Chapter 47
Forty-Seven
Hendrix’s bedroom feels five times smaller with Drako standing in it, his larger-than-life presence taking up most of the space. Men like him often have that effect.
“I’d feel better if you’d let Danny take a look at you.” With his arms crossed over his barrel chest, Drako examines me from the foot of the bed with a concerned, fatherly frown.
I break into a cold sweat trying to prop myself up on the pillows, the slightest movement excruciatingly difficult with the tight wrap around my chest. “I promise, I’m good. Just sore.”
Quirking an eyebrow, he peruses the state of my face, and the look he gives me calls bullshit.
At least the swelling has gone down, even though it’s still the color of a rotting eggplant.
Last night, Syn applied some kind of herbal compress that smelled like basil and turmeric that she said would help with the inflammation.
The cacophony of rhythmic hammering and power tools winds down as the crew Drako hired finishes replacing the broken front door and windows. The noise was bothering Fénix, so Constantine took him to an indoor playcenter to get him out of the house.
“There’s a bed ready for you at home if you don’t want to stay here.”
“I appreciate the offer, but this is where I want to be.” Maybe not sleeping in Hendrix’s old bed since I know what he used to do in it. At least it’s comfortable and has clean sheets.
Drako half sits on the end of the footboard. Resting his joined hands in his lap, his black diamond signet ring flashes in the late afternoon sun streaming in through the window. “I’m being called back to Moscow.”
That doesn’t sound good. “Why?”
“To account for my part in”—he gestures aimlessly. “Let’s just say, Viktor’s demise has raised some alarm.”
“He’s dead?” I had wanted some time with him in the hole. Give him a taste of what he had his men do to me.
Drako smiles. “He’s not dead. Yet. He probably wishes he was. I didn’t want anyone from the other families to come looking for him and causing problems. Pyotr has been babysitting him. You’ll get your chance.”
Good. I want my face to be the last thing Viktor Androv sees.
Standing, Drako goes to the window when Cocky B lets out a crow. “There’s a rooster running around the backyard,” he says with amusement.
“That’s Cocky Bastard. He’s Syn’s. She found him wandering around the farm where she lived with Dierdre.”
He turns slightly, his countenance solemn. “She is not what I expected of the daughter of James Fitzpatrick.”
Drako steered clear of any involvement with the Society. Patrick Knight and Francesco approached him several times over the years, wanting to utilize the bratva’s “services” and connections. Nikolai did, too. Despite the benefits a union like that would provide, Drako always turned them down.
“No, she’s not,” I reply.
“A woman like that needs strong men to stand beside her.”
“She has three husbands.”
“And you.”
“As a friend.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “There is an old English proverb: You can’t see the forest for the trees.”
“I know it. Why?”
“But do you know what it means?”
There’s a light knock. “Sorry to interrupt,” Syn says, coming into the room with a glass of iced water, complete with a bendy straw, in one hand, and a bowl with a spoon in the other.
She sets everything down on the nightstand.
Whipping out a flashcard with a row of different face emojis hand-drawn on it in pencil, she asks, “What is your pain level?”
I give her a perplexed look.
“I’d say this one.” She points to the face in the middle with spiral eyes and a wavy mouth. “Let’s get some chicken broth in you, so you can take your pain meds.”
Sitting on the side of the bed, she picks up the bowl and dips the spoon in the broth. And then to my mortified horror, and Drako’s entertained chuckles, she tries to spoon-feed me.
I still her hand and get hot liquid spilled on my sweatpants. “I’m an adult, not a two-year-old.”
Undeterred, she tries again. “You’re the patient. I’m your doctor. Besides, my house, my rules. Now open up, or I’ll start making choo-choo noises.”
Knowing when to pick my battles, I relent and let her have her way. She’s barely left my bedside since we got here. How she’s able to function with no sleep for two days, on top of taking care of Fénix and everything else she does, only proves that women really are the stronger sex.
“He’s not used to people taking care of him,” Drako comments.
“He’ll get used to it,” she replies, carefully feeding me the broth. The salt stings the scabbed-over cuts on my mouth, but it’s fucking delicious. “Eat up so I can give you some ibuprofen.”
“Hendrix make this?” The guy is a culinary genius. He can make what is basically flavored water taste like the best meal you’ve ever eaten. Syn thinks he should open a restaurant.
“Yep.” She catches a drop that escapes down my chin. “For the non-bedridden, we’re having steaks on the grill for dinner, if you would like to join us. Just be warned, if you like yours well-done, don’t tell Hendrix. I’ll sneak it into the microwave with mine.”
Drako walks around the side of the bed and bends down to kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for the invitation, but I need to get going. When this one gets back on his feet, come to the house for dinner. All of you. Open invitation.”
Switching from the broth to the glass of water, she holds the straw to my lips. “I’d like that. Thank you. Do you celebrate Thanksgiving?”
“We do. It won’t be the same without Aleksander there this year.”
Syn’s mouth curves downward at the corners. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mind that not happening.”
“I’m right here,” I protest. “Third-person commentary isn’t required.”
Drako takes her hand and kisses the back of her wrist. Lowering his voice, he tells her, “You’re good for him,” and walks out.
“He’s sweet,” Syn comments.
“Only to people he likes.” I grimace through the pain as I ease my legs over the side of the bed.
Syn immediately reacts. “What are you doing?”
“Going to the bathroom?” I answer with inflection.
She crawls across the bed and takes my arm.
“Songbird, I don’t need—”
“I’d highly suggest not finishing that sentence. I’m sleep-deprived and hyped up on too many cups of coffee and will likely murder you in the next few seconds if you keep arguing with me. I need to take care of you, so put up with it and let me.”
I shut up as she guides me into the adjoining en suite to the toilet, then wait for her to leave. She doesn’t.
