ADRIK
There’s a bloody handprint smeared down the length of the sliding glass door. A puddle lurks in the doorway and drag marks lead around the corner.
Motherfucker.
“Oh my God,” Emery gasps. Her hand clamps even tighter to mine. “Adrik, what’s going on?”
“Sasha,” I call out, keeping Emery behind me. “Where are you?”
The only answer I get is a wet, hacking cough coming from the hallway.
Emery tries and fails to pull me back. “Are you sure it’s Sasha? Adrik, maybe we should get out of here. Maybe we should—”
“Stay here,” I tell her before dropping her hand and coming around the corner.
It’s even worse than I imagined.
Sasha is leaning against the hallway wall. But if it wasn’t for his familiar clothes, I wouldn’t be able to recognize him. His face is puffy, his right eye nearly swollen shut, and his mouth is a bloody mess. His skin is a patchwork quilt of purple, black, and red. It’s almost like he’s wearing a mask.
“Fuck, man.” I drop down next to him. “Tell me what happened.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but coughs instead. Blood dribbles down his chin. I think it’s just from where his gums are bleeding, not anything internal, but at this point, it’s impossible to tell.
I hear Emery gasp behind me. She didn’t listen and is now standing at the mouth of the hallway, watching us. Her face is deathly pale. “Oh my God… who did this?”
“Who the fuck do you think?” I growl.
I look back to Sasha. His eyes are bloodshot, more burst vessels than anything else, but he’s staring at me, trying to convey something.
“Yasha,” Emery offers.
At that, Sasha nods. Just once, barely perceptible.
But it’s enough.
“I need to call Toma.” I stand up and then look back at Sasha.
Before I can even decide what to do, Emery steps in and lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take care of him. Do what you need to do.”
I nod and tear out of the house and down the dirt path that leads to Sasha’s cabin.
I’ve got a million questions burning in my head: how did Yasha find us? Who else knows where we are?
But those will have to wait. Sasha needs help. He’s loyal to me, and making sure he doesn’t die because of my fucking brother is all that matters.
I burst through the door of the groundskeeper’s house, sprint straight to the kitchen, and yank the landline off the wall. I dial Toma’s number from memory.
“What are his immediate concerns?” Toma asks once I tell him what is going on. I can hear him rustling around on the other end of the phone, already packing his supplies.
“Probably that his face is a pile of raw meat right now,” I snap. “He looks like shit. Someone beat the fuck out of him. What more do you need to know, Doc?””
“Get him ice,” Toma says. “Clean him up, help him rest, and I’ll get there as quickly as I can.”
I think about calling Stefan, too, but I don’t want to leave Emery and Isabella alone in the house for a second longer than necessary. I hang up and sprint back to the house.
When I get inside, Emery has moved Sasha to the dining room. He’s lying on the large dining room table and there are frozen vegetable bags packed onto his face. Emery is gently dabbing at some of his cuts with a wet washcloth.
“I’m sorry,” she keeps saying, whispering the words like a prayer that will ward off the pain. “I’m so sorry.”
I come up behind her, and she jumps. “Oh. Hi. Did you call Toma?”
“Yeah.”
“What did he say?”
“To do exactly what you’re doing.”
“Really?” She looks relieved. “Good. Because I made it up as I went along. He almost passed out walking to the table.”
For the first time, I notice the blood smeared on her shoulder and down her side. She helped carry his weight into the dining room.
“You’re good in a crisis.” In my head, I add, Like a true Bratva wife.
She winces. “I don’t think so.”
“Sasha would agree. If he could talk right now.”
I look down at my groundskeeper. His eyes are closed. But his chest is moving steadily up and down with each breath.
“Mama?” Isabella’s voice is faint, muffled as it reaches us from her bedroom in the back of the house.
Emery’s eyes go wide. “Shit. Isabella is awake. What do I tell her? What do I do? Where do I take her?”
I hold my hand out for the cloth. “I’ll take over here. You go get Isabella.”
“What do I tell her?” She’s looking up at me in a panic, desperately wanting me to give her the answers.
“The truth,” I say. “We tell her the truth.”
Emery doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she washes her bloody hands in the sink and hurries down the hallway to Isabella’s room.
I take over for her, wiping the blood off of Sasha. The washcloths grow thick and heavy and unleash red waterfalls when I wring them out over the sink.
“He’ll pay for this,” I mutter to him. “He’ll fucking pay for all of it.” I say that again and again until the words melt together.
Emery prayed for forgiveness.
I pray for vengeance.
Sasha doesn’t answer either way. Whether he won’t or he just can’t, I’m not sure. Only time will tell.
A few minutes later, I hear Isabella’s wheelchair motor rumbling through the house. I turn around. As soon as she sees Sasha, her eyes go wide.
“He’s okay,” Emery says immediately. “We’re taking care of Sasha. And Dr. Toma is on his way.”
Isabella blinks. “Is he dead?”
“No, he isn’t dead.” Emery presses her cheek to the top of Isabella’s head and then kisses her forehead, like that simple gesture can keep the ugly realities of life and death at bay. “He isn’t dead, honey. He got… hurt. But he’s going to be okay, all right? And you’re going to be okay, too. I’m going to take care of you. Adrik and I, we’re going to take care of you.”
Isabella looks up at me. Her eyes are the same shade of blue as mine, as Yasha’s.
I’ve noticed it before, but seeing it now… it does something to me. My chest clenches hard, painfully. An aching throb that has taken up residence there and shows no signs of leaving.
If this is love… fuck.
I know what I have to do to protect it.
* * *
“You did all the right things,” Toma tells Emery as he rejoins us in the sitting room. “Sasha is going to be just fine.”
“You’re sure?” she asks.
Toma gives her a reassuring smile. “As sure as I can be. The swelling is already going down, and I stitched up the worst of his cuts. He may have some scarring, but no permanent damage.”
“Is he hurting?” Isabella asks. “It looked like he was hurting. He was bleeding.”
“I gave him something for that, too,” Toma says. Then he turns to me. “I gave him a lot for that, actually. Sasha won’t be in pain for quite some time.”
“Thanks, Toma,” I tell him. “There’s a guest room downstairs. Make yourself comfortable.”