Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Briony
The gunshot tore through the air. I watched the bullet fly toward me, frozen. I thought it would hit me, but a tall figure lunged in front of me. Varlam braced one hand against the ground, the other locked behind my head, crushing me into his chest.
A bullet grazed his shoulder and slammed into the concrete pillar behind us.
My heart nearly burst from my chest.
"Are you hurt?" His low voice fell against my ear.
The factory erupted into chaos. Gunfire rattled outside the door. Someone kicked it open. Footsteps poured in from every direction. People shouting. Bodies dropping. Gunpowder and dust choked my throat, but I couldn't see a thing.
Varlam blocked everything. His palm cradled my head, his arm barred my neck and shoulder, shielding me from even a stray piece of concrete. He ripped the tape from my mouth and cut my bindings. I could finally breathe.
"Briony, don't be scared." His hand stroked my head gently.
I stared into his steel-gray eyes. Calm. Focused. Like I was his entire world. The panic inside me settled.
Brinny's men were all down. But the white-haired old man's wheelchair lay toppled on its side. He was gone. The realization twisted my stomach.
"Varlam, the old man—"
"Gleb will find him."
I tried to stand. My numb legs wouldn't cooperate. Varlam caught my waist. My body slammed into his, but from the corner of my eye I caught a thin figure moving. Brinny was on her feet. She looked rough—gash on her forehead, clothes covered in dust.
Then she turned toward the fallen gun. My blood froze.
"Varlam!"
Varlam spun around. Brinny already had the gun. The barrel swung past Varlam and aimed straight at me. I saw her lips move.
"Die, bitch. You ruined everything."
The world slowed. I saw her finger squeeze the trigger. Saw the muzzle flash. Saw Makar lunge forward.
"Look out!" His roar cut through the noise.
Varlam threw himself in front of me. The bullet punched into his body. His shoulders and back went rigid. His massive frame froze for a heartbeat.
Then another gunshot exploded from Makar's hand. Brinny's body jerked backward. She looked down at the red spreading across her chest, like she didn't understand what it was. She staggered twice, then collapsed.
I didn't look at her again. Because Varlam was falling in front of me.
"No!" I reached for him.
His weight dragged me down with him. We hit the ground together. My hand touched his wound. Warmth flooded my palm. Blood poured from his side, soaking through his shirt, running between my fingers.
Every sound disappeared. Just a sharp ringing drilling into my skull.
"Varlam?"
He didn't answer. My lungs felt crushed. Air wouldn't come. The light started going black. I pressed hard on his wound to slow the bleeding.
"You... okay?" Varlam's eyes took several seconds to focus on my face. His voice came out hoarse. "Are you hurt?"
My chest felt split open.
"You got shot and you're asking me?"
His gaze dropped to my stomach.
"The baby."
"We're fine," I said fast.
Truth was, I couldn't feel anything anymore. I only knew his blood kept pouring out from under my hand, burning me alive.
"Good." He exhaled.
"It's not good." My nose stung. "Look at me. Don't close your eyes."
"I know." His voice was terrifyingly weak.
Fear strangled my throat. Tears streamed down my face.
"You goddamn idiot." My teeth chattered. "Why did you take that bullet for me?"
He looked at me. Those eyes that always silenced entire rooms had lost their edge, but the stubbornness remained.
"Because it's you," he said. "I love you."
My heart nearly stopped from the pain.
His eyes started closing. I grabbed him.
"Look at me, Varlam. You owe me a hell of a lot of explanations. You don't get to blow me off with one sentence."
Makar appeared beside us, his face bloodless. He looked at me and Varlam, then finally said, "Ambulance is coming. Hang on."
"Let me see the wound." Gleb came over, a cut on his temple, expression unchanged.
He knelt down, tore off the bottom of Varlam's shirt, and pressed the folded fabric under my hand.
"Bullet's positioned on the outer side." Gleb examined the wound. "Didn't exit through the front. As long as his blood pressure holds, he'll make it to the hospital."
"As long as?"