“Uh, Syn?”
“It’s not like I haven’t seen your penis before.”
Why did she have to bring up that embarrassing shower moment?
I look down at the white porcelain. “I’ve never had someone watch me take a piss.”
“Not even in the men’s public restroom at the urinal?”
“No, actually.”
“Want me to get Tristan to come help?”
“Fuck, no.”
Apparently, not willing to budge, she says, “We’re married. Married people do their bathroom stuff around each other all the time.”
“And as you have pointed out on several occasions, we’re not technically married.”
“Well, if you want to get ‘technical’ about it, I’m not legally married to Tristan, Hendrix, or Constantine, either.”
“Syn.”
“And I’m going to be a doctor. Seeing a naked body is clinical.”
“I dare you to say that to Hendrix.”
She bites her bottom lip and grins.
“Okay, gross. Please stop thinking about him naked.”
“You brought it up.”
“Which I now regret.”
“Fine. Have it your way.” She turns around to give me a modicum of privacy.
Having no other choice, I quickly do my business and flush.
As I wash my hands, she pulls out a rolled towel and washcloth from the small linen closet, then grabs a medical kit from the vanity’s undercabinet.
She whacks me lightly with the washcloth. “I didn’t want to say anything, but you stink. I also need to check and change your bandages. Two birds with one stone. Sit or stand?”
“Stand.” If I sit down, I doubt I’ll be able to get back up.
Syn’s palm is warm when she places it over my jugular notch, her thumb and fingers curving on my neck. “I promise to be gentle.”
“I trust you.”
She breathes in slowly and nods.
Her touch is tender as she unwraps the compression bandage from around my chest. I hadn’t seen the damage until now. Taking in my reflection, my entire torso is black and purple, the colors matching the ones covering my face. It’s been a while since I’ve been beaten this badly. It could be worse.
Syn wets the washcloth under warm water from the faucet and adds a few drops of soap from the pump next to the sink. The soft terrycloth causes my skin to turn to gooseflesh as she takes her time washing me.
“Up,” she says, lightly tapping each arm to raise them, so she can get under my arms.
“I appreciate you doing this.” It’s amazing how much better you feel when you feel clean.
Her ministrations cease, and she finds my gaze in the mirror. I lose the ability to breathe altogether when her lips press against my shoulder blade. “Anytime.” Taking a new roll of compression wrap from the black medical bag, she secures it around me. “Let me know if it’s too tight.”
“It’s not,” I croak.
Going back to the washcloth, she rinses it off and hops onto the vanity counter. Without realizing it, my hands mold to her upper thighs, pushing them apart wide enough for me to settle between them.
“I never thanked you.”
With the same care, she begins to clean my face. “For what?”
“For coming for me.”
Something in the air shifts between us. It’s like the power lightning holds right before it strikes the ground.
“I will always come for you.”
Going back to her work, she lightly dabs the cuts on my face and applies antibiotic ointment to each one.
Being this close, her fragrant skin gives off the scent of the gardenia lotion she loves to use.
The lights above the mirror catch in the gold streaks woven through the red of her hair as it falls in waves over her shoulders.
Femininity forged with steel. Beauty and strength.
A beautiful heart with a soul made of fire.
There is no other woman on earth who can compare to her.
She traces a fingertip over the bratva tattoo on my chest. “What does this represent?”
“Brotherhood. It’s a symbol that is unique to each bratva family. The dragon around the circle is the mark of the Petrovs. Aleksei and I both got them.”
“When?”
“On our twentieth birthday.”
I remain absolutely still as she traces the design. “I like it.”
Swallowing thickly, I tell her, “I saw him. Aleksei. When I was in the room. It felt so real. Like he was right there with me. I talked to him.”
Her gaze lifts, and I stroke my thumb across the bruise on her velvet cheek, my conscience warring with my desire, longing, and love, knowing I’m about to alter everything between us with my confession.
“He made me promise to tell you something if I made it out of there alive.”
Her head lists to the side, just a fraction, and she nuzzles her cheek in my palm. “What did he want you to tell me?”
My pulse starts to pound wildly, a drumbeat that matches the disordered rhythm of my heartbeat.
What if saying it broke everything? The friendship we’ve forged that means the world to me.
Every laugh we’ve shared, every late-night talk, every quiet moment, every smile.
I can’t lose her. I can’t. But the weight of what I feel strangles me as each day passes, a slow suffocation of silence that I’ve endured since we were kids.
And I can no longer contain the words. Staring death in the face has a way of stripping away all the denial and tossing caution out the window.
“That I love you.”
Her breath hitches, a soundless gasp in the quiet that follows. She takes my hands and holds the DEVIL and ANGEL inked across my fingers to her heart, then turns her gaze toward the doorway—and my stomach violently twists when I notice Tristan standing there, his expression set in stone.
Gently moving me from between her legs, Syn gets down from the vanity.
“Could you help get him back into bed?” she asks, raising on tiptoe to kiss him.
“Sure.”
Prepared to get my ass handed to me, I have no doubt that he’s about to finish the job Viktor didn’t.
I’m a little wary when he doesn’t say or do anything, only takes a step back to let me hobble my way back to the bed.
It takes a good minute for me to get comfortable.
I hate feeling this weak, but I hate it more that he sees it.
Tristan props a shoulder against the bedroom jamb, and I start to squirm under his intense scrutiny.
“How much did you hear?” I ask.
“All of it.”
My world freefalls into a black abyss. Because of my big fucking mouth, I not only ruined things with Syn, I ruined everything with him. “Tristan, I’m—”
He cuts me off before I can finish. “It’s about fucking time you told her. Get some rest. Dinner will be ready soon.”
He’s already gone by the time my shock wears off.