Page 88 of Ice & Steel

“That was the turning point. Obviously,” said Viktor.

We pulled up to a dock just off the road. I followed him, grateful I’d worn sensible sneakers, scrambling up the rocky hillside to where a motorboat waited. He silently helped me on board and revved the engine.

We couldn’t speak much on the way. The air was chilly slicing through the waves like this and Viktor was distracted by driving the boat. I huddled up in the center, against a bench, and watched the water churn out behind us.

I hated the thought that he had died, even for a second.

He’s gone on, he’d gone to the other side where I couldn’t reach him. Guilt ripped through my chest although I wasn’t sure why I felt it. I’d done what he asked of me. I’d trusted him.

We pulled up to another dock below a house built into the hill. It was a rectangular, two-story building with guards standing at every corner.

“Come,” Viktor said, alighting on the dock.

He held out his hand, worn palm up.

I froze, tears streaming down my face.

“Olivia,” he said gently.

I wiped my face angrily. “Sorry. I’m not weak…I’m just confused.”

His warm hand slid through mine and he lifted me onto the dock and set me down. “You’re in shock,” he said. “And that’s okay.”

I nodded, wiping my face again. “Sorry, the boat…the wind is making my eyes water.”

He didn’t say anything, which I was grateful for. We began trekking up the hill, the wind whipping hard around our bodies. Viktor, despite being in his mid-fifties, didn’t seem to have a problem. I was out of breath from living on the island, which was completely flat, but I didn’t take a moment to rest.

I had to see my husband.

Sienna met us at the door. It had been over a decade since I’d seen Lucien and Duran’s cousin. I knew she didn’t want anything to do with our family after Lucien had forced her to marry Viktor, so I hesitated. Unsure how to react.

She stepped forward and put her arms out.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s all okay.”

I hugged her, hard. “Where is he?”

She broke away and took my hand, leading the way through a modest living area and up a flight of pale wood stairs. Everything had a Swedish architecture style to it that felt simple and warm. I padded after her trying to focus on anything. The floor, the ceiling, the carpet. Anything but how close I was to crying.

At the end of the hall was a closed door. Sienna pushed it open, catching hold of my elbow.

“Be gentle if you touch him,” she whispered. “He’s really bruised up. And don’t let him do anything stupid like try and get up.”

I nodded, wordless. She ushered me through the door and I heard it shut behind me.

Lucien was propped up on the pillows. His hair was still shorn to his head, but that was the most recognizable thing about him. His beautiful, muscled body was battered. Painted with bruises and patched together with white bandages.

My eyes traced over his naked body in horror. Down over his stomach to where the comforter covered his lap.

“Liv,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Come here, baby.”

Suddenly I was standing in Viktor’s house again in Russia. Wracked with nerves because I was afraid my brand new, ice cold husband wouldn’t like my dress. And he stood in the hallway with the faintest flicker of warmth in his eyes.

“Come here, baby,” he’d said.

It was the first time he’d used a term of endearment with me. I jerked my head, clearing my mind. My bruised, battered husband and the father of my four sons looked at me, reminding me of all the time that had passed and how much we’d changed since then.

“Lucien,” I breathed. “Viktor said…he said you died.”