Chapter 16
“I told her not to touch anything!” the old man grumbles.
“Who the fuck has an explosive with a hair trigger in the hallway of his own house?” a disgruntled voice responds.
The shrill buzzing in my ears eases, and their voices finally begin to surface from beneath the noise. I blink a few times, hoping my vision will clear, too.
I know one has nothing to do with the other, but I’m grasping at straws.
“It wasn’t an explosive. Here, get her up. She’s bleeding all over the rug.”
“I’m bleeding?” I yell, turning my head toward the speaker. The sparklers in my vision are making it hard to see who I’m yelling at.
“It’s not bad,” Artem says. I know it’s him because the voice sounds annoyed. And since I’m pretty sure I blew up his father’s house, he has good reason to be mad.
“She’s going to need stitches. The glass got her pretty good on the chest.”
I run my hand over my collarbone, then lower, where a sharp stinging has started to build. My fingertips glide through something wet and warm.
“I’m bleeding!” I yell again, shoving my hand forward. Someone grabs my wrist, and I’m hauled up off the floor and into someone’s arms.
I’m sure it’s Artem. He wouldn’t let anyone else manhandle me like this.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He squeezes me.
“What happened? Why did the wall explode?” I ask, squinting, as a bright light hits my face. I can’t make out figures, but at least the dark fog is lifting. “Why can’t I see anything, Artem?”
“You set off a flash bomb and fell back into a glass case. You’ll be okay, it’s just going to take a little while. You cut yourself when you fell through the glass.”
“Put her on the stool. I’ll get the suture kit,” Seamus orders, but Artem lowers me onto the countertop instead.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He gently runs his hands over my shoulders and down my arms. “Your pants aren’t torn, but I want to see if you cut yourself anywhere else.”
“I think I fell face first into the glass,” I admit. “Is my face bleeding?” I reach up to inspect for myself, but he grabs my hands and puts them in my lap.
“There’re a few small cuts. The one on your chest is the worst.”
I blink more as shapes start to appear. I can’t make out his face, but I can see his frame.
“I have the kit.”
“No. I’ll do it,” Artem says with finality. “You’re not touching her.”
“All right, whatever you say.” The plastic box hits the counter with a clank. “Make sure there’s no other shards of glass in the wound. You don’t want to sew it in.”
“I’ve done this before.” Artem touches the side of my face. “You need to hold still.”
“I forgot. Big enforcer for the Volkov regime.”
“Regime?” I turn toward his voice finding his silhouette moving toward the large window facing the woods. “Do you have a problem with my family?”
“Elana.” Artem strokes my face. “I need you to hold still. There’s a small piece of glass I need to pull out.”
“Why is he talking about my family like that?” I demand.
“Because he’s an asshole,” Artem explains, ripping my shirt at the neckline. I swat his hands away, but he catches my wrists and brings them to my lap. “I needed to get to the wound. It’s only a little tear.”
“You think I care about my shirt?” I laugh. “I just don’t want to sit here with my boobs hanging out and your geriatric father wandering around.”
He snorts a laugh. “Don’t worry about him. If he sees anything, I’ll cut his eyes out.”
Seamus makes a grunting sound from behind me. “Get it done.”
I move my hands to my sides, gripping the edge of the countertop while Artem gets what he needs from the kit. In a stroke of bad luck, my vision clears just in time to see him pulling the needle from the suture kit.
“That’s too big. You need to find smaller one.” I twist to grab the kit, but Artem pushes my hand away.
“It’s the only size, and it’s not too big. Just relax.”
“Can’t you use some skin glue or something?” My head spins. I’ve never been afraid of needles before, but they’ve always been attached to an injection syringe. A small little prick for a flu shot is one thing, having that thing going in and out of my skin is something else entirely.
Artem puts the suture down and picks up a pair of tweezers, showing them to me. “I’m going to get the glass out first.”
I nod, rolling my shoulders back and tilting my head back.
“But the skin glue, it’s an option, right?”
He chuckles. “No, Babygirl. The cut’s too deep for skin glue. If we don’t stitch it, it will get infected. And if it gets infected, it could go straight to your brain, and you’ll die. And you don’t want a little cut from falling through a glass door to be the thing that kills you, do you?”
I lower my chin to shoot him a glare. Using my own words against me is a cheap trick.
“I’m not going to die. I don’t think the glass had rabies. Unlike that raccoon that bit you.”
Seamus laughs. “So, it was a raccoon.”
“Yeah.” I catch Artem’s gaze and smile. “But it was huge, you should have seen it. Claws as big as my head and teeth as long as Artem’s—”
“Leg.” He cuts me off before I can finish, shooting me a warning look. “Now hold still so I can get this shard of glass.”
Seamus walks around the island, coming to stand beside Artem, then leans in to inspect the wound.
“You’re in my light.” Artem nudges him with his elbow. “And get your eyes away from her.”
The last bit comes out in a growl. Seamus is no danger to me; Artem’s possessiveness is just showing.
I’m know I’m supposed to remind him that he doesn’t own me. That I belong to no man, but I can be honest with myself. His possessiveness heats my blood and gets the rest of me all gooey. I’m a lost cause.
“Where were you when this larger-than-life raccoon attack happened?” Seamus asks.
I wince as the tweezers brush across the wound and then pull back when he yanks a piece of glass free. He holds it up between us. I cover my chest loosely with my hand.
“Are there any more?”
“No.” He drops the glass shard onto a dish, then picks up the gauze and antiseptic again. “I’m going to clean it once more, then I’ll suture it.”
