WASHED AWAY

by RC Boldt

  Drawing on my last dregs of strength, I try to find peace with this, somehow. To know that this is the end for me, and although I confronted the man who’d ordered Papa’s death, I failed to kill the bastard who murdered my parents years ago.

  The temptation to lose consciousness envelops me tightly. Vaguely, I hear Liam’s voice bark out an order, but to whom, I’m not certain.

  I welcome darkness as it overtakes me.

  Chapter 71

  LIAM

  I shot Sergei but hadn’t killed him—on purpose.

  Because I still want answers.

  Using my shirt to press against her wound, I secure it tightly with my belt. She passes out from the pain, but her pulse is still strong and her blood loss isn’t worrisome, so I rush over to where the asshole is sprawled.

  I press my booted foot over the sodden mess of Sergei’s shirt where my bullets pierced him, and his eyes close on a pain-filled moan.

  “Who the fuck killed my family.” Tone like barbed wire, I bite out each word that emerges more as a statement instead of a question.

  Sergei starts to laugh, but it morphs into choking as blood bubbles from his mouth. His eyes tell me he knows there’s no point in lying to me. This is the end for him.

  “Dev sent men to kill them. He staged it to look like Yurchenko just after I sent men to kill him.” His voice is raspy, fading in and out. “We needed you on board to show other Bratvas we were strongest.”

  Boom! His body jerks from where I sent a bullet dead-center of his forehead.

  “All I ask is if you’re going to kill me, do it quickly.”

  Goddammit, her words run on a punishing loop in my head.

  “You need a fucking shower.”

  I don’t acknowledge Saint’s words. Hell, I probably do need a damn shower, but I haven’t been able to leave her side.

  I’d been able to extract those bullets safely and determine they hadn’t done internal damage. One had grazed the edge of her pancreas but hadn’t punctured it, thankfully.

  “King. Go take a fucking shower.” Exasperation is threaded in Saint’s voice. “I’ll be right here, watching over her.”

  His exasperation is warranted. Would she want to regain consciousness with me by her side all over again? It’d be like reliving the past, except now she knows the truth.

  If anyone knows how to keep her safe, it’s Saint. I’m grateful he let me handle things on my own and even more thankful he stuck around when I needed him afterward.

  On top of that, he procured a site for me to patch Alex up that had most of the necessary medical supplies, as well as a secure place for us to stay while she recovers.

  I owe him huge for that.

  I haul myself up from the chair at her bedside that my ass has practically been surgically attached to for the past ten hours. Padding over to the bathroom, I take one last look at her, wishing like hell I could go back and do certain things differently.

  I would’ve told her the truth earlier.

  I would’ve told her that I love her.

  Forcing one foot in front of the other, I shut the bathroom door behind me. I grab a folded towel from beneath the vanity and crank the shower faucet before stripping off my clothes.

  I step beneath the spray and brace my palms against the tile. Christ, I wish like hell this water had the ability to wash me clean of all the shit I’ve done.

  The thing about regrets is that they’re always bitter. If I hadn’t been a mercenary years ago, I wouldn’t have had the means to convince my parents to finally retire from factory jobs that caused them more stress and hardship than they were worth.

  I wouldn’t have had the means to encourage and finance their ambitions to make mission trips to poorer countries like Panama, Nicaragua, Haiti, and others.

  They would never have come across my sister and saved her from being sold as a slave.

  I would’ve never met my sister, Zahari, and fallen in love with her magical smile. I wouldn’t have been encouraged by her words when I confessed to her about my wish to practice medicine in Panama.

  She had been the only one I’d spoken to about it. And even at thirteen years old, she was an old soul. Fuck knows what horrors she’d seen, but from the time my parents adopted her, she was never without her beautiful smile.

  When she’d looked at me with her dark eyes, I wondered if I’d seen pride in them or if I was just imagining it. “Liam, you can do anything and be anything. You just have to believe in yourself and have a support system.” Her smile gleams with affection and pride, even in my memory. “I’ve learned that from my family.”

  Though my cancer diagnosis came prior to their deaths, even then, I knew in my gut what I had to do. That I had to think outside the box.

  I knew I had to meet that “incurable” diagnosis with a “fuck off.” Because I’d already changed my life around in order to be a better man. I wasn’t going to give in—couldn’t bear to.

  When I received word that they were murdered, my will to survive only grew stronger, revenge fueling me. It gave me something to live for—to see their murderer would suffer and die as they had. It spawned a more desperate need to cure myself.

  Looking back now, though, I wonder if it hadn’t been some sort of inherent instinct that propelled me in that direction, knowing what the future had in store for me.

  A hoarse, humorless laugh rumbles deep in my chest because I was a fucking fool to think the universe wouldn’t fuck with me. This whole time, I really thought I was calling the damn shots.

  I should’ve known better because it’d been too fucking easy.

  Now, as I wait for the one person who battered away at my defenses—who thawed my damn heart—to heal, I know what I have to do.

  And it may very well be the hardest fucking thing I’ve done yet.

  Chapter 72

  ALEXANDRA

  “Get the fuck away from me!”

