Page 27 of Ace of Shadows
Even in my daze, Ruslan’s voice remains as deep and as velvety as the first time we met.
He stands in front of me, his hands on his hips and his brow creased deeply as he stares at me on the bed. The trip back to the Empire State Building was a blur, as was the journey up here on an elevator that moved so fast I think my stomach is still in the lobby. Ruslan brought me to a real bedroom, his bedroom if the armory on the wall and the bed smelling of him are anything to go by.
I can barely think.
My mind is as numb as my body, and even as I lift my gaze to meet Ruslan’s, nothing comes past my parted lips.
Shock settles deep into my soul and spreads through me like creeping ice until everything is numb, even my broken ankle.
“Ivy?” Ruslan steps forward.
I breathe in, and a waft of something spicy and warm fills my lungs. I want to talk. I want to tell him how I woke up and found myself strung to those pipes like a piece of meat. How that man put his hands on me, demanded the truth out of me, and hurt me when I didn’t have the answers he wanted.
How he tried to cut the clothes from my body and nicked my skin instead. How he punched me so hard my teeth shook and the throbbing, healing wound at my hairline felt like it was going to burst open with how hard my heart was pounding. How he twisted my ankle and pressed his knife to the healing incision on my abdomen, threatening to cut me open.
I want to tell him those things.
But the words don’t come.
“Okay. Let’s start with one at a time, okay?” Ruslan’s voice softens slightly and he sits on the bed next to me.
I can’t keep my eyes off him.
His handsome face is a patchwork of bruises, his lower lip splits near the corner, and a sticky cut above his brow leaks a single droplet of blood. The fresh T-shirt he threw on his shoulders before he walked in here is already stained with blood and still, he focuses on me.
Ruslan remains quiet as he starts tending to my injuries. He wraps my bruised, raw wrists in balm, cold compresses, and then bandages. He gently cups my face and cleans the split on my lip with a cotton ball, then he lifts my head and inspects my jaw and throat. Then he carefully moves the torn strips of my T-shirt and quietly cleans where the knife licked my skin and left angry red scratches. He pauses over my healing surgery scar and his brow knits tighter together, but he doesn’t speak.
He’s on his knees in front of me by the time he reaches my ankle and when he looks up at me, there’s warmth in his eyes that I want to throw myself into.
“You need a fresh cast,” he says quietly. “I can’t fix that right now, but I will call someone. Does it hurt at all?”
I nod my head, then shake it and shrug.
Ruslan nods as if my uncertainty is the answer he was looking for. “I’ll call the doctor and get him to check you over properly.” One hand remains cupped around my calf while the other rests on the cast. My foot sits in his lap, but he doesn’t retract his touch even when he seems satisfied that he’s tended to everything.
“Did I miss anything, Ivy? Are you in pain anywhere else?”
“No. I’m okay.” Such a lie tastes sour on my tongue so I briefly close my eyes. “Physically, I feel fine.”
“I wasn’t kidding when I said you were safest with me.” Ruslan sucks on his teeth. “I should have done more to protect you.”
Something hot knots in my gut at his words and I shake my head. “They were cops. What could anyone do?”
“They weren’t cops,” Ruslan replied.
“But I… I saw their uniforms. And the car. And when I woke up in that room, the man from the hospital was there. He left after he put the blindfold on, but it was definitely him.”
“Man?” Ruslan’s eyes meet mine. “What man?”
“Uhm… I forget his name. Joseph, I think? He was in the hospital when I woke up.”
Realization dawns across Ruslan’s face and he doesn’t even try to hide it. “Shit. Thought I knew him from somewhere. No wonder he was so intent on getting his hands on you. Fucker thought he could play innocent because I didn’t recognize him.” Ruslan glances down at his hands as both of them flex against my leg. “You don’t need to worry about him. He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“I killed him.”
A sad, soft laugh rises up in my chest. “You… you murdered him?”
