Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Katarina
Next to me, Ken drops like a stone.
I stare for a second, attempting to process. Win had a clear shot at my father. Why would Ken be on the ground?
Win is ten feet from me, my father across the ballroom. Did Win shoot Ken? Why? He had a clear shot at my father.
All my hate radiates out through my eyes as I lock gazes with the man who tortured me for years.
My teeth gnash together, my fists balling at my sides.
It occurs to me to duck, and I start for the floor at the exact moment that Ivan fires.
Win fires too, but I don’t have it in me to watch, as the bullet whizzes past my head. I hear it, feel the movement of the air as I hit the floor.
Distantly, I hear Win roar as more shots pop off. But I don’t open my eyes for a few seconds as I orient myself on the floor.
I lift my head and find Win crouched in front of me. Again, I struggle to process. “Win?”
He should be chasing my father, not in front of me.
The deal is that we’re here for revenge. “Win?” I ask again.
His gun is pointed at the far doorway, his eyes trained in the same direction. “How bad?”
I blink, trying to understand what he’s talking about. Then I look down at my left arm where blood surges toward the floor.
I can’t even feel it. Adrenaline. The pain will come later. I use my right hand to smear away some of the blood. “Flesh wound,” I answer. “Not bad.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Katarina,” he grits out. Is he angry I’m here? That I ruined his chance? “You were shot. Not bad?”
“Oh,” I push up, the pain from using my arm radiating through my body. “I’ve had way worse.”
He turns toward me and that’s when I see it. He’s hit too. “Win!”
“I’m fine,” he waves his hand. “It’s nothing.
Several men rush into the room, dressed in white. My brow furrows as I scramble to get up, but Win’s hand shoots out. “Hush, kitten. Those are medics. Mine.”
Medics? His?
Another man enters, crossing directly to Win. Win flicks the safety on his gun, and hands it to the man, like this is an everyday occurrence. “Call the police, Ted.”
“On their way already,” Ted answers. “I am so sorry, Your Grace, that as you were shopping for wedding venues with your fiancée, that you were both shot.”
“And our wedding planner…” Win gestures down at the still body of Ken.
The other man frowns at Ken. “Killed by a Bratva gangster.”
“Ballistically speaking, that’s going to be difficult for the police to believe,” Win replies even as the other man diligently wipes the gun down with a cloth and then holds it in his hand, placing his own fingerprints on the weapon.
“Leave that to me, Your Grace,” he answers. “I’ll take care of everything.”
I’m silent, because I don’t need to say a word. Win has made me a footnote in this story. An innocent bystander in the crossfire. Nothing more.
What’s more, I’m being cast as the fiancée. In the papers…
“Kitten,” Win’s eyes meet mine. “Can you please give him your name for the police?”
For a moment my eyes widen. How does Win know I have the papers for multiple identities? One of them even has ties to Russian and English royalty, dating back to Queen Victoria. My father’s idea, and he paid handsomely for the identity.
“Katherine Alexandrov.”
One of the medics bends down to examine my arm, cleaning off the blood before placing a powder on my skin, likely to help it clot. “Flesh wound,” he says to Win. “But we should stitch it to reduce scarring and bleeding.”
“Told you,” I say to Win, even as two medics lift his shirt. The air rushes from my lungs as I realize, his is also a flesh wound to his side, and not a gut shot.
Unlike me, he’s barely bleeding.
I reach for him then, lacing my fingers through his. “Look at us. Matching bullet wounds.”
“Not funny, Kat,” he growls back, but I see his relief.
With amazing efficiency, we’re bandaged and pulled up, the medics each taking one of my arms. “Where are we going?”
“Airport.”
I don’t ask more as we’re helped out of the room to a back elevator.
It’s a large industrial space for bringing goods in and out of the hotel. One of the security members hits a button and the elevator starts up, not down. I’d expected us to go to the basement to a parking garage.
My brows lift, but I don’t ask. Just like I don’t ask if we’ll have to give statements or how much should be said in front of the medics. I stay silent.
The elevator stops at the top floor and we exit, immediately starting up a flight of stairs. My arm is starting to throb, right along with my head, but I ignore the pain as the door at the top of the stairs opens, revealing the roof of the hotel.
And the waiting helicopter. “It’s good to be a duke.”
He looks over at me. “You’re not doing too bad, yourself.”
We climb into the helicopter, two medics and two guards getting in with us. Then we’re off.
I see Win wince, his hand coming to his side.
It’s got to hurt like hell. There is so much I want to ask him. But most of all, I want to know why he didn’t chase my father. Why he was crouched in front of me…
Instead, I close my eyes and lean my head back. “Stay with me,” he growls out, his hand coming to my chest.
I open my eyes, not wishing for him to worry. “I’m here. I’m fine. Truly.”
He shakes his head, his hand coming to my chest to rest over my heart. “You are too much, you know that?”
“Am I?”
“No. You’re exactly enough.”
That makes me smile as I cover his hand on my chest with my own. “And you are a dream I never dared to dream.”
“Poetry even when you’re injured.”
I smile because, this is us. I lean my head onto his shoulder, wishing I could curl into his body.
The airport comes into view, the helicopter touching down. In short order we’re shuffled out of the helicopter and into Win’s private plane. It’s already been converted into a medical treatment center, and I am strapped onto a couch as I’m sterilized, stitched, and bandaged. Win receives the same.
Then I’m pumped full of antibiotics, bottles and medical instructions handed out even as the plane begins to jet down the runway.
