Angel’s Cage

Chapter 2

2

Nikolai

My sister intercepts me as soon as I step out of Chloe’s room. She must’ve been standing in the hallway the entire time.

“How is she?”

“She’ll live, no thanks to you.” My tone is harsh, but I don’t give a f**k.

It’s Alina’s fault we’re in this mess. She told Chloe I killed our father. She gave her the car keys, enabling her to flee.

At my words, Alina flinches but stands her ground. Her face is still pale and puffy, but her green eyes are clear and she no longer smells like a drug cocktail. “I mean, what’s her condition? What did the doctor say?”

I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “She got lucky. The bullet went straight through her arm, just barely grazing the bone. She’s lost a good amount of blood, but not enough to require a transfusion. She also has a sprained ankle. Other than that, she’s just bruised and scraped all over.”

“Kolya…” My sister looks as miserable as I’ve ever seen her. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know about the—”

“Stop.” I’m not in the mood to listen to her apologies and justifications. She might not have known about the killers hunting Chloe, but that doesn’t excuse what she did. Nor does the fact that she was high on her meds. Before I say something I’ll regret, I ask, “Where’s Slava?”

“Lyudmila took him to visit the guards. I asked her to keep him out of the way for now, given… you know.” She waves toward Chloe’s door.

“Good thinking.” I know I shouldn’t mollycoddle my son, but I’m oddly reluctant to expose him to the brutal realities of our life, the way our father did with me. Hunting and fishing is one thing—I’m happy to have Pavel teach Slava that, along with other key life skills—but I’d rather not have him see his tutor covered in blood.

He’ll learn what it means to be a Molotov eventually, but not yet.

Alina looks relieved at my praise. “So what happened?” she asks, following me as I head to my room. “Who sent the assassins after her?”

“It’s a long story.” One I’m still digesting myself. “Suffice it to say, she’s still in danger.”

Alina grabs my sleeve, bringing me to a halt. “So you didn’t…?”

“I did.” I put a bullet in the brain of one of the assassins and wounded the other badly enough that he died shortly after—but not before I got a name out of him.

A name I’m still trying to come to grips with.

My sister peers at me with a frown etched into her forehead. “But you think there are more coming.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Why? Who is she, Kolya?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

Pulling out of her hold, I step into my room and close the door.

Though Chloe is still under, I’m anxious to get back to her, so I quickly shower and change. Then I fire off a message to Konstantin, updating him on what I’ve learned and asking his team of hackers to look into the man the assassin named as their employer.

Tom Bransford.

The presidential candidate who may be Chloe’s father.

She doesn’t know that last part yet, and I don’t know if I should say anything regarding my suspicions until I have more concrete proof. Right now, the evidence is circumstantial at best, and if I’m wrong, Chloe will have even more reason to think I’m a twisted monster.

Which I am. I just don’t want her thinking that way about me.

My chest tightens as I picture the sweet, radiant smile she gave me before the drugs in the IV took hold. I want more of that, not the blank, terrified look she’d worn in the woods when I came toward her, gun in hand, having killed one of her assailants and wounded the other.

I never want to see that look on her face again.

Alina is gone when I emerge into the hallway and hurry back to Chloe’s room. I know she’s fine with the doctor and the nurses watching her, but I can’t help the anxiety that gnaws at me each moment she’s out of my sight. She came so f*****g close to dying. If I’d shown up a few minutes later, if Konstantin’s team hadn’t been able to hack into the NSA satellite to pinpoint her exact location, if the bullet had pierced her body a few inches to the left—there’s an infinite number of ways this could’ve turned out differently.

An infinite number of ways I could’ve lost her.

“She should be coming to in a few minutes,” the doctor informs me when I step into her room. He’s one of the best trauma surgeons in the state; Pavel had him and his team flown in on a chopper from Boise for an exorbitant fee that buys both their services and their discretion.

“Good. Thanks.” Ignoring the stares from the two female nurses, I approach Chloe, a painful ache squeezing my ribcage as I note the grayish tinge of her bronzed skin. They’ve washed the blood and dirt off her face and arms and dressed her in a hospital gown, but her hair is still matted, with a couple of twigs and leaves caught in the golden-brown strands.

