Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Konstantin’s eyes ignite with anger so great, it burns through his whole frame. “Why…would you fucking care?”
“I don’t.” Kirill grabs him by his hair that’s soaked in blood and wrenches his head back. “But you happen to share my last name, and I don’t appreciate people sending me messages through the weak links in my life.”
“Fuck you.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” He slaps him on the cheek twice, then grabs him by the hair. “Focus.”
I don’t know how or why I do it, but I step to his side. “Please stop that. His eyes are unfocused, and he’s probably feverish. He needs medical help.”
“This is none of your business. Back off.” He doesn’t even look at me. “Who was it, Konstantin?”
His brother breathes harshly, but it’s irregular, and his tongue gets stuck on the roof of his mouth. “Fuck you…you fucking bastard.”
Kirill shoves him away, but he raises his fist to punch him.
I stand in front of him, arms on either side of me, and shake my head. “Don’t.”
“Which part of back the fuck off do you not understand, Lipovsky?”
Usually, I would shake like a leaf in front of those intense eyes, but I force myself to stare straight back at them. “Brothers aren’t supposed to hate each other.”
“I’ll let you know when I need your unsolicited advice.”
“Please…” I soften my tone since hardening it had the exact opposite effect I was hoping for. “You want answers, right? I’ll get them for you. If you leave me alone with him…”
“Leave you alone with him?” His voice drops to a frightening range.
“Okay, don’t leave me alone with him. But can you at least back off for a moment?”
“No.”
“Just…” I release a harsh breath so as not to lose my cool. “I only need ten minutes.”
“Five.”
“Seven.”
“Five.”
“Fine.” I look him up and down. “You’re still standing here.”
He takes a step back. No kidding, just one.
“You need to go farther.”
“No.”
“At least stand beside Viktor.”
He narrows his eyes, and for some reason, they appear colder than usual, which is terrifying in and of itself, but he does go to stand beside Viktor.
It’s not that far, but they’re at least behind Konstantin, so he can’t see them. He can probably sense the hostile energy radiating from them, though.
I slowly turn to face him, and he glares at me with his one good eye. “Whatever the fuck you think you’re doing—”
Kirill steps forward, and I lower myself so that my face is level with Konstantin’s. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anything.”
I grab a box of tissues from the coffee table and wipe at the blood on his temple. I can sense Kirill’s stare—or more like glare—but I ignore it and focus on Konstantin instead.
He curses under his breath with each of my ministrations, and his breathing turns shallower. He definitely has a fever, too.
“They really did a number on you,” I say with enough nonchalance to sound concerned, but not like I’m pitying him.
“Wait until I get my hands on those motherfuckers.” He coughs and wheezes. “I’ll drill their brains with holes, I swear to fuck—”
“Isn’t it too late after they already got you?”
“What the fuck do you know, asshole? Were you there?”
“No, but if I had been there, none of this would’ve happened to you.”
“You think you’re all that?”
“No, but I’m probably better than your useless guards who allowed this to happen.”
He purses his lips. “They were shot down. We were ambushed, so they couldn’t have done anything.”
“Doubt it. If they’d had the right security plan—”
“It was a setup!” he strains. “We were supposed to meet a contact from the Chicago branch, but it turned out they were out for me.”
“You mean me.” Kirill strolls to my side. “Your only power is being my brother.”
“Fuck you, motherfucker.”
I glare at Kirill for ruining the semblance of an agreement I was trying to build, but he merely ignores me. “Who was the person you were supposed to meet?”
“Ivanov,” he spits out.
My legs go weak. Did he just say Ivanov? No, surely this is a coincidence. There are a lot of Russian people with our last name. Maybe even from other nationalities as well, so it’s not like this person is related to me.
Besides, the only Ivanovs I know are back home.
“First name?” Kirill asks.
“Don’t know.”
“Description?”
“A burly blond guy who loves torture.”
“No shit.” He runs his gaze over Konstantin’s multiple injuries.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“I don’t know. Have you done something I should be making fun of? Getting yourself ambushed by some guy whose background you haven’t even checked does sound amateurish.”
“You fucking—”
“Let’s get him a doctor,” I intervene to avoid whatever war is about to start.
Kirill turns to leave, not bothering to consider my suggestion.
“Boss!” I call.
“Viktor, take him somewhere else so he’ll stop bleeding on my floor,” he announces, then leaves.
“That son of…” Konstantin wheezes, sounding delirious with fever.