Page 111 of Beautiful Forever
My ears ring from the gunshot when Syn shoots Serena right between the eyes.
“A little warning would have been nice,” Liam says, dropping her limp body like a hot potato.
Syn rolls her eyes when Hendrix says, “That was rather bathetic.”
“The sound of her voice was getting on my nerves,” she replies.
Andie playfully bumps Syn’s shoulder. “If you didn’t, I was going to.”
Knowing he’s next, Viktor demands, “I want to speak with Drako.”
“He doesn’t want to speak with you,” Pyotr coldly informs him. “What do you want to do with him?” he asks me.
I look around the room. At my family. At the one woman who is my soul.
“Throw him in the ‘hole.’ I just want to go home.”
Forty-Seven
November 27
Hendrix’s bedroomfeels five times smaller with Drako standing in it, his larger-than-life presence taking up most of the space. Men like him often have that effect.
“I’d feel better if you’d let Danny take a look at you.” With his arms crossed over his barrel chest, Drako examines me from the foot of the bed with a concerned, fatherly frown.
I break into a cold sweat trying to prop myself up on the pillows, the slightest movement excruciatingly difficult with the tight wrap around my chest. “I promise, I’m good. Just sore.”
Quirking an eyebrow, he peruses the state of my face, and the look he gives me calls bullshit. At least the swelling has gone down, even though it’s still the color of a rotting eggplant. Last night, Syn applied some kind of herbal compress that smelled like basil and turmeric that she said would help with the inflammation.
The cacophony of rhythmic hammering and power tools winds down as the crew Drako hired finishes replacing thebroken front door and windows. The noise was bothering Fénix, so Constantine took him to an indoor playcenter to get him out of the house.
“There’s a bed ready for you at home if you don’t want to stay here.”
“I appreciate the offer, but this is where I want to be.” Maybe not sleeping in Hendrix’s old bed since I know what he used to do in it. At least it’s comfortable and has clean sheets.
Drako half sits on the end of the footboard. Resting his joined hands in his lap, his black diamond signet ring flashes in the late afternoon sun streaming in through the window. “I’m being called back to Moscow.”
That doesn’t sound good. “Why?”
“To account for my part in”—he gestures aimlessly. “Let’s just say, Viktor’s demise has raised some alarm.”
“He’s dead?” I had wanted some time with him in the hole. Give him a taste of what he had his men do to me.
Drako smiles. “He’s not dead. Yet. He probably wishes he was. I didn’t want anyone from the other families to come looking for him and causing problems. Pyotr has been babysitting him. You’ll get your chance.”
Good. I want my face to be the last thing Viktor Androv sees.
Standing, Drako goes to the window when Cocky B lets out a crow. “There’s a rooster running around the backyard,” he says with amusement.
“That’s Cocky Bastard. He’s Syn’s. She found him wandering around the farm where she lived with Dierdre.”
He turns slightly, his countenance solemn. “She is not what I expected of the daughter of James Fitzpatrick.”
Drako steered clear of any involvement with the Society. Patrick Knight and Francesco approached him several times over the years, wanting to utilize the bratva’s “services” andconnections. Nikolai did, too. Despite the benefits a union like that would provide, Drako always turned them down.
“No, she’s not,” I reply.
“A woman like that needs strong men to stand beside her.”
