Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
JONAH
Viktor collapses before we even reach the bed.
The sound of his body hitting the mattress makes my stomach drop.
One second he’s moving under his own weight, and the next his knees give out and he pitches into me.
I catch him badly. We hit the mattress together, his weight knocking the air out of my lungs.
My ribs ache where his shoulder slammed into me, but I don't have time to feel the bruise.
He ends up facedown, fingers clawing into the sheet. His breath comes in short, broken pulls that scrape at his throat. The chain at his waist clanks against the frame, a cold, heavy sound that makes my skin crawl.
“Viktor.”
There’s no answer. His eyes stay shut, lashes dark against his skin.
His mouth is slack. He looks like someone I’ve never seen before—someone breakable.
Dragging him fully onto the bed takes everything I have.
He’s dead weight, all hard muscle and heat that tugs at every tendon in my arms. I heave him upward, my muscles burning, until he’s centered on the mattress.
He smells like copper and something synthetic, like a hospital wing gone wrong.
“Viktor. Come on.”
His head lolls when I turn his face toward me.
His eyes flutter, staring at me absently.
His pupils are blown wide, swallowing the green I'm used to.
A thin line of dried blood seals the corner of his mouth.
My stomach twists. It feels like someone hooked their fingers into my gut and yanked.
The clinical part of my brain is counting his respirations, marking the shallow rise and fall of his chest, while the rest of me is just screaming.
I snatch the basin from the nightstand and wring out a cloth.
I wipe him down in slow strokes. His throat, the line of his jaw, the dried streaks at his temple.
There are new bruises along his ribs where they held him still.
His skin flinches under the cloth, a reflex that flares and fades before he goes slack again.
“Say something.” I lean close so the words land at his ear. “Please.”
His breath hitches. I cling to that like it's proof he's still in there.
I slide onto the bed beside him and pull his head into my lap.
My fingers comb through his hair, pushing damp black strands back from his forehead.
He feels wrong. Too hot where the fever runs, too cold in the palms. He was a predator this morning. Now he's a ghost.
“Viktor. It's over. I'm here. Just breathe.”
A sharp sound snaps through the room. Footsteps. Coming straight for us. Heavy boots on the hardwood, and it is not the careful stride of the usual guards. These people are in a hurry.
My grip on him tightens until my fingers ache. The lock clicks. My body reacts before my mind does. I’m on my feet as the handle turns, my heart hammering hard enough to make me dizzy.
I grab the lamp from the table and wrench it free.
The cord snaps tight in my hand. I lift it with both hands and plant myself in front of the bed.
My back is to Viktor. My feet are set. I don't know when I decided to die for him, but I'm standing here anyway.
The weight of the base is clumsy in my hands, a pathetic defense against whatever is behind that door, but it's all I have.
The door slams inward. Two men and a woman, all in black. They surge toward the bed.
“Bozhe.” The one in front has a sharp, clipped voice. His gaze finds the bed. “It's him.”
“Touch him and I swing.” The words splinter on my tongue. “He can't stand. He can barely breathe. You're not dragging him down to that basement again. If you hurt him, I swear to God I'll kill you.”
They stare at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have.
The first man lifts empty palms. “We're not here to hurt him. Move aside.”
Footsteps thrum down the hall. A door slams. The woman checks the corridor. “We've no time for this. We need to get the fuck outta here.”
“No.” The lamp base bites into my skin. I can't breathe, but I don't move. “You're not taking him anywhere.”
“We move now.” The man levels a gun at my face.
The black circle of the barrel is the only thing I can see.
It's steady. Unblinking. One of them crouches and works the chain free from Viktor’s waist. It hits the floor with a heavy thud, finally letting him go.
“If you don't do as I say, we'll all be dead. We're not here to hurt Viktor.”
I glare at him, but my confidence is a lie. I don't know who to trust. Not the guards. Not them. But they have guns and I have a lamp.
I lower the base.
They lift Viktor from the bed. His drugged body sways as they force him through the door. He groans when his side pulls, his frame curling instinctively. I reach out to steady him, my hand catching the crook of his elbow. He’s so hot he feels like he’s melting.