Gleb didn't answer. I hated that he wouldn't sugarcoat it. And because he wouldn't, I was even more terrified. Makar threw down his gun, stripped off his jacket, rolled it up, and shoved it under Varlam's legs. His movements were clumsy, almost frantic.
Men ran in with a stretcher. Gleb directed them to lift Varlam from the side to avoid pressure on the wound. I kept my hand on the fabric.
They raised the stretcher. I bent over and followed alongside, one hand pressing the wound, the other gripping Varlam's hand.
Red and blue lights sliced through the night. The ambulance sat outside the abandoned factory. Paramedics rolled out a gurney and transferred Varlam.
The doors shut behind us, sealing out the gunfire, the wind, the factory. Varlam lay under white lights, electrodes on his chest, face ashen, silver hair soaked with sweat.
His body carried too many old scars. Knife wounds, bullet marks, layered on top of each other. Maybe he'd gotten used to pain. But I'd just learned that watching him hurt was worse than being hurt myself. The paramedics reapplied pressure. Varlam groaned. I squeezed his hand tighter.
The ambulance finally stopped at the hospital emergency entrance.
They wheeled him inside. I chased them to the trauma corridor. A nurse blocked me from the surgical wing.
The door closed in my face. The red light came on. My body felt hollowed out.
When Gleb and Makar arrived, I was still standing there.
The surgery lasted forever. One hour. Two hours. Every tick of the clock scraped my nerves.
I couldn't sit. Stood up. Walked to the door. Came back. My back throbbed from the earlier fall, the rope burns on my wrists stung. But I couldn't care about that now.
The third hour passed. The operating room doors finally opened.
"Who's the family?" The doctor pulled down his mask.
"Me." I practically ran over.
"We got the bullet out." The doctor said. "The wound was positioned safer than initially assessed. Didn't hit the heart, lungs, or major abdominal organs."
My legs gave out. Makar caught me from behind before I hit the floor.
"But he lost a lot of blood. His pressure was very low when he arrived." The doctor continued. "He'll need close monitoring for the next twenty-four hours. If there's no secondary bleeding or infection, he should gradually stabilize."
"Can I see him?"
"Once he's in the ICU, you can look through the glass. No bedside visits tonight."
"When will he wake up?"
"After the anesthesia wears off, depends on his condition. Maybe a few hours. Maybe longer."
I could only nod. When they wheeled Varlam out, he wore an oxygen mask.
I followed the gurney a few steps. No response. The staff moved fast. I only touched his fingertips. He was alive. That was enough.
The chairs outside the ICU were hard. Gleb had someone bring clean clothes. I changed out of the blood-soaked shirt. A nurse brought a wet towel for me to wipe the dried blood from my palms. I stared at my hands, suddenly remembering how Varlam looked when he fell.
Remembering him saying, Because it's you, I love you. My eyes burned again.
"Before he took the bullet for me, did he ever think he might die?" I didn't know who I was asking.
Gleb looked through the glass at the hospital bed.
"No."
"How do you know?"
"Because he didn't have time."
Not the answer I wanted. But the truest one. Varlam didn't weigh it. Didn't calculate the baby, the family, the power, didn't calculate whether I was worth it. He just turned around. Used his body to shield me. I closed my eyes. My chest ached.
"Is he always like this?"
"No."
Gleb answered too fast. I looked at him. My throat felt blocked.
Through the glass, I saw Varlam lying quietly. Eyes closed, tubes and monitors stripping away his usual commanding presence.
A nurse sent Makar to treat the scrape on his arm. When he came back, he fell asleep in the corridor. Gleb never left, only stepped away occasionally for calls.
I sat outside the glass, counting the waves on the monitor over and over. Each spike told me through the wall that Varlam was still here.
Not until the next morning, after the doctor finished his examination, did he tell me Varlam was past the most critical stage.
"You mean—" I felt dazed.
"If nothing unexpected happens, we can transfer him to a regular room this morning."
I braced against the wall. The wire that had been pulled taut in my chest all night finally loosened.