  Liam holds up his hands in surrender, concern flashing in his features when I clutch the pillow to my stomach. “I just need to check your bandages before I—”

  “No.” I’d rather deal with an infection than have his deceitful hands on me.

  Hands dropping to his sides, he squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s in the throes of agony.

  “Get. Away. From. Me.” Hatred and anguish punctuate my words. “Отойди от меня! ¡Aléjate de mí!” I repeat the sentiment in the two other languages he’ll understand. “I never want to see you again.” Venom colors my tone.

  Liam’s eyes flash open, appearing dull and lifeless. He stares at me for a long beat before nodding and turning away.

  Pausing at the threshold of the bedroom door, he remains with his back to me. His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it, colored with what sounds like defeat.

  But I can’t muster any sympathy for him. Not after all the lies.

  “Saint volunteered to look after you.” A trace of derisive humor colors his next words. “He predicted—accurately—that you’d want me gone.” A pregnant pause hangs in the air. “Once you’re healed, I know you’ll want to finish things. He’ll help you with whatever you need.”

  Curiosity is far too strong, compelling me to prod him. “Finish things?”

  Bracing one hand on the doorjamb, he nods, still facing away. “You need to kill Medvedev. He’s who killed your family.” He turns to head down the hall.

  “He killed your family, too.” My voice is barely audible, but he evidently hears it, stopping in his tracks.

  His face comes into view, and if I didn’t hold on to the anger and betrayal, I’d hurt for him at the desolate look of defeat etching his features.

  “You matter more to me, so I’m handing my vengeance over to you.” His throat works while his gaze travels over my face, as though he’s committing it to memory.

  His voice turns raw, as if it physically pains him to speak, and his admission is quiet. “I love you, Alex.” His eyes appear to take on a slight sheen, but it’s probably just t
he lighting. “I regret not telling you the truth, but I can’t regret that it all brought you to me. I don’t regret loving you. Never will.”

  His admission stuns me, leaving me at a loss for words. But it appears Liam isn’t expecting anything in return because he clears his throat and stares down the hall. “Make him pay for the lives he’s taken, Alex. Get your closure.”

  Then he disappears from sight, footsteps eventually fading down the hall before a door slams shut.

  “I’m not upset that you lied to me, I’m upset that from now on I can’t believe you.”

  —Friedrich Nietzsche

  Chapter 73

  ALEXANDRA

  “It’s been a month, Saint.”

  He grins before shoveling a forkful of eggs in his mouth. Once he swallows and washes it down with his coffee, he leans back in his chair. “I’m well aware of how much time has passed.”

  With raised brows, he lowers his voice to a whisper as though he’s relaying a scandalous secret. “I’ve never spent this much time with a woman before who wasn’t my wife.”

  He appears pensive for a moment, and I worry that mentioning her may cause him anguish, but then a cheeky smirk tugs at his lips. “Pity you’re my buddy’s woman.”

  I scowl at his reference to Liam. “I’m not anyone’s woman.”

  I made him promise earlier on not to mention Liam’s name. It might seem petty as hell, but I’m trying to get over the asshole. It’s bad enough that I have his friend hovering over me, a constant reminder in itself.

  Saint has moved us a few times, not only because there’s a bounty still on my and Liam’s heads, but to also be sure Roman doesn’t find us.

  I have no idea where Liam is. While a part of me hopes he’s being eaten away by guilt at how he betrayed me, another part of me recoils at the possibility of Roman—or anyone, for that matter—killing him.

  “You know, there’s been something I’ve been wanting to ask you about.”

  I stiffen, eyeing him warily, but remain silent.

  “He told me you asked him a question, and it made him curious.” He pauses, surveying me carefully. “You asked him for the specific date his family was murdered. Why?”

  “Because I wanted confirmation for what I already knew.”

  He tips his head to the side, his response emerging slowly. “And you got it?”

  I nod. “I did.”

  “March tenth, two years ago.”

  I greet his words with a beat of silence. “My father was murdered a few months prior. In December.”

  He leans back in his chair with a thoughtful expression in place. “And you didn’t mention that to him?”

  Tugging out my hair tie, I slide it around my wrist and busy myself gathering my hair and securing it in a fresh ponytail. I don’t pretend that he doesn’t pick up on this and see it for what it really is.

  I’m buying myself time.

  “No. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  His brows descend. “How do you figure?”

  I lose hold of the small shred of patience I’ve maintained, talking about the person who dealt such lethal blows to my heart. “It doesn’t fucking matter because he lied to me!”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “How do you not get that? It was his plan all along!” My voice cracks, my tone drooping with defeat, and my eyes fill with unwanted tears. “He fucked me with the intention to kill me.”

  Saint doesn’t react to my outburst aside from the shaft of sympathy that bleeds through his features. Calm as usual, he says, “I get it, but I also think you’re wrong. It matters a great deal.”

  He lets his words settle over me before his voice grows softer. “It would matter to him.”

  Rising from his seat, he gathers his plate and coffee cup and raises a brow. “Especially if he heard it straight from you.”

  Chapter 74

  ALEXANDRA

  Two weeks later

  “You’ve been pushing yourself harder these past few weeks. Think that means you’re ready for the next step?”