Everyone disappears except for the man that Win called Ted, heading to the back of the plane to buckle up for takeoff.
“That was efficient.”
“Military medical,” Win says by way of explanation. “I spent four years at military school and then did a stint in the air force after graduation.”
I should have known. His discipline is unmistakable.
I look at my shoulder, my T-shirt is ripped, my bandages impeccable. “They did a much better job than my father’s doctor.”
“That’s good,” Win grunts. “Maybe he’ll die of sepsis, then.”
I gasp in a breath. “What does that mean?”
“It means I shot your father when he shot you. Twice, I think. My marksmanship scores were excellent, by the way.”
“Where did you hit him?”
“Shoulder and thigh.” Win grimaces. “I would have preferred a cleaner shot.”
“You are ridiculous.” And then I start undoing my buckles, before I make a mad scramble toward him.
He does the same and, even though it must hurt like hell, he catches me, pulling me into his lap when I vault myself toward him. “And you are strong and beautiful, your resiliency steals the air from my lungs.”
My lips find his, as I ignore the twinge of my brand-new stitches. It’s a long press of my lips before I pull away. “There is so much we need to talk about. So many things I want to ask.”
He nods at the guard, who unbuckles as well and starts for the back of the plane.
Win captures my chin with his hand and then kisses my lips again. “Ask away.”
I sigh, my lids sliding closed. “Now that I’m in your lap, I might want to just curl up.”
“Of course, kitten. Whatever you need.”
I burrow my head into his shoulder. “I’m not hurting you?”
“I’m always strong enough to hold you.”
I tilt my head back to narrow my eyes at him. “Being strong enough is different from me not hurting you.”
He runs his thumb over my cheek. “You’re not hurting me.”
I shake my head, melting a little deeper into him. “That’s good. I would never want to make your wounds worse.”
“I feel the same,” he murmurs against my temple. “In fact, I think it might be my mission in life to protect you."
“Win,” I swallow down a lump, the emotion that hits me threatening to swallow me whole. I know how I feel about him, but the more he says things like that, the harder it will be to let him go. “You can’t mean—"
“Your Grace,” Andrew, the flight attendant, steps into the main cabin. “Apologies for disturbing you, but Mr. Smith, that is Triston, is on the phone.”
He holds out one hand, and I start to climb off his lap, but his arm tightens, holding me in place.
Andrew brings him the phone, his brows elevated as he stares at us. “I know you’re a traitor,” I say softly. “Russians don’t take kindly to traitors.”
His eyes go wide but a smile curves Win’s lips as he takes the phone. “Watch out, Andrew. She means business.”
“Your Grace,” Andrew gasps, looking pale as Win takes the phone from his hand.
But Win waves his hand for Andrew to leave as he addresses his brother, “Tris.”
I’m only inches from the phone so I hear Win’s brother answer. “Winston, what the fuck happened? Why am I getting reports that there were shots fired.”
“Because…” Win sighs. “There were shots fired.”
“Are you all right? Were you hurt?”
“Both Katarina and I were shot, actually.”
Silence fills the line. It stretches for several seconds. Long enough that I start to sit up.
But Win holds me in place again. “Tris, you still there?”
“I can’t decide if I should ask why Katarina is with you or how you both ended up with gunshot wounds.”
“Katarina was hunting her father and her father found me. That should answer both.”
“Yes. Yes, it does.” Then he clears his throat. “How bad are you?”
“I’m fine. We both managed to escape with flesh wounds.”
“Is she…how’s she doing?”
“Furious,” I answer for myself. “My father managed to escape yet again.”
“Oh,” Triston answers, as Win switches the phone to speaker. “I meant more in terms of your injuries.”
I wave my hand like he can see me. “I’ll be right as rain in a few days. I’m more concerned about Sasha. She told me about Sver’s visit.”
“Sver,” Win growls out.
But I nearly miss it, because at the same time Triston chokes, “When did she tell you about that? I thought she didn’t know where you were?”
“She didn’t. I called her this morning.”
The line of Win’s jaw is granite-hard. Is he upset I called my sister? Is he worried the call was traced and that’s how my father found him? Maybe I should have asked some of those questions after all.
“She told you then?” Triston asks, his voice dropping.
“She did,” I answer, looking away. I’ve hardly had time to process the news.
“What did she tell you?” Win asks, the grit in his voice making me turn back to him.
Triston clears his throat. “You’re en route to Vegas?”
“Yes.” Win’s lips barely move.
“I’ll have a full security team waiting at the airport. They’ll escort you to the apartment building where we are all bunkering. I think it best you stay here.”
“Agreed.”
Win hangs up the phone, his face still set in hard angry lines. “What did Sasha tell you?”
The tension that vibrates off him is enough that I don’t want to speak from his lap. I’m brave, not stupid. I climb off and this time he lets me.
“What?” he asks again.
I turn to him, my mouth pressing in a line. “The last time we were on this plane, we made an agreement. A question for a question.”
“We did.”
“I think it best we do the same now.”
“Fine.”
I’m not sure I want to repeat the words Sasha said, and I have no idea why Win seems so angry. “What’s made you so upset?”
I see the muscles in his cheeks flex. “Your father gave the order to have Rebecca killed, but…”
My stomach swoops and drops. Because I think I know what he’s going to say next.
“Sver is the man who pulled the trigger.”
I close my eyes, the force of his words hitting me square in the chest. But I’ve never been one to avoid an uncomfortable situation, so I just say what needs to be said. “Sasha told me that Sver is our real father.”