Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ANTON
When she’s done patching me up and has faced the fact that I will not be seeing the doctor, she shoots me an irritated look.
“I’m driving him home,” she says to my brothers.
The room goes quiet, because they all know how much I hate being driven around.
“No.” I push off the stool. “I can drive myself.”
“Cute, but that’s not happening.”
Kirill chuckles, and when I cut him a glare, he makes a poor attempt to shut up. Aleksei, though, doesn’t bother concealing his enjoyment.
Konstantin folds his arms, a glint of dry humor entering his eyes. “You should probably listen to her.”
“See?” Thora extends her hand. “Everyone agrees I know better. Keys.”
Clearly, the woman has suffered some kind of mental break if she believes I’m handing them over.
Her fingers curl in a silent demand. “I’m waiting.”
“Net.”
She rolls her eyes and exhales. “I can stand here all day, but we both know how this ends.” One brow arches. “I win. So rein in the macho bullshit and let me drive you home, printsessa.”
Her grin widens, and my fingers flex at my sides. I should punish her for this later, thoroughly and preferably with her on her knees.
“Fine. But don’t get used to it. This is the last time you’ll ever drive me anywhere.”
“Whatever you say, Romeo.”
The instant I pull out the keys, she snatches them from me.
Aleksei’s laughter follows us. “This is the best thing I’ve seen all year. Who knew this Whitlock had it in her?”
Thora looks him dead in the face, completely unimpressed. “I’m full of surprises.”
Then she strides toward the door like she owns the entire bar.
Pizdets.
I follow, because apparently that is what I do now. I follow the cowgirl anywhere she pleases, answering to her command, bending when she points and giving in when she smiles.
Now I know how Volchok feels.
Behind me, Kirill says something in Russian that makes Aleksei laugh harder, and I don’t turn around because if I look at either one of them, I might shoot them.
Outside, Thora heads straight for my car. When I stop near the passenger side and glare at her over the roof, she glares right back.
“Get in.”
“I have never sat in the passenger seat of my own car.”
“There’s a first time for everything. I’m sure you’ll survive.”
I hold her stare, then open the door with one of many curses from today and lower myself into the seat. She slides behind the wheel, shuts the door, and takes us onto the road while driving exactly the speed limit.
“Do not drive like an old woman.”
She keeps her eyes straight ahead. “I would shut up unless you want another bullet.”
My mouth twitches. “I would be honored if you shot me, Thora Whitlock.”
“You’re certifiable.”
“I am a Marinov.”
She rolls her eyes, but drives a little faster.
For a while, neither of us says anything, and the silence sits between us with too many things in it.
The week she spent ignoring me. The words she should never have overheard.
But it doesn’t change how wrong I am for her, and this shooting proves that even more.
She glances over at me before she asks, “How are you actually feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Anton.”
“What?”
“I want you to be real with me. I’m worried.”
I look out the window instead of at her. “Don’t be.”
“Are you in pain?”
“No.”
“Do you have anything at home, or do I need to stop somewhere?”
“I don’t need it.”
Her hands stiffen on the wheel, and I catch it when I glance over.
“You don’t have to do that with me.”
I finally look at her, taking in the angle of her face and the quick scrunch of her nose. “Do what?”
“Act tough all the time.”
My jaw locks when her eyes meet mine. I should tell her to keep them on the road and her thoughts to herself, but my mouth doesn’t move because a part of me likes that she cares.
“I’ve been through worse.”
Sadness fills her eyes, and I regret saying it as soon as I see what it does to her.
She swallows and looks back at the road. “I know.”
My chest clutches. The rest of the drive stays quiet while I steal glances at her, unable to stop. It’s like I’ve been infected, and it’s the worst and best thing that has ever happened to me.
When we reach my street, she slows near the security gate, and both guards step forward.
Thora rolls down her window. “Hi. Nice to see you boys.”
The second Ruslan spots me in the passenger seat, his face goes white. “Boss, what happened?”
I wave a dismissive hand.
Ruslan tries very hard not to look at her like he’s hiding something, and I already know what it is.
I lean forward, glaring at him. “How did she know where I was?”
His eyes widen a bit. “Ugh. Ya ne znayu.” I don’t know.
“Don’t act stupid.”
He peers over at the other guard, who suddenly finds the gate controls fascinating.
“We didn’t say anything,” Ruslan lies straight to my face.
I would kill him on the spot, but Thora has seen enough bloodshed for one day. She presses her lips into a thin line as my attention bounces between them all.
“You told her where I was.”