  Saint eyes me over his post-workout smoothie. He just finished his early morning workout, sweat still clinging to his bare chest.

  It’s hard to look at him. Not because I’m attracted to him, although he is a gorgeous man. It’s because it brings me back to when I’d lived with Liam, and he’d return from his morning runs on the beach.

  “Depends on what the next step is.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows. “Wreaking havoc on Medvedev and his crew, of course.”

  Lowering my gaze, I stare down at my toast and trace a finger along the edge of my plate. I’ve mostly healed where Medvedev shot me, but it doesn’t account for the gaping wound in my heart. I didn’t take an actual bullet to the chest, but Liam might as well have done so with how much it hurts.

  The ache in my heart doesn’t show any sign of receding, and I find myself wondering if it ever will. If I’m destined to endure this heartache for the rest of my days.

  Not looking up, I drag in a deep breath, confusion coloring my words. “Why would he hand him over to me?”

  Saint hooks one foot around the leg of the chair opposite me, lowering himself to the seat. He sets his smoothie on the table.

  “He’s giving you the opportunity to get your closure, Alex.” Leveling a pointed expression at me, he adds, “After he vowed years ago to get revenge for his family’s murders.”

  Saint’s expression softens as he plants his forearms on the table. “I’m gonna share something with you about love. And you can scoff at it all you want. Dismiss it. But I’ve been there, and I speak the truth.”

  His eyes drift to his hands, where he gently traces the simple tattoo over his left ring finger. A thick layer of melancholy bleeds through in his voice. “He was there for me when I lost everything that ever mattered. And, in turn, I was there for him. I was there when he got the alleged intel and swore to get revenge.”

  Swimming with tangible pain, likely for both his own loss as well as his friend’s, his gaze lifts to lock with mine. “I know what it means that he would give it all up to you, Alex. He gave that up because your closure means more to him.” A meaningful pause lingers between us. “Because you mean more to him than anything else.”

  Saint’s attention drops to his ring finger again. “I’d sacrifice anything for my woman.” He swallows audibly, and my eyes burn with tears for the fresh heartache still holding this man captive. “This is him doing just that. With no strings attached.”

  There’s a lengthy pause before his eyes meet mine, and a bittersweet smile tugs at his lips. “He knows there’s no chance you’ll ever forgive him. But he wants you to have whatever you need to move on. Even though it’ll be without him.”

  I don’t respond—can’t—because raw emotion has lodged itself firmly in my throat.

  He rises from the chair, quickly draining the remains of his smoothie. Turning, he rinses it and sets it in the sink.

  “I need to grab a shower.” He heads to the bathroom before calling over his shoulder, “Oh, and if a call comes in, take it for me and write down any notes, okay? It should be quick.” Disappearing inside the bathroom, he shuts the door with a quiet click.

  Rigid in place, I stare at the bathroom door. What the hell? The shower turns on, and the faint echo of Saint’s humming drifts my way.

  Turning, I glance at the complicated setup he has on the card table that currently serves as his office. Wires and gadgets galore are hooked up to a laptop, and it looks like an electronics store vomited a bulk of its inventory.

  An electronic ringtone sounds, making me jump in alarm. On the laptop screen, a bubble with a long string of digits flashes with the words Incoming call.

  Dread tiptoes down my spine as I drag myself up from my seat and slide behind the laptop, ignoring the chair. Saint had said this should be quick.

  As soon as I accept the call, a screen materializes, and I realize it’s a video call. And the sight that greets my eyes has my ass plopping
down into the chair unceremoniously.

  It’s little comfort that he appears as startled as I feel.

  “Uh, I…wasn’t expecting you to answer.” Liam winces, and I realize this is the first time I’ve witnessed him not calm, composed, and placid. He’d always been so unreadable and locked away.

  But now, shadows of vulnerability dance across his features. His hair falls free, framing his face, and my fingers itch to run through it.

  I drag in a fortifying breath, willing myself to stay strong, and pray my voice is devoid of emotion. “He just got in the shower. He told me to take any notes for him.”

  Brown eyes trace over me as if he’s starved for the sight of me before he clears his throat, prepared to rattle off the information Saint asked for. But the glimmer of pain in his gaze has me blurting out, “Why are you letting me go after Medvedev?”

  He blinks, expression shuttering visibly, as if preparing to be emotionally pummeled. “I doubt you’ll believe my reason.”

  “Try me.”

  “Because I love you.”

  My heart stalls in my chest while anguish slices it to ribbons, the littered remnants fluttering about.

  His jaw firms, eyes taking on a determined glint. “That’s my only reason. Because I love you, Alex. I want whatever will make you feel better. Whatever will grant you closure.”

  “And you expect what in return?” I lash out at him, my pain still so fresh.

  As though it’s being savagely ripped from somewhere deep inside him, his voice is raw. “Nothing.” Finality coats the single word.

  Deep golden flecks spark in his brown eyes. “When I look back, I think I knew from the very start that I couldn’t kill you.” As if the mere thought of hurting me distresses him, his features appear ravaged. “I stopped giving a fuck about trying to make you pay for your father murdering my family.”