Chapter 22
Kira
The apartment is tiny and there is no real furniture. The only option is to place Maksim on the floor.
“Scissors,” I murmur. “I need to see.”
When scissors don’t magically appear in my hand, I tear the fabric of his shirt.
Semyon produces a first aid kit from somewhere—a massive thing that looks like it came straight off an ambulance.
He kneels on the other side of Maksim.
"Pressure here,” he says. “Hold this. Don't let go."
I follow his instructions robotically. I trust him to know what to do.
Anyone with that kind of medical kit has to have some medical training.
In his life, I imagine gunshot wounds are pretty common.
My hands are covered in Maksim's blood. It's under my fingernails, soaking into my skin, staining everything it touches.
"Is he—" Anya starts, her voice breaking.
"He's alive," Semyon cuts her off. "Barely. But alive."
We work in silence after that. Cleaning the wounds—God, there are so many. The gunshot in his shoulder that looks and smells awful. The new one in his side. Cuts and bruises covering every inch of him.
The antibiotics go in via IV. Semyon's hands are steady as he finds a vein, gets the line in, starts the drip.
"Where did you learn this?" I ask, my voice hoarse.
"A friend." He's already moving to the next task. "Someone had to know field medicine.”
I suppose it doesn’t matter. I’m just so grateful he knows how to help Maksim.
The stitches come next. I hold Maksim still while Semyon sews him back together. Each pierce of the needle makes me flinch, but Maksim doesn't react. He's too far gone; consciousness lost somewhere between the car and this safe house.
"Will he make it?" The question tears out of me.
Semyon doesn't answer right away. He finishes the last stitch, ties it off and cuts the thread.
"I don't know," he finally says. "He's lost a lot of blood. The infection in his shoulder was already bad before the new wound. And his body—" He stops, jaw clenching. "Six years of torture doesn't leave you with much reserve."
The words are a punch to the gut.
Maksim survived hell only to die now, when we finally have a chance at something real.
"We need to get him on a bed," Semyon says. "Carefully."
Between the three of us, we manage to lift him. He's dead weight, his skin burning with fever. We carry him to a small bedroom at the back of the safe house and lay him on the mattress.
I immediately climb in beside him, unable to stand being separated by even a few feet.
"Kira—" Semyon starts.
"Don't." I cut him off. "I'm staying here."
He studies me for a long moment, then nods. "I'll bring you clean clothes. Water. Food if you'll eat it."
"I won't."
"I'll bring it anyway."
He leaves, Anya trailing behind him. I hear them talking in low voices in the other room, but I can't make out the words.
All I care about is the man lying beside me, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
I take his hand and hold it between both of mine. His skin is hot, too hot, the fever raging through him.
"You can't die." The words come out broken. "Maksim, you can't. Not after everything. Not now."
He doesn't respond. Doesn't even twitch.
I press my forehead to his hand, tears streaming down my face.
"I need you to fight," I whisper. "Please. Fight like you fought in Georgia. Fight like you fought to get us out of that compound. Just—don't give up. Don't leave me alone."
The only answer is the steady breathing.
Time passes. I don't know how much. Minutes or hours or days—it all blurs together in this small room.
Semyon brings clothes like he promised. I change without leaving the room.
Anya brings water. “Any change?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
I notice she’s wearing a pair of sweats that are way too big for her. She looks awful, but at least she’s out of the awful dress.
“How are you?” I ask.
I noticed the bandage on her upper arm. She looks at it and smiles. “I’m fine. Semyon says shrapnel. Cleaned and stitched. What about you?”
“I’m okay.”
“I don’t know about that,” she says. “You protected me with your body. I bet you have injuries you can’t even feel because you’re in shock.”
“I’m okay.”
She nods. “I’ll let you get away with that for now. Semyon is making some dinner.”
I stare down at Maksim. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was dead.
I need to clean him up.
I go into the bathroom and soak a couple of towels with cold water and return to the room. I’m hoping the cool towels will help bring down his temperature.
I sing to him as I clean away the blood.
“Kira, you need to eat,” Anya urges. “And you need to clean up.”
“I can’t.”
“Kira, now.” Her voice is firm. “I’ll stay with him. Go. Wash up.”
“I’m okay,” I repeat, but I do go to the bathroom to clean away the dried blood. I do find a couple of cuts and my body is one large bruise, but nothing that requires Semyon’s attention.
I return to the room and see Anya sitting on the bed next to Maksim.
Anya looks at Maksim with tears in her eyes. "He saved us," she says quietly. "Both of us."
