Page 5 of Scarlet Sins (Yegorov Bratva #2)

Chapter Five

ERIN

“I want to see my son.” I glare at the man holding my hand in that antiseptic smelling hellhole, the hospital.

“You need to be checked out. He tried to choke you. I want to make sure…” He doesn’t finish.

“No one touched me like that, Demyan.”

I squeeze his hand, oddly touched that this strong man is worried someone might have touched me in the wrong way. And I keep the threats made of exactly that, of rape and sexual abuse to myself.

Although I’m pretty sure he and his men killed everyone in there, I don’t want to set him off on a rampage.

The doctor comes in right as Demyan’s phone lights up and he kisses my hand before standing. “I’ll step out for a second and take the call. I’ll?—”

“I’d like some time alone with Ms. Banks,” the doctor says firmly to Demyan.

Demyan doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t. He’s not going to listen to the doctor. He’s worried Niko or one of his men tried something or abused me, other than what’s been done to my face and throat—it hurts to swallow. But I need him out of here. I need some control.

I need to have some privacy, even though I’d rather not go through an exam, but I just smile at Demyan, regardless of how it hurts my lip and bruises to do so.

“No,” he says.

“Yes, Demyan. Go and see Ilya.” I try to keep my tone soft. “Please.”

“And I’d like to examine her,” the doctor says.

He’s about to protest when his gaze swivels to me. His lips thin. But he nods. “I’ll check on Ilya’s progress.”

I won that battle, but I get the feeling Demyan rarely backs down. But then again, I’ve never seen him so… unsure, so naked as he is now.

He’s shaken off attempts to check him and his hands over already and I just watch him go, glad because this will go faster without him here, and I’m determined to go home to be with my son as soon as I possibly can.

And I need that privacy.

As soon as he’s gone, the doctor examines me, tutting over my throat and my lip. He takes my blood pressure and temperature and asks if I need a rape kit. I tell him no. They hurt me, but no one did anything like that to me.

“Thank goodness,” he says, pressing the button to summon a nurse.

She comes in and he orders some pills and blood tests from her.

I get the feeling his relief is more for the fact Demyan won’t take out his anger on him if someone had touched me that way.

Oh, it’s for me, too. But mainly for Demyan.

I get it, but I think Demyan would hurt for me, blame himself, not do anything else here .

I answer all the doctor’s questions, and the nurse takes blood and leaves some pills.

“You and the baby are fine,” the doctor says. “The pills are for your throat, just over-the-counter painkillers, not harmful to the baby. But I need you to take it easy for a few days.”

“Can I go?”

“When Mr. Yegorov returns, yes. I do want you to make arrangements to see an OB-GYN.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll do that this week.”

“Do what this week?”

Demyan makes me jump. The man can be silent when he wants, and my heart skips when I see him. His handsome face, the worry there, the softness when he looks my way.

The doctor makes himself busy and I just take Demyan’s hand as he holds it out to me.

“Take it easy.”

Demyan frowns. “You’ll do nothing all week. For the next month. Maybe I won’t let your feet touch the ground.”

That elicits a small giggle from me. “That’s going to make bathroom time difficult.”

He comes close, leans in, and kisses me. “Impossible woman.” Then he straightens. “Ilya is out of surgery. And in recovery.”

I release a breath. “When can we see him?”

“You’re in the hospital, you’re going nowhere, and he’s critical, so he’s in the ICU. But he’s strong, stubborn, and hanging in. I have faith.”

I squeeze his hand. “He’ll be okay. I know it.”

“Fuck, Erin. I’m sorry, I’m?—”

“Don’t,” I whisper. “We need to concentrate on the fact Sasha’s fine and so is Ilya.”

“He’s in?—”

“And he’s going to be fine, Demyan. Can we go home?”

He frowns again. “Erin. ”

“The doctor said I could go.”

“Well,” he says, “what are we waiting for?”

My heart’s wild and speeding in my chest as we step inside the door of the mansion. Suddenly, a squeal lights up the air and a tiny bullet speeds toward me.

“Mama!”

Sasha launches himself at me so hard and with so much enthusiasm, I stumble back, only to be caught by Demyan.

I start crying and hug my baby back.

He looks up at me, eyes glistening and sparking with love and accusations. “Mama! You left! Bad Mama!” And his arms immediately go up.

I lift him and he hugs me tight again.

“I missed you, Mama. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sasha.” I rain kisses all over him and he wiggles and his sticky—someone gave him candy—fingers grab at my hair and then my face, pinching and poking the bruises.

“Mama,” he says in a shocked whisper. “You hurted your face.”

“I’m okay, baby, I promise. And I’ll never leave you again.”