Ruslan sighs. “Fine. Yes. But she asked nicely.”
“You’re all dead.”
Both guards go even paler just as Thora grabs my wrist.
“He’s just kidding. Right?”
She widens her eyes at me, and I know right now I’d give her anything she wants.
“Fine. You live today. Tomorrow is another story.”
Ruslan clears his throat, running his fingers through his goatee. “Thank you, boss. Next time, we tell her to piss off, even if she brings us those delicious cookies.”
“You bribed my guards with cookies?”
Her mouth spreads into a captivating smile. “They’re great cookies.”
I give up.
The gate opens, and we roll down the narrow street until we reach my house. I get out before she can come around to help me because I can already feel her thinking about it. She follows me inside, the front door shutting behind us, and the house feels different with her in it. Less empty.
“I want to check your wound before I go.”
Yes, her leaving is a great idea. Though the thought of her gone makes my fingers curl.
“Sit,” she says when we reach the kitchen.
I look over at her. “You’re starting to enjoy giving orders.”
She grins as I lower myself onto a chair beside the island, unable to care about anything except the fact that she’s here, right beside me again after all this fucking time. My thoughts war with each other, torn between wanting her close and knowing she needs to stay far away from me.
She stands in front of me while I force myself to remain seated, even though I want to pull her between my knees, wrap an arm around her waist, and refuse to let her go.
Instead, I allow her to peel back the edge of the bandage and examine the wound, a crease forming between her brows as she worries over me with a tenderness I don’t deserve.
“You really need a doctor. Please. It could get infected.”
Hearing her plead with me makes it difficult to deny her anything.
“I have antibiotics here. I’ll take them for a few days. The wound is clean enough.”
“Clean enough isn’t a medical standard.”
“It is now.” The corner of my mouth lifts.
She scoffs. “Your standards are terrible.”
“They’ve kept me alive.”
“Barely.”
Concern floods her eyes, and I cup her face, dragging my thumb across her lips as I watch the path it takes. “Vso normalno. Ya ne umru.”
“What did that mean?” She delves into my palm, her eyes glassing over.
My mouth deepens into a barely there smile as the pressure around my heart tightens until every breath hurts.
I don’t understand what’s happening to me. Whenever she’s close, the weight in my chest becomes impossible to ignore, leaving me no choice but to face whatever she’s awakened in me, even when it feels unbearable.
“That I won’t die. Don’t worry about me. I don’t deserve it.”
If you knew what I’m supposed to do to you—what I can’t do—you’d hate me.
Maybe I should tell her. It would fix the situation.
She places a hand on my arm, her lashes flickering. “You deserve everything, Anton. You just won’t let yourself have it.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing.
After a few seconds, she sighs. “Well…” Her touch drops to my wrist. “I guess I’ll go now.”
No.
The word almost comes out of my mouth.
My arm falls reluctantly, my palm still alive with the feeling of her skin, and the instant she turns toward the doorway, the thought of watching her leave presses painfully against my ribs.
“Thora.”
She stops and turns at the sound of her name. Her lips part, then close again, whatever she wants to say trapped behind them. And I would listen all night if that was what she needed.
“Don’t go yet.”
She releases a weary breath as her shoulders sag. “Okay. I’ll stay, but only for a little while.”
Everything in me fights those words, wanting her here longer than that. Needing more than the scraps I have no business taking.
But I know this is all I can have. Little pieces of her. Even though I need to let her go for good this time.
I push away from the counter, ignoring the burn in my arm as I lead her into the living room. I keep enough distance between us to not make this worse, because the second I put my hands on her, I won’t be strong enough to let go.
She sits on the couch, still visibly tense, her fingers twisting in her lap.
I grab the remote from the side table. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
“Sure.” A half-smile touches her lips. “There’s actually one I’ve been meaning to watch.”
“As long as it isn’t romantic.”
She lets out a dry laugh. “Trust me, romance is the last thing I’m interested in right now.”
My mouth twitches. “Slava Bogu.”
I start the movie she chooses, and as the first scene begins, she shifts beside me, glancing toward the kitchen.
“Maybe we should make popcorn.”
“I can make it.”
“No.” She jumps to her feet. “You stay there. I’ll make it.”
“I’m not broken, Thora. It’s just a graze.”
“You’re not good at being taken care of, are you?”
I think for a moment, not remembering the last time anyone has done that. Probably not since my mother was alive, and I don’t even remember that.
There’s something knowing in her eyes. “Where’s the popcorn?”
“Pantry. Third shelf.”