Page 34 of The Tsar’s Obsession (Bratva Sinners #1)

The sound of a bullet ricochetted in my ears and I clasped my hand to my mouth, willing myself not to make a sound. They were at the car.

Good God, what the fuck!

Stressful situations were a part of my job, but not like this! Negotiating with a tantruming client was peanuts in comparison to the threat of a bullet to the brain. I stayed a minute longer, listening to the men who spoke Spanish.

One minute. Two. The voices trailed off, but I didn’t dare move.

Eyeing the marina, I suddenly had the brilliant idea to find a boat—any damn boat that had an ignition key in it. Someone was bound to leave one in; it always happened. I’d spent countless hours on my dad’s boat before even having my driver’s license. This was the only way out .

My mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert from the nerves, and I swam from one boat to another, gliding on the water and attempting to minimize splashing. Male voices ran out near the dock, and I froze, praying to any God available that whoever it was didn’t see me.

Once again, I restarted my search, and right when I was about to panic at my failed plan, I spotted an ignition key dangling from a steering wheel of a small motorboat. Fucking bingo!

With utmost stealth, I climbed over the edge and collapsed on the floor, gasping for air, my blood pumping in my temples.

I didn’t want to be here! I just wanted to be back with Kirill, in his arms. I didn’t want to participate in any of this!

Cotton clouds floated overhead, and the weather was warm and relaxing while I was quite literally fighting for my life.

I breathed. In and out. In and out. One minute.

Two. I remained on the floor of the boat, waiting out the silence.

I poked my head out to assess my next move.

I had no plan, zero, zilch. I was just grateful I had made it this far.

But as if drawn to the edge of the fence, my eyes caught sight of a man. He was crouching close to the ground, his arm holding his stomach. He had wavy brown hair. He was wearing a white linen shirt. The shirt had a large red stain.

Kirill.

Utter shock overtook all of me. He was hurt.

Just then, Yuri jumped down right beside him and spotted me within a few seconds, frantically waving at me to pull up. Ripping my eyes away from the scene, I fumbled with the ignition key and pulled the boat out. Slowly, steady. I could do this.

In half a minute, I was already at the shore, watching in pure disbelief, how Yuri hauled all of Kirill’s six-foot-five frame into the boat, jumping in right after him.

I wanted to climb to him. I wanted to see what happened, to help him, to stop the blood, but instead, I was frozen, watching my man wince in pain.

“Go, Mia! ”

Yuri’s voice woke me from the trance, and I revved the engine, speeding out of the marina right as a bullet landed in the windshield.

Rough open waters rocked us, the wild wind howling in my ears, droning out the sound of my pumping blood. "What the fuck, Yuri?! You told me to wait for you!" My loud yells traveled behind me while I glanced at Yuri, who sported a small smile.

I felt some sort of camaraderie with him, and the events of the past few minutes had put me in an intense adrenaline rush.

I was a brand-new person! Not only did I steal a boat, but I also escaped bullets, got Kirill and Yuri out of there, came up with an escape plan, and was driving a boat through rough waters I’d never been in before!

But that stain on Kirill’s shirt was growing, and I focused on breathing in and out, bringing the boat to a dangerous speed to avoid getting sucked into a wave.

With Yuri’s directions, a familiar villa came into view, and I pulled up as close to shore as I could. I whipped around to see Kirill prostrate on the floor of the little boat. His teeth clenched, he clutched at his side in overt pain.

This wasn’t a scratch—he was hurt. Real, red blood seeped through his fingers.

After our week of bliss, I relaxed. I’d forgotten who he really was, but reality rudely smacked me in the face. Before I could kill the engine, Yuri was already helping Kirill out, a barrage of Russian swear words flying from both their mouths while Yuri chuckled.

In some sort of alternate reality, I watched Kirill struggle to stand and walk, with both Yuri and I helping him. Oh fuck, this wasn’t a fucking movie, and the sight of his blood was draining mine away from my extremities.

“Mia…” Kirill breathed. “Are you hurt?” His teeth chattered and his eyes shut, groaning in pain with every step.

And with every step, my legs turned into lead. I was scared. I held onto Kirill’s strong body while he limped, his crimson blood staining my dress and hands .

This was terrifying. Watching him struggle, in pain, bleeding, and at a disadvantage. Love was terrifying.

Kirill collapsed onto his knees in the living room before leaning onto his bloody hands and then falling onto his back.

I shouldn’t have looked. Blood made me squeamish and weak.

I hated the sight of it. But I had quickly lost all my dislike of blood.

My man, my boyfriend, was bleeding out onto the floor!

I grabbed at his shirt and pulled it apart with renewed strength, zeroing in on the injury. The stab wound was deep, raw, and angry.

The stab wound. There was a hole in his body.

This was okay; I talked myself down. This wasn’t terminal. This was just a deep cut, not a gunshot to the heart.

Yuri paced beside us, urgently speaking with someone on the phone. My gaze wandered over Kirill’s body, and my vision blurred. Was this what my life would be like now? Watching the man I love potentially die in front of me?

I didn’t want this. I just wanted him, not this !

A bloody hand grabbed onto mine, interrupting my thoughts, and Kirill pulled me in. “I’m okay. Don’t worry, alright?” he gritted out. I nodded, blinking away tears. “It’s just an injury; it’s just painful.” His face was drained of all color, and his eyes fluttered closed.

Without hesitation, I leaned in and brushed my lips on his forehead, the only form of comfort I could give him. His whisper was so apologetic, "I'm so sorry, Mia. I'm so sorry this happened today."

“Baby, stop,” I whispered back, gulping down my tears. “I’m going to stay with you, okay? You’re going to be okay.” I nodded, assuring myself that his weak voice and limp grasp on my hand were okay. We were okay. This was okay, okay, okay, it would be okay!

A man rushed into my peripheral vision, and as if I were part of the furniture, he and Yuri ignored me, hauling Kirill up onto his feet. With a loud groan, Kirill was led away into the bedroom, leaving me on the bloody floor.

It was all about to spill out—my entire breakfast was ready to make its way out of me.

What the fuck was I doing? I almost died, Kirill almost died.

What happened to my life? I stole a boat, I dodged bullets, and I was in love with a man who was slowly dragging me into his vicious and savage lifestyle.

“Mia?” Yuri’s voice ripped me out of my thoughts.

He crouched down in front of me, stretching out his hand.

"Doctor need one or two hours,” his voice was calm and confident, just like always.

“Kirill want see you but doctor say no, he working now.

Go. Go shower and change, Kirill be okay, I stay.

" He talked to me like my dad, gently and authoritatively.

I stood in the shower, the hot water cascading down my back. Kirill’s blood dripped off my hands and knees and swirled down the drain, taking with it all my misconceptions about how calm and predictable life was.

The predictability used to eat me alive. Now, there was no such thing.