He nods. “Ainna and Oga gave me candy.” Then he leans in and whispers, “So did Dino.”

“It’s past your bedtime,” Demyan says, beating me to saying it. “Mama’s going to rest, Sasha, but Alina and Olga and I will?—”

“No,” I say. “I want to.”

Demyan gives me a hard look. “Okay, fine.”

I hug my son close and catch the smile of Alina, her sadness softened by the clear relief for me and the happiness that Sasha’s happy .

I climb the stairs. This isn’t home, but…

but it feels like it. The little boy sweetness of Sasha, made sweeter by the candy he’s managed to gorge on, no doubt, fills me, soothes me, and I just hold him tight as he holds me, his head over my shoulder.

He’s babbling away, and I’m listening to the sound of him, not the words.

I’m listening to the beat of his heart as he wriggles, pulling my hair as he talks.

I catch the word Dino.

My heart thumps.

Demyan’s clearly behind us, and his low reply comes, making Sasha squeal with laughter.

When I reach his room, I set him down and look at him. “Baby, you’re sticky and dirty. Bathtime before bed.”

The joy of my return vanishes as his little face turns dark with thunder. “But I don’t wanna, Mama.”

“That’s too bad. You’ve got ducky to play with in the bath. And we can add bubbles.”

He tilts his head. “Bubbles?” Then he shrieks. “Bubbles!”

Bathtime ends up with me soaked and Demyan, too. After Sasha’s dried and dressed and baby teeth brushed, he’s ready for bed, but he’s not interested in leaving my arms.

So I compromise. “What if we sit in the chair and read?”

Demyan fitted his room with a big overstuffed armchair that’s perfect for little boys to climb on and curl up on or someone to sit and hold him.

“Okay, Mama.”

I sit and he climbs on my lap and it’s not until Demyan hands me Sasha’s favorite book that I realize I should be sharing Sasha with him right now. But I can’t. And I should feel guilty, too, but I don’t.

I’m just too happy to have Sasha back in my arms. In my life. I’m too relieved he’s okay and unharmed.

We read, well, I do ,and Demyan and Sasha listen. When Sasha falls asleep, Demyan rises, coming over to take Sasha .

“I’ll put him to bed, and you go rest,” he says.

“No.” I suck in a breath. “I need to.”

Demyan veers back and nods and it hurts my heart to see him turn to walk from the room.

“Hey,” I say.

He stops and turns.

I smile. “We can do it together.”

And Demyan, a man seemingly made of granite, softens with pleasure. It’s not the relief of rescuing me and this is something special which makes me throb with guilt because I’ve robbed him of it for two years.

It’s love for his son. Pleasure of being invited, even just a little, into the world I share with Sasha.

The fragility of the moment threatens to take up all the space in the room and I don’t breathe in case I ruin it.

But he moves first, blinking fast, his shoulders lifting and falling and his gaze sweeping down to his son.

“Here,” I say, offering him Sasha.

He freezes but as he looks at me, he relaxes and shakes his head. “I’ll do it tomorrow, if you’ll let me.”

“He’s our son. Of course.”

I think I fall for him harder because I get how difficult that was, giving up the moment I offered. Demyan pulls back the covers and I carefully place our son in the bed, tucking him in, running a hand over his soft hair and warm cheek, and I kiss him good night.

Demyan bends to touch his cheek and all I can think of in that moment is everything that was taken from him. Not by me and fate, but by his father, and I don’t think I’ve hated someone I’ve never met, someone who’s dead, as much as I hate that man.

When he straightens, Demyan takes my hand. “Bed.”

I sway a little. “I’m not tired. ”

But he scoops me up like I weigh nothing at all and kisses my throat, nipping lightly. “Liar.”

He carries me into his room—our room—and lays me down on the bed. Then he sits watching me for long moments before sighing and clasping his hands. Demyan swallows, looking at them. “Are you okay? Really?”

“Demyan. You saved our son, and then you risked your life for me.”

He nods. “I—I’ll run you a bath.”

“I’m not two.” I sit up, putting a hand on his shoulder, and the vibrations that run through his strong body somehow give me strength. “And I’m good. Safe now. You saved me, Demyan. More than that, you saved Sasha.”

I lean in and kiss his cheek.

He stands and walks into his en suite. The hiss of the shower greets me. When he comes out, he’s followed by a small mist of steam, his trousers dotted with water spray.

“Temperature’s good. Shower.” He stares at me, daring me to fight. “You know, I’d have run you a bath, but it’d be a reminder of when I found you like a gift in my hotel tub.”

A small smile teases his mouth.

“So, since you have to take it easy, I’m going to go down and get you something to eat and drink. Shower and dress by the time I come back if you don’t want to be ravaged.”

Oh. God.