8. Connor
Chapter 8
Connor
The door to Malachi’s room clicks shut behind me, and I grit my teeth. Why the fuck did I tell him so much?
I exhale a breath and pain lances through my ribs as I do. I wince, pressing a hand against my side. Fuck, my whole body aches—a dull, constant throb that reminds me of every punch, every blade, every goddamn second of the last three days.
I take a moment to steady myself, leaning against the wall. The hallway is quiet, the house still, but the silence doesn’t feel peaceful. It feels heavy and smothering.
Dragging my hand away from my ribs, I push off the wall and make my way down the hall. I don’t have to think about where I’m going. My feet know the way.
Cat’s room is at the end of the corridor. The door is cracked open, the faint light spilling out into the hallway. I stop outside, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open gently.
She’s curled up on the bed, her back to the door, her shoulders shaking. My chest tightens at the sight of her, the little muffled hiccups of her sobs hitting me like a knife to my heart.
“Cat,” I say softly, stepping inside.
Her head snaps up at the sound of my voice, her tear-streaked face lighting up for a split second before she scrambles off the bed and rushes to me.
“CC!” she cries out the nickname that used to annoy me to no end, throwing her arms around me.
I barely have time to catch her as she throws herself into my arms. The force of it knocks the wind out of me, my ribs screaming in protest, but I don’t care. I wrap my arms around her and sink to the floor with her, holding her tight as she starts to sob.
“I’m here, darlin’,” I murmur, my voice rough. “I’ve got you.”
Her tears soak through my shirt, her small frame trembling as she clings to me. I run a hand over her hair, smoothing it gently, my other arm anchored around her.
She’s my baby sister. The one who used to follow me around with wide eyes and a toothy grin, who always insisted I sit through her endless piano recitals, and who gave me hell when I nicked the last slice of cake at family dinners.
And now, here she is, crumpled in my arms, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Three nights ago, I walked into that estate as a man on a mission. I knew what I was there to do—find Cat and Marina, and get them the hell out. But I didn’t expect to find my little sister like that.
Battered. Cut. Bruised in ways I didn’t want to imagine. Her clothes were torn, her eyes hollow. She didn’t even cry when she saw me, not at first. She just looked at me like she wasn’t sure I was real. And then she ran to me, throwing herself into my arms like she was drowning and I was the only thing keeping her afloat.
That was when the rage hit.
I don’t remember much after that. Just flashes—red, hot, and blinding. The sound of my own shouting voice. The feel of my fists connecting with flesh. The blood on my hands. When it was over, the room was silent, the men who’d touched her nothing but lifeless bodies at my feet.
Even after it was over, after Nikolai tried to pull me back, Cat didn’t let go of me. She didn’t even look at him. She just buried her face in my chest, trembling, whispering over and over, “Please don’t let them take me again.”
“Shh,” I whisper now, rocking her gently. “You’re safe, darlin’. I’m here.”
Her sobs slow, her breathing uneven as she presses her face into my neck. “I-I keep seeing them,” she whispers. “I keep feeling their hands on me.”
I close my eyes, my jaw tightening. “They’ll never touch you again. Not while I’m breathin’.”
She sniffles, pulling back just enough to look at me. Her green eyes flecked with blue—so much like Ma’s—are rimmed red, her cheeks blotchy and wet. “You promise?”
“I swear it,” I say firmly, brushing her hair back from her face. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”
Her lip quivers, and she nods, her head dipping back against my chest. She clings to me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear, her fingers gripping the back of my shirt. Her tears soak into my shoulder, and I stroke her hair gently, murmuring whatever nonsense comes to mind to calm her.
The only thing I’m thankful for is the fact that they didn’t sexually assault her, or Malachi would’ve been sent back to his father in tiny pieces by now.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out between sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” I pull back slightly, just enough to look at her. “What the hell are you sorry for?”
“I couldn’t stop them,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I couldn’t—”
“Stop,” I say firmly, cupping her face in my hands. “This isn’t your fault, Cat. Not a damn bit of it. Do you hear me?”
She nods, but the tears keep coming, her body shaking against mine. I pull her close again, pressing my chin to the top of her head.
“None of this is on you,” I say softly. “You’re here. You’re safe and they’re dead. That’s all that matters now.”
For a long time, we just sit there on the floor, her sobs eventually quieting into soft sniffles. My body aches, every movement a reminder of what it took to bring her home, but I don’t let go. Not until she’s ready.
“You scared the hell out of me, y’know,” I say after a while, my voice light but laced with honesty.
She pulls back slightly, looking up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I didn’t mean to…”
“I know,” I say quickly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I know, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re back.”
She nods, her lip quivering. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I say, my throat tightening. “Now, are you gonna get back into bed, or do I have to carry you?”
She hesitates, then gives me a small, watery smile. “You look like you might keel over if you try.”
I chuckle, the sound shaky but real. “Fair point.”
I help her back to bed, tucking the blanket around her like I used to when we were kids. She watches me with those big green eyes, the ones that always make me feel like I have to protect her from the world.
“Connor,” she says softly.
“Aye?”
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For coming for me.”
I nod, my chest tightening again. “Always, darlin’.”
I sit next to her and stroke her hair, watching as her eyes flutter closed. She’s a Cunningham, and that means she has a strong spirit, but she’s still my fucking baby sister. I know she’ll never get that part of her back, but I’ll be damned if I let her go through this alone.
She wraps her arms around her body and I can’t help but think of the baby in her belly. Even after everything she endured—the beatings, the torture—her baby survived. If that’s not a fucking testament to the Mikhailov and Cunningham blood flowing through that little bean, then I don’t know what is.
I’ll never admit it to anyone…but I’m glad the baby survived.
As she drifts off to sleep, I sit in the chair by the window, keeping watch. My ribs ache, my knuckles throb, and my mind is a storm I can’t quiet. But none of it matters.
I think about that night. About the blood on my hands, the way it felt to finally let the rage take over. About the way she ran to me, trusting me to protect her when the world had ripped her apart.
That man three nights ago—the one who walked into that estate and tore it to the ground—he’s gone now. Left somewhere in that blood-soaked room.
But the brother sitting here, watching his sister like she’s the most precious thing in the world—that’s the man I’ve always been. It’s just the part I can’t ever show the world.