Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
"He doesn't—"
"He does, and you know it. Look, if I was in his place right now, the only thing that would stop me from walking toward the light would be my wife's voice. So talk to him."
Talk to him. What was I supposed to say?
"Hey," I said, lacing my fingers through his as I moved to sit near his uninjured shoulder. "Thank you. I...I watched everything. That panic room you shoved me into has a monitor connected to the security system. I saw it all."
"Keep going," Mikhail urged, his gloved hands steady as he worked.
"You know, you were kind of hot," I said, surprising myself with a nervous laugh. "Those gray sweatpants left nothing to the imagination as you prowled those halls."
"Ew," one of the others said, followed by a sharp "ow" when someone—maybe Kostya—hit him.
I didn't take my eyes off Artem's face.
"You are so brave. I didn't think people could actually do things like that outside of action movies." My voice cracked. "I don't understand why you did it. Why not just stay in the panic room with me? Why did you have to go out there and take on all those men by yourself instead of waiting for backup?" There was an edge of anger that crept into my tone. I didn't care. I needed to know.
"That's right." One of the other men spoke up, their comment dripping with sarcasm. "Nag him. That will definitely help."
"It will," Mikhail said without looking up from his work. "Since you're single, cousin, and no one gives a fuck if you come home each night, let me explain something to you. A woman only nags you when she loves you. She only gets mad when you do dumb shit like catch a bullet if she wants you to live."
"That—" the other man started to argue, then snapped his mouth shut.
"You keep talking to him, sweetheart. If he's smart, he'll fight like hell to live. If not, then he wasn't strong enough for you anyway."
There was something disturbing in Mikhail's eyes and I would swear he saw through me completely.
I closed my eyes and brought my forehead down, pressing it to the back of Artem's hand.
"Artem, I need you to wake up. I need you to come back to me," I whispered, my lips brushing against his skin. "Who's going to protect me if you aren't here? I don't have anyone else."
I love you.
The words were there, burning on the tip of my tongue, but I wouldn't say them. Not yet.
The first time I told Artem I loved him, it was going to be because I was sure.
It would be after he had healed and we had come to some compromises about the life I wanted with him.
I wouldn't be his caged pet, but I would be his.
And I wanted the first time I told him I loved him to be because that was all I felt, not because I was terrified of losing him before I had the chance to really know him.
"Please," I whispered in his ear, close enough that only he could hear. "Come back to me. I need you."
Something changed in that moment, I felt it in my soul.
The realization crashed over me with the force of a tidal wave.
I really did love him.
I loved his strength, his determination, his unwavering dedication to those he cared about.
I loved that he had walked into hell for me without hesitation.
His hand tightened around mine, so slightly I might have imagined it.
But I knew I hadn't.
The bullet from his arm clinked into the metal dish as Mikhail extracted it.
"He's going to make it," Mikhail said, meeting my eyes across Artem's body. "He's too stubborn not to."
I nodded, tears streaming freely now.
Let them flow.
I wasn't running anymore…not from Artem.
Not from these feelings.
Not from this life that had chosen me as much as I had chosen it.
Mikhail was still working, but I knew with absolute certainty that Artem wouldn't let a few bullets stop him from coming back to me.
And I was never going to run from him again.
CHAPTER 38
ARTEM
"Why didn't you leave?"
Those were the first words I managed since waking up in the lake house. He words scraped against my throat like sandpaper.
I had drifted in and out of consciousness for days.
Mikhail had patched me up with brutal efficiency, and since then, reality had been a series of fragmented moments.
The only constant was my girl.
Every time I clawed my way back to consciousness, she was by my side, her fingers twisted with mine, silent tears tracking down her face as she slept with her head resting on my uninjured shoulder. Her presence was more than comfort—she was my tether to this world.
Now, I was healing, and she was still here.
I wanted to trust it—I wanted to trust her—but I wasn't sure I would survive the next time she ran from me.