“And you.” Semyon cuts his gaze to me, eyes shining with manic delight. “Why the fuck are you here? Doesn’t Krutikov know that you’re in love with his wife?” There’s a lump in my throat that makes it hard to breathe, but Semyon’s too busy waving his gun in Daniil’s direction to notice. “Or are you justthatfucking dense?”
“He knows,” I answer, the words cutting like glass against my tongue. I’ve never said the words out loud before, but of course Daniil knows.
When he’s feeling particularly cruel, he loves to hold it over my head. He thinks it’s fucking hilarious that I fell in love with Blair while she was terrified I was going to kill her at any moment, and he made sure I knew how laughable my attempts were to hide the bitter pill of regret when I found out he was going to propose.
Daniil doesn’t acknowledge me, but he doesn’t have to. He knows me better than anyone else, and I’ve never had to say a word to make my feelings plain to him.
The fact that I’m in love with Blair is the whole reason he brought me here tonight.
Because he knows I’ll do anything to protect her, even break my own heart every time I see her. Even kill my brother for her.
Semyon’s grin is pitch black, his eyes predatory.
“That’s not why we’re here, though. We’re here because my job is to make sure you know your place, and apparently you need a reminder of exactly how short your leash is,” I say, falling into a familiar habit of ignoring my feelings.
Semyon’s lip curls into a snarl. “Yourjobhas nothing to do with me.” His disgust is palpable but impotent. He’s always been a loose cannon, and we both know it. He just wants to live under the delusion that it’s something that benefits him. “But my job? I do what the boss needs.” Semyon rolls his head from side to side, his whole body coiled like a spring. “And if that means making the little rat disappear, well”?he shrugs?“I’m good at my job.”
Daniil tenses, the only warning we get before he fires a single shot at the space between Semyon’s feet.
Ah, fuck.
The room is instantly full of the sound of gunfire, swiftly followed by the ringing in my ears that drowns out all other sound. I throw myself behind my chair as the lapse in bullets is taken over by screams and a stampede of footsteps as the patrons and dancers in the main room seek refuge in the nearest exit.
I go to fire, but the stomach-droppingclickof my gun jamming screams at me over the rest of the chaos. When I pull back the slide, it sticks and I swear under my breath. Fuckingwonderful.
Now I’m stuck here with two pissed off idiots who are determined to kill each other, and I don’t even have a functioning gun.
The cheap chair offers only an illusion of cover, but it’s better than nothing. I look over to my side and see that Daniil has the same idea, crouching as he grabs at his side, red blooming through his shirt. He flinches as he presses against the wounds, but I try to focus on fixing my gun.
I’m not even sure if I managed to hit my brother, but at least Daniil’s wound doesn’t look bad enough to make me panic.
“You’ve really fucked up this time, Semyon,” I mutter through gritted teeth as I try to use brute force to get my pistol to work long enough to get out of this situation. His cackle grates like sandpaper over my nerves, and I cringe. If he’s laughing, then neither of us hit him anywhere vital and he may very well have the upper hand.
By the time my gun’s fixed, there’s a puddle slowly spreading on the carpet around Daniil.
Blyad.
Apparently, it’s worse than I thought, and if he doesn’t get to a doctor soon, I’m going to have even bigger problems on my hands.
If Daniil were smart, he’d focus on taking care of himself and let me handle this. He’d keep his head low and let me handle my brother. But outside of a courtroom, he’s always been a bit of an idiot. He’s hotheaded and impulsive, and as soon as Blair gets mixed into the situation, he’s even worse.
It’s why he rushed their relationship before they had a chance to settle. It’s why he proposed to her before he could really grasp the consequences of what that would do for his position with Maksim. It’s why he started fucking Emiliya as soon as he realized his mistake.
And it’s why he shoves himself to his feet before I can do anything, aiming his gun in Semyon’s direction. I lurch toward him, grabbing him so I can pull him back down behind the flimsy chair. He sways on his feet but is strong enough to stay standing while two gunshots go off.
He collapses to his knees, not because of my strength, but because they give out under him. Blood flows, steady as a river, from a hole at the point where his neck and shoulder meet. There’s a pained grunt from Semyon, but it hardly registers.
“Fuck!” My hands shake as I check Daniil over for other wounds, pressing a hand against his neck.
I pull my phone out of my pocket with my free hand, but it keeps slipping in the blood. Daniil lets out a wet gasp and Semyon laughs, cruel and pleased as my vision flashes red.
When Semyon was born, I promised my mother I’d protect my little brother with my life.
But our mother is dead.
I don’t owe her anything.
I press Daniil’s hands against his neck, trying to get him to keep pressure on it, and snatch his gun from where it lies uselessly beside him. Standing, I look at the pathetic heap that Semyon has become, bleeding from his arm. He’s grasping at it, eyes darting wildly around the room, his defensive stance relaxing marginally when he sees me.
