everything I should’ve done for you so you wouldn’t have ended up there. I felt like I failed you when you needed me the most, and I’ll never, and I mean never, let anyone hurt you again.”
I slowly remove his hand from my mouth so as not to trigger the pain too much. “The only person who’s able to hurt me is you. This injury is just physical. It means nothing.”
“It means something to me. God, I want to kill your dad.”
“Kind of impossible.” I sigh. “I thought of that, killing him, point-blank, ridding myself and Alya of him, but that would make us a target of the loyalists in Chicago. Almost everyone is on his side, even if Lukas is trying to recruit them. But he could be a worse option since, well, he never liked me or Alya and would get rid of us to make sure no one would oppose him.”
“There must be something we can do,” he muses.
“Love it when you get all scheming, baby.”
His lips part, then he bites down on the corner of the bottom one. “You called me baby again.”
“Well, you are my baby, Mishka.” I touch his face, determined to at least get a kiss. Fuck my broken body. We should be fucking in the dirtiest way possible right now. Just saying.
A knock lands on the door, interrupting the moment. Vaughn clears his throat as he releases me, leaving me empty as fuck, but at least he doesn’t get up. “Come in.”
A tall, broad guy fills the doorway like he owns the damn building—and judging by the three-piece suit that fits him like it was sewn on him, he probably does. Everything about him is sharp, from his clean-shaven jaw to the way those frameless glasses sit perfectly straight on his nose. He’s got that whole polished, ruthless vibe, the type of man who could order someone’s execution while adjusting his cuff links. One look and I just know this is a man who doesn’t shout to get what he wants. He just exists, and the room falls in line.
And yet he smiles warmly at Vaughn and speaks in Russian. “Am I interrupting, Zolotoy?”
“No, not at all,” Vaughn says, then motions at me. “Uncle, this is Yulian. Yulian, this is my uncle, Anton.”
I’m suppressing a smile because Vaughn’s uncle calls him Zolotoy—the golden one—that’s so adorably fitting.
“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you for hosting me.” I try to sit up, but Vaughn pins me back down.
“Don’t make your injuries worse, Yulian.”
“I just want to say hello to your uncle properly.”
“Stay still. He’ll understand.” He looks at Anton, who’s just smiling. “Right?”
“Right,” he says in accented English.
“I can speak Russian, so there’s no need to switch to English.” I say, “Kabardian, too. Though not so well. Haven’t spoken it in ages.”
“Kabardian?” Anton asks, and Vaughn raises his brows. Right, we didn’t discuss family ties much because I used all the time we had to fuck.
I mean, I told him about Mom’s origins and my dedushka, but I didn’t mention the language thing.
“Mom’s family comes from Kabardino-Balkaria, a pretty aristocratic family, actually, historically full of warrior nobility and lots of wealth. Beishev, if you’ve ever heard of them.”
“I have, indeed,” Anton says, sounding impressed. “Are any of them still around?”
“No. Dad, a complete nobody, by the way, took over the estate after Mom’s death.”
“There’s still you and Alina,” Vaughn reminds me softly.
He sure knows all the right things to say for a grumpy little shit.
There’s another knock before the door swings open, and in walks a guy who’s…massive. Bigger than me, if that’s even legal.
The man looks like a weapon. He’s all muscle, poured into combat cargos and a tight gray T-shirt that leaves zero mystery. He has a buzz cut sharp enough to slice through glass and a face that should be intimidating but isn’t—because unlike Anton’s carved-from-marble poker face, this one actually smiles, then hugs Anton from behind, dropping a kiss to his cheek.
“Miss me, Antosha?” he asks, and I feel like I’m intruding.
“Behave, Maks,” Anton says. “Say hello to Yulian.”
The guy finally notices me, because he’s only been looking at Anton since he walked in.
He hits Vaughn on the shoulder affectionately. “Zolotoy.”
“Uncle Maks.”
“Hi, Yulian. I’m Maksim. Maks is fine.” He watches me. “Get well soon and I’ll take you on the best hike. Do you shoot?”
“Better than Vaughn.”
“He’s not that much better,” Vaughn argues.
I laugh. “Slightly better.”
“You kids won’t win against me and Anton, just so you know. Ex-spetsnaz right in front of you. Antosha and I killed it back then.” Maks laughs, wrapping an arm around Anton’s shoulder. “Anyway, welcome to our home.”