"I know."
"He loves you so much." Her voice cracks. "I could see it. Even when he was pretending to hate you, I could see it."
I can't respond. The words are stuck behind the lump in my throat.
"You should rest," she tries.
I shake my head. "Can't."
"Kira—"
"If I sleep, he might—" I can't finish. Can't say it out loud.
She doesn't push. Just sits there with me, both of us keeping vigil over the man who threw himself between us and death.
More time passes. The fever doesn't break. If anything, it gets worse.
I change the cold compress on his forehead over and over, trying to bring the temperature down. Nothing works.
"Come on," I beg him. "Come back to me. Please."
I lean close, my lips against his ear.
"Listen to me," I say fiercely. "You don't get to give up. You survived everything Roman threw at you. And you're going to survive this."
No response.
"We have plans, remember? You're going to take me somewhere. Anywhere. Everywhere." My voice breaks. "You promised."
Still nothing.
"I love you." The words pour out, desperate and raw. “I'm not going to lose you now. Do you hear me? I'm not losing you."
Semyon comes into the room. “I’d like a minute with him,” he says.
I consider arguing, but I understand the need to have a few minutes alone with his best friend.
Anya takes my hand and leads me out of the room. We sit down on the old, lumpy couch.
"Tell me it's really over," Anya whispers. "Tell me I don't have to marry him."
"You don't have to marry anyone. Roman can't force you anymore. We're free."
"Are we?" Her voice is small. "Because it doesn't feel free. It feels like we're hiding."
"It's temporary," I promise. "Just until we figure out what to do next. As soon as Maksim is better, we’ll know what to do."
I slip back into the room after Semyon finishes whatever he needed to say to Maksim. His face is unreadable as he passes me in the doorway, but he squeezes my shoulder briefly before leaving.
I climb back onto the bed, careful not to jostle Maksim's wounds. His fever still rages, his skin hot enough to burn. I press myself against his good side and close my eyes.
Just for a minute. Just to rest them.
The exhaustion crashes over me like a wave, and I'm pulled under before I can fight it.
I wake to whispered words.
"I love you so much." The voice is rough, barely audible, but achingly familiar.
My eyes fly open. Maksim is looking at me. Actually looking at me, his eyes open and focused.
"Maksim?" His name comes out choked. "You're—you're awake."
"Hey." His smile is weak but real. "Told you... not leaving."
A sob tears from my throat. I'm crying and laughing at the same time, my hands framing his face like I need to confirm he's real.
"You're awake. Oh God, you're awake."
"Don't cry." His hand comes up to brush at my tears. "I hate when you cry."
"Semyon!" I'm shouting before I can stop myself. "Semyon, get in here!"
The door practically explodes inward. Semyon bursts through, weapon drawn, ready for a threat. Then he sees Maksim awake, and his entire face transforms.
"You stubborn bastard." The grin that spreads across his face is brilliant. "I knew it. I knew you wouldn't give up."
"Takes more than a couple gunshots to kill me."
"Clearly." Semyon holsters his weapon and moves to the bed, checking Maksim's pupils, his pulse. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got shot. Twice." Maksim's attempt at humor makes my heart squeeze. "And beaten. And—"
"Yeah, we know." Semyon cuts him off gently. "You look like hell."
"Feel worse."
"I bet." Semyon finishes his examination and steps back. "You need to sleep. Real sleep, not fever-induced unconsciousness. We'll talk strategy in the morning."
"Roman—" Maksim tries to sit up and immediately regrets it, his face going gray.
"Is still out there," Semyon confirms, pushing him back down. "But he's not our problem tonight. Tonight, you heal. Tomorrow, we plan. Understood?"
Maksim looks like he wants to argue. Then his eyes find mine, and something in his expression softens.
"Tomorrow," he agrees quietly.
"Good." Semyon heads for the door. "Kira, make sure he actually sleeps."
"I will."
The door closes, leaving us alone again.
Maksim's hand finds mine, our fingers tangling together. "I thought I lost you," he whispers.
"Never." I press my forehead to his. "You're stuck with me now."
"Good." His eyes are already drifting closed, exhaustion pulling him back under. "Love you."
"I love you too." I settle against him carefully. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
His breathing evens out, falling into the deeper rhythm of real sleep. The fever is still there, but lower now. Manageable.
He's going to survive this. We both are.
Tomorrow we'll figure out how to end Roman once and for all.
But tonight, I just hold the man I love and let myself believe that maybe we'll actually get our happy ending.