“Easy. We’ve got you.”
His head tips toward my shoulder when they straighten. His eyes drag open, the effort costing him everything. They lock on me.
“Jonah,” he whispers. “Come.”
“I’m right here.” My throat is so tight I can barely get the words out. “I’m right here.” I turn to the closest guard. “If you try anything, I’ll scream the whole house down.”
He almost smiles. A flicker that vanishes. He angles us toward the door. “Good. Make noise later. Now we move.”
We spill into the hallway, which is a knot of bodies and frantic breath.
The cameras in the corners are dark, wires torn loose.
On the far end of the corridor, a body lies crumpled near the stairwell.
One of Sergei’s guards. His head is at a wrong angle.
I don't look away. I can't afford to. The reality of the blood on the floor should make me sick, but my only thought is getting Viktor past it.
“Clear.”
Viktor coughs, a rough sound that yanks my focus. I cinch my arm around his back and keep pace, my fingers digging into his shirt, trying to hold him upright. We’re getting out of here. I have to believe that.
His hand finds mine blindly. I lace our fingers together, gripping until my knuckles ache.
We burst through a steel door into the night. The cold air is a physical blow, stinging my lungs after the stagnant heat of the room. A black SUV idles on the gravel. Exhaust drifts in the dark. A man stands by the rear door, gun at his hip. He lifts his phone. “We’ve got him. Go.”
They load Viktor first. He tries to fight it—some stubborn muscle memory trying to wake up—but the drugs drag him back down. “Leave me. Take him.”
“No. You go first, Pakhan.”
Viktor’s shoulders relax at the word. His eyes flutter closed.
I climb in after him, wedging myself between his body and the door.
His weight leans into me, his head slumping against my chest. His breath is hot and uneven against my throat.
I wrap an arm around him. I am the only thing keeping him from shattering.
The door slams. The car shivers. “Drive.”
The SUV lunges. Gravel spits. We jolt through the gate and out onto the street. The driver guns the engine, tearing away from the mansion. Adrenaline spikes, sharp and metallic in my mouth.
Streetlights flash through the glass, washing over Viktor’s face.
He looks like a corpse. The thought makes my heart stop.
I should be thinking about the guns, or the car chasing us, or the fact that I’m caught in the middle of a war I don't understand.
But I can't. I can only think about the weight of his head on my chest and the terrifying possibility of a world where he isn't breathing.
“Shake the fuckers off.”
“How the hell did they know we were acting tonight?”
“I don't know, but we better lose them.” The guard is on his phone. “He’s on his way.”
Who is? I’m too scared to ask. I clutch Viktor’s hand as we rip through the streets. We barrel along a paved drive of a private estate. Lights flare on, white and blinding.
“Down!”
I drop into the footwell, my knees slamming into the floorboards.
The driver slams the brakes. Tires scream.
The door is wrenched open. Shots crack into the windshield.
Gunfire erupts behind us. The sound is deafening, a series of sharp, rhythmic pops that tear through the air.
The SUV skids to a halt, bullets hammering the metal before it lurches backward.
We scramble out. Viktor is mumbling now, barely conscious. He’s sweating, skin clammy and burning. Two men fill the doorway of the house, guns trained on us.
“Help!” I’m screaming now. My hands skid uselessly over Viktor’s slick skin. “He needs a doctor!”
The female guard reaches me and yanks me away from him. Viktor jerks upright, reaching for me, pulling me into a hard embrace. His heart is racing too fast—a frantic drumming against my own. His lips move against my shirt.
I bend closer. “Not… leaving you.” I don't know why I’m clinging to a man who has brought nothing but blood into my life. All I know is that if he lets go, I’ll stop existing. I’ve traded my safety for his shadow and I’m never going back.
“I’m not leaving you either.” I don't know when he became the only thing that matters. I don't know why I’m clinging to a man who has brought nothing but blood and terror into my life. All I know is that if he lets go, I’ll stop existing.
“Get him inside the house.”
I don't move. I stay angled toward Viktor, my arm braced across his chest. His fingers curl weakly into my shirt. I don't care who has a gun. I'm not letting go.