Second Best (Volkov Bratva 1)

“You expect me to trust you? You haven’t earned it.”

How have I not earned her trust? She wasn’t dead, and it pissed me off for her to even think to doubt me. I’d been good to her, more than good.

Anger flooded me.

This was why I didn’t want to get close to the woman. She got under my skin and pissed me off. This wasn’t the time and place to be analyzing the shit we’d said to each other, and yet, here I was, thinking about it.

By the time my guy arrived, he was on his own, in the smallest van we owned. I helped him to pick up the body, throwing it into the back.

“Run dental records, or whatever shit you need. She mentioned something about a kid. I want to know everything about this woman as soon as you can.”

The man nodded and left the scene.

With that, rather than go through the storage room, I made my way out of the back alley, onto the street. My car was parked around the other side. Standing on the pavement near my bar, I looked around.

There were so many avenues the men could have come from. I knew for certain they hadn’t come through the front.

Who would take this much time to find the right opportunity to attack this club? The woman I’d just killed had been purposefully chosen because of her working here, preyed upon, and hooked back on the drugs.

It never took long to get an addict back on what they considered a lifeline.

The question was why?

Why go to so much effort?

I understood it, but if you wanted to attack a nightclub, why not go from the front? This was personal, and I just didn’t see the connection.

Chapter Eleven

Aurora

Two days later

I was in the library of the apartment building when I heard the front door open and close. I held a book I’d been trying to read for a few months, but each time I did, the words blurred together.

I put the book down on the small table that held my empty coffee cup, and got to my feet.

Slavik hadn’t been back home ever since he got that call. We’d shared one incredible night together, and it felt like he’d been avoiding me. I knew he wasn’t. There was no reason for him to.

I grabbed the cup, heading out to find Slavik hanging up the cell phone. He was covered in blood, and I saw a lot of it coming from his side.

“What happened?” I asked.

He looked at me. “Most of it isn’t mine.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

I rushed to the kitchen, looking through the cupboards, trying to find the emergency first-aid kit.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stood in the doorway.

“I’m looking for the first-aid kit. Where is it? Surely you keep one around.”

He chuckled. “It’s in the bathroom.”

I grabbed his arm as I brushed past him, not allowing him to leave my sight until I got him clean.

If I had to, I’d call a doctor. Not that I knew a good one. Since I’d been his wife, he hadn’t given me the chance to have all the necessary contact details I needed. Who to call in the event of an emergency and where to go.

“Sit.” I pushed him onto the toilet seat and looked through the cupboards, finding what I needed. “Remove your shirt.”

“If you wanted me naked, Aurora, all you’ve got to do is ask. This show of caring is sweet.”

“You think this is a show?”

“What else could it be?”

The urge to slap him was strong, but I felt I should be getting some extra good points for not hurting him. He’d deserve it.

With his jacket off, he worked at the buttons, and I quickly slapped his hands out of the way. Even though he was the one shot, my hands shook as I released each button. The moment I started, Slavik didn’t stop me.

He was calm. I was not.

There was so much blood.

“Let me guess, I should see the other guy?” I asked.

“A joke, funny,” he said.

“You didn’t laugh. It couldn’t be that funny.”

“The other guy isn’t laughing. The other five men are not laughing.”

“Five? You were attacked by five men?”

He shrugged.

“Please tell me no one else was hurt.”

“You care more about people you don’t know than your husband, Aurora?”

“I care … about you.” I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like we’d talked or anything.

He had given me one night, and in the past few days, I’d thought nonstop about it. About him. About us.

Sex wasn’t everything, and it had somehow dragged me into its mystical web of need. This shouldn’t even bother me.

“You do?” he asked.

“Yes, you know I do.” I filled the sink with warm water, grabbing a cloth to wipe away the dried blood. “You got shot.”

“How far does this caring go? I’m curious.”