Page 31 of Ace of Shadows
I have no words. Miles of tightly packed muscle sweep and wrap around Ruslan’s body in a mouthwateringly flattering way. His large chest sits atop a narrow waist where his abs are so defined, I want to sink my teeth into them.
My cheeks warm at the thought.
But Ruslan’s injured.
His body is covered in cuts and lacerations, smears of blood, and dark bruises. They really hurt him. All this time he was sitting here, tending to me and answering my questions while bleeding, and not once did he complain.
How can someone be so wounded and not even complain?
10
RUSLAN
Leaving the door ajar, I turn on the shower, strip the rest of my clothes, and immediately step under the hot spray to breathe.
Ivy’s reaction to the picture Raven found was as I expected. She really doesn’t know anything. Her father with Kraven is a warning sign, I’m sure of it. Under the hot water that scalds my skin and leaks across my injuries, causing them to sting, I try to work through what little I know about this crash and Ivy.
But I can’t focus.
I blink and for a cold half-second, I’m sixteen again with my head under water and my skin on fire from the razor blades carving me up.
My heart lurches in my chest.
Another blink and I’m being held down while a shadow from my past burns his initials into my face. He never finished because he was interrupted by my brother, so all that remains is a scar beneath my eye resembling an arrowhead.
I haven’t thought about those days in years, but it all comes back to me now as the lingering effects of my earlier beating simmer beneath my skin.
Back then, I was stupid. Got in too deep with the wrong families and ended up on the chopping block. My brother died for it, and no one believed me when I tried to tell my uncle that his death wasn’t my fault but the result of his trying to save me. No one believed me until it turned out my uncle was behind the fall of my family because he wanted that scrap of power for himself.
My entire family was wiped out by the time I was nineteen, my uncle by my own hands, and I drifted for years. Being alone but with a strong reputation for loyalty toward whoever I was working for at the time made me a prime candidate for the Fifth Suit and ended up working in my favor when the old Ace retired and the spot needed to be filled.
I thought I was over that torture. It was so long ago.
Turns out the trauma of it still rests near the front of my mind, unlocked by the sounds of water and the fear that Ivy would die because of me just like my brother did.
Maybe that’s why I’m so eager to believe her.
Shaking my head, I try to chase those thoughts away with the heat of the shower and focus on Ivy instead.
Valentina is with the survivor of the sewer, and she’ll find out who he works for. Then we’ll pay them a visit. The attack on me breaks one of the untouchable rules that keeps the Suit working smoothly, and if we don’t act, anyone else with enough arrogance might see us as a target. As powerful as the Fifth Suit is, this fragile balance in the criminal underworld only works because people put money before power.
All it takes is one greedy psychopath to ruin everything.
Cassian might be able to help. He knows almost everything about everyone, so finding the connection between Ivy’s father and Kraven might be possible with his help. If she’s really in the dark, then we need to tread carefully because as coherent as her questions were, Ivy’s just as fragile. I’m not even sure she’s properly processed everything that’s happened to her in just two weeks.
I stay in the shower until my toes start to crinkle, then I step out and spend the next twenty minutes patching myself up. It’s always easier to self-stitch on warm skin, and the lacerations across my abdomen from those knife wounds close up quickly. I slather balm over the worst of my bruises, examine my loose teeth in the mirror and decide they’ll be fine, then pull on fresh jogging pants and head back out into my room.
Ivy’s still there.
She’s perched on my bed, only this time, she’s under the covers and she sits up when she sees me. “I hope it’s okay,” she says softly, her eyelids droopy. “I was too tired to move and I wasn’t even sure I could find my way back to that other room.”
“It’s fine,” I say, turning away from her. Seeing her in my bed makes something shoot straight to my lower belly and it settles there, warm and throbbing as I walk toward my dresser for a fresh T-shirt. “You can sleep here.”
“Ruslan?”
Something in her voice makes me pause, and I turn to her.
Her green eyes squint and her full, red lips purse into a small O as she points at me with one pale finger. “You’re bleeding.”
