Because it was Natasha.
I flip that phrase over and over in my head, trying not to run too far with it. Part of me secretly rejoices. I was right—I do mean something to him! He couldn’t refuse me the favor when I asked.
But then the twisting in the pit of my stomach tightens even more. Because that means the betrayal Dima feels over my actions must cut even deeper.
“Where is she now?”
“In the back seat with Nikolai.”
“I see. I’ll deal with her when I get there.”
Another wash of cold floods through me. I nearly pee my pants like a frightened puppy.
“No, I’ll deal with her,” Dima snaps back.
I’m not sure what either of them means by dealing with me, but it can’t be good.
It’s probably really, really bad.
I just betrayed their organization and may have gotten Nikolai killed.
Dima probably meant it when he said if Nikolai dies, I die. Oh God, if they kill me, my mother will never survive the grief.
“Who is pakhan here?” The bark in Ravil’s voice makes Dima stiffen.
“You are.”
“Indeed. Now keep a cool head for Nikolai’s sake. I will meet you there with help.”
Dima purses his lips but doesn’t answer. The call ends.
My next breath comes in on a silent sob—one of those terraced, hiccuping kinds.
“Shh,” Nikolai says softly. “Everything will be fine.” But his eyelids flutter closed.
“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” I whisper urgently, not wanting Dima to hear.
I believe Dima now. My life depends on Nikolai not dying.
Nikolai’s lashes flicker back open. “I won’t die,” he promises me. “It takes more than one cowardly bullet to put me down.”
Tears stream down my face as Dima weaves through the Chicago streets. I sit sideways on the seat, my back and arms cramping from the awkward position I maintain to keep compression on Nikolai’s wounds.
I try to catch Dima’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. “I didn’t know Alex was a Fed—I swear. I’m sorry.”
“We’ll discuss it later.” He shuts me down.
I try not to think about all the bad things that could happen. To me. To Nikolai. To my mother. Will Ravil kick us out of the Kremlin? Will they shoot me and throw my body in Lake Michigan?
It takes about twenty minutes before Dima pulls into an alleyway and shuts the vehicle off.
He climbs out of the driver’s seat and throws the back door open. When he sees Nikolai hasn’t stirred, he lunges in and reaches for the pulse at his neck.
Nikolai’s lids crack. “I’m not dead, asshole.”
“Better not be,” Dima mutters back. He scrubs a hand over his face, taking in the blood-soaked shirt and Nikolai’s limp form.
“The bleeding has slowed,” I tell him.
Dima smacks his forehead against the vehicle’s door frame. “Get out.” He beckons to me to come out his side.
I raise my brows in surprise. I thought I was supposed to be applying pressure.
“Now.”
“Okay.” I climb out, and his hands are instantly on me. His touch is quick and rough as his palms coast down my back, over the globes of my ass.
I sputter in surprise.
He follows the hem of my dress all the way around the skirt, and I finally realize what he’s doing—checking for a wire. He thinks I’m working with the Feds, too. He puts his hands inside my dress and quickly checks my panties by brushing the backs of his knuckles over the front. He doesn’t linger long enough to humiliate me, but that doesn’t stop the hot flush from flooding my neck and chest, collecting in the hollow of my throat, creeping up my neck.
I try to shove him away, but he’s immovable, still completing his check, sliding his fingers over the bodice of my dress. I’m not wearing a bra, and my stupid nipples get hard when he brushes across them.
He chokes a little on his breath. I try to hold in a whimper. He turns me around to check the back of the halter, and then he steps back. “Hand me your purse.”
I grab my purse from the floor of the back seat and hurl it at him, blinking back the heat behind the bridge of my nose. He dumps it out on the floor of the Land Rover and sorts through it, obviously still searching for some kind of bug. He takes apart my phone and swiftly examines the insides. After he puts it back together, he does something with the settings, then pockets it rather than returning it to my purse. The rest of my things, he shoves back into my purse.
A car screeches in behind us, and a man I don’t recognize jumps out. He ignores us and unlocks the door to the building and a half minute later jogs out with a spine board. “Are you Dima?” He rakes his gaze over Nikolai inside the Land Rover. I step back to make room for the board.
“Yeah,” Dima says. “This is Nikolai. I’m a blood and organ match.”
“I can see that.” They are obviously identical twins. “All right, help me get him on the board.”
Dima climbs in to take my place near Nikolai’s shoulders, and the two men heft him onto the board, then carry him into the building. I run ahead to open the door, then follow.
Another car screeches into the alley and doors slam. Ravil and Maxim enter swiftly. Neither says a word to me as they pass, but Ravil’s harsh gaze makes me shrink. I melt backward toward the door, and Ravil must sense it because he stops and turns.
“Come into the operating room, please, Natasha.”
I note the please. He’s still polite, even though his tone brooks no disobedience. But then, Ravil always did play at being refined. He hides his brotherhood tattoos under expensive dress shirts and slacks. His shoes are always shining. If not for the crude ink across his knuckles, you’d think he was born to rule a boardroom, not the Russian mob.
I follow the men into a fluorescent-lit operating room.
The building smells like antiseptic and animals, and I can hear the bark and whine of dogs down a hallway.
They put Nikolai on a stainless steel table, and the veterinarian removes the gauze. “Who packed the wounds?” he asks tersely.
“Natasha,” Dima murmurs without looking at me. It’s like he’d prefer to pretend I’m not here. I get it. He must think the absolute worst of me right now. Hell, so do I.
“Well done. Are you a medic?” the doctor asks me.
“I’ve been through EMT training.”
“Can you put a needle in?”
I close my eyes and draw a steadying breath. I’m not trained in it, but I’ve seen my mother put in IV lines. “I can try.”
I walk to Nikolai’s side.
“No, in him.” He jerks his head toward Dima. “I need his blood. The bags are in the lower right-hand cabinet over there.” He shows me with his chin, as his fingers are busy putting an IV into Nikolai’s hand.
I scurry to the cabinet and open it, dropping to my knees to find the bags. They’re for animals, so smaller than human blood bags, but basically the same. I get the needle and tubing and put the set together.
Dima just stands there, his face as pale as his brother’s as he looks on.
I find rubber gloves, the antiseptic, and a tube to tie around his arm.
“Okay, um, have a seat,” I say to Dima.
He doesn’t look at me as he pulls a chair out from the wall and sits in it. I crouch beside him, my tight cocktail dress making it all the more awkward, and I swab the area, then tie the rubber tube above his elbow.