I look away as he presses the damp gauze to my chest, biting back the groan at the intense burn it brings. A low growl comes from his chest as he holds it in place, and when I chance a look at him, the muscles in his jaw are so tight he might actually break a tooth.
“I’m okay.” I touch his hip, needing the connection to him.
His dark eyes are hard when they meet mine. “I have to use the suture now.”
“Right. I know.” I roll my shoulders back again. “Go ahead.”
When I was a kid and it was time for a shot, my mother would hold my hand like any mother. But she told me the reason moms do it is because they can take the pain from their children. So, she’d tell me to squeeze her hand and give it to her. She could take it from me. It worked every time.
It’s amazing how much the brain can do. A simple lie from a mother to a child to ease their pain is all it took.
As soon as the needle pierces my skin, I suck in a breath and squeeze his hip. This is different than a shot. This burns and feels like my skin is being stretched.
“You’re okay, Babygirl,” he whispers, leaning closer to see his work better. “You can squeeze me, that’s fine.”
In all, it takes four stitches. When he snips the end off, I let out a long breath.
“You can let me go now,” he says. “It’s all over.”
I bring my hand to my chest, feeling the stitches. “Yeah. No problem.”
He lifts an eyebrow with a gentle curve of his lips.
“No problem at all.” He leans into me, so Seamus can’t hear him. “You did so good, Babygirl. Very brave for daddy. I’m proud of you.”
His words put a vise grip on my heart. They also soak my panties for a reason I’d rather not unpack with his actual father standing a few feet behind me. He’s proud of me? For taking a few stitches without screaming?
Other than my mom, no one’s ever said those words to me. My brothers were as good as big brothers can get, but they aren’t exactly holding any awards for emotional intelligence.
I watch his face as he finishes putting a large bandage over his work. His jaw is still set firmly, and the cords of muscles in his neck are tight.
“Now that she’s all taken care of, and you’re taken care of, are you going to tell me what the hell you’re doing in this part of the country?” Seamus, who seems to have run out of patience with being ignored.
Artem takes me down from the countertop.
“He came to get me.” I clean up the wrappers from the suture kit.
“Why? The Volkovs don’t have business on the East Coast anymore.”
“What do you know about my brothers’ businesses?” I demand.
With the same cocky grin Artem sports, he huffs a laugh.
“I know enough to stay out of their way. And I know they wouldn’t send their little sister to do business for them.
” He lifts his eyes to Artem, giving him a knowing look.
“And they wouldn’t let one of their hired hands have anything to do with their little princess. ”
“I don’t like him,” I say to Artem, who’s standing beside me with his arms tightly folded over his chest.
Not being one to talk about people behind their back, I turn to Seamus. “I don’t like you.”
He laughs as though I’ve said the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
“Not many people do.”
“She didn’t come to the East Coast for any sort of business. But we’ve had a small run in with Cole O’Brien.”
Seamus lifts his brow. “What sort of run in?”
“The sort that puts a bounty on our heads.”
“How much?”
“Why? You going to turn us in?” There’s a reason Artem has never mentioned his father. Why he acted like he was dead when he told me about his mother and sisters. And I’m starting to understand it. He’s as much of an asshole as my own father.
Seamus’s eyebrows dip, like I’ve just cut him deep with an insult.
“The amount depends on how willing he might be to drop the bounty,” he explains.
“A million each,” Artem says.
“You have a chance. Can you make it right? Whatever you did?” Seamus aims the question at me, as he’s correctly assumed I’m the one who caused the mess.
“Have you heard of Janis Devereaux? He runs the rave scene in Boston.” Artem takes a bottle of water from the fridge, opens it, and puts it in front of me. An obvious order to drink.
“I’ve heard the name, nothing important. Why?”
Artem goes on to explain how I was stupid enough to think I could make the same deal with him that Tony had set up. Seamus listens to everything, never glancing in my direction. It’s as though I’ve been pushed to the side and the big men are talking now.
Nothing makes my blood boil faster than being brushed aside.
“So now this Cole guy is mad because he thinks my brothers sent me, which they didn’t,” I interject when there’s a small pause in the conversation. “I think we should just talk to him, but Artem seems to think we should just hide.”
“Artem knows what he’s doing.” Seamus folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the counter. He sounds like a proud father, putting all of his faith into his son.
Beside me, Artem stiffens. Maybe he’s noticed it too. Maybe the man can’t take a compliment. It’s obvious there’s a messed-up history here, and the moment I get Artem alone I’m going to make him tell me.
He knows everything about me, even things I never told him, it’s only fair he spills his guts to me now.
“If Artem says to lay low, you lay low.” Seamus shoves off the counter. “The bounty is high, but Cole isn’t unreasonable. If all you did was have a conversation with this little prick, it’s more than likely his ego was bruised.”
“And a bruised ego takes killing us to fix?” These men can build entire empires from their strategy and strength, but it only takes one ill perceived insult for them to start having a hissy fit and threaten murder.
“A man’s pride is a dangerous thing to damage.
” Seamus lifts a shoulder like it makes total sense.
When he turns his gaze on Artem, his expression softens.
“Give me a few minutes. I’ll make a few calls and see what I can find out.
If there’s a way out of this that doesn’t include gunfights and bloodshed, it’s best to take that path. ”
Silently, Artem nods.
“Make yourself at home.” Seamus pushes off the counter and heads to the stairs. “Don’t let her touch anything else, though. I already have one wall to replace.”