I remove the debris, dropping it onto the small table next to her gurney. I hate seeing her like this, so small and fragile and wounded. I’d give anything to have been able to take that bullet for her, or better yet, to have woken up a few hours earlier, so I could’ve stopped her from leaving.

Reaching over, I tenderly stroke my knuckles over her finely shaped jaw. Her skin is soft and warm. Unable to help myself, I rub my thumb over her slightly parted lips. Plush, doll-like lips, the upper slightly fuller than the lower. Sinful lips that could seduce a saint—not that I am or ever have been one.

Pulling my hand away before my body can react inappropriately, I go to a chair in the corner of the room and settle in to wait as the doctor disappears into the bathroom. The nurses pack up the supplies; as soon as Chloe regains consciousness and is stable, they’ll be leaving.

True to the doctor’s promise, only a few minutes pass before Chloe stirs, a faint noise escaping her lips as her eyelids flutter open. I’m immediately on my feet, crossing the room toward her.

“Hi,” she murmurs sleepily, blinking up at me. “Did they already—”

“Yes, zaychik.” I gently clasp her left hand, being careful not to dislodge the IV in her arm. Her delicate fingers are cold in my grip despite the sheet covering her up to her chest. “How are you feeling? You want something to drink?”

She blinks again, still clearly dazed, so I press a button to lift the head of her gurney to a half-sitting position, and then I bring a cup of water with a straw to her lips. She sucks on it greedily, making me smile.

The doctor bustles over and I step back, letting him and his team do their thing. The nurses put Chloe’s right arm in a sling while he asks her a few questions and takes her vitals; then they remove the IV and all the monitoring equipment.

She’s been deemed awake and stable.

“Take this for pain as needed,” the doctor tells her, setting a bottle of pills on the table. “And take care not to get the bandage wet. It’ll need to be changed every twenty-four hours.” He glances toward me, and I nod.

I have a fair amount of experience with gunshot wounds and would be more than happy to play the role of Chloe’s nurse. What I’m not happy about are the painkillers, but I know she’ll need them.

Her injury may not be life-threatening, but it’ll still hurt like hell.

“Here, I got this,” I say as the nurses move to lift Chloe, presumably to transfer her to her bed. Shooing them away, I carefully pick her up and carry her over there myself—not a difficult task, as she’s barely heavier than Slava. Though she’s been eating like a lumberjack during the week she’s been here, my zaychik is still much too thin from her month on the run.

She winces as I lay her down, and I feel it like a stab to my stomach. I’ve never been so viscerally attuned to another person before, to the point that I experience her pain as my own. If there’d been any doubt in my mind about what she means to me, it disappeared the moment I saw her Toyota gone from the garage.

I’d never known such rage and terror as when I learned the assassins were in the area—when I thought I might not find her in time.

My guts twist, and I shove the thought away before I’m tempted to strangle Alina. The important thing now is that Chloe is safe here with me. I’ve already told Pavel to beef up our security, in case the assassins had figured out who hired Chloe and conveyed that information to their employer before I found them. I doubt it—the one I tortured seemed to have no idea who I was—but I’m not taking any chances.

Besides, there’s always the threat of the Leonovs. Alexei will be even more pissed now that we’ve stolen the lucrative Tajik nuclear reactor contract from his family’s Atomprom.

Pushing that thought away as well, I focus on propping up Chloe on a couple of pillows and covering her with a blanket while the doctor and his team wheel the gurney and all their equipment out of the room.

A minute later, we’re finally alone.

I sit on the edge of her bed and pick up her small hand. “Are you comfortable, zaychik?” I ask, rubbing her chilly palm. “Can I get you anything? Something to drink, to eat? I imagine you must be hungry.”

She swallows and nods. “Some food would be great.” She looks more alert now, her big brown eyes distinctly wary. Her fear has a double-edged effect on me, making my chest ache even as it arouses that primitive, twisted part of me that wants to chase her down and mark her, to claim her in the most brutal way possible.

Suppressing the dark instinct, I lift her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “I’ll bring it to you. Do you want something to entertain you while you wait? A book or—”

“I’ll just watch some TV.”

I smile and hand her the remote. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Leaning over, I drop a quick kiss on her forehead and hurry out of the room.