Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Jessa snorted. “That’s just silly. Her drinking is recreational, not an issue.”
My lips twitched.
“Someone needs to let me up before we have problems.”
Jessa looked down at the worm on the floor.
Her doing that reminded me of why my fucking face hurt so goddamn bad.
He’d shot me. He’d tried to kill me.
I reached for my phone and called in legitimate backup.
When I was done relaying the information, Jessa had an odd look on her face.
“What?” I asked.
She looked over at Shasha, then back to me. “Oh, nothing.”
Her words had me curious, but the throb of my face had me letting the curiosity go.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom and check this out,” I said. “Can y’all handle him?”
“You might want to change your clothes so that when my sister sees you, she doesn’t lose her shit.” He paused. “That is, of course, if she reciprocates the love of your life thing.”
“You’re not her brother, I am,” Scott snarled, trying in vain to make an attempt at taking Shasha out, and failing.
Miserably.
And who was the one that kept the attack from happening?
Jessa Semyonov.
She delivered one swift kick right to Scott’s nose, and he was out like a light.
“Gran,” Milena sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you not to choose violence? You’re not the same young girl you used to be. You could seriously hurt yourself.”
“I have steel toes on, Milena,” Jessa grumbled.
I looked down and, sure enough, she did have steel toes on.
How had I missed that before?
I shook my head and left the three of them bickering, wondering what it was about them that let me know they were more than capable of handling Scott on their own.
Hell, even if Jessa was alone, I’d trust her to handle Scott.
The question was, what did they do that gave me that impression?
I was halfway through getting my face cleaned up when I heard her.
I winced, looking at my face, and realized that there was nothing to be done for it.
The police department, and Brooks himself, had arrived while I was getting cleaned up.
So had the ambulance.
The medic was currently cleaning off my face in the bathroom, with me sitting on the edge of the claw foot tub, when Maven’s worried cries filled the room.
“Auden!” she cried out again.
I tapped the woman’s shoulder. “Give me a second.”
“Hey, you’re only losing blood. What do I care?” she quipped.
I ignored her and pressed the gauze I was using in between her cleaning back to my face.
Maven rounded the door of our bedroom just as I hit the mouth of the bathroom.
She took one look at me and went gray.
“I’m okay,” I told her. “I’m okay.”
She took a step toward me, and her knees went wobbly.
I had her in my arms in two steps, pulling her into my chest right where she belonged.
“Baby,” I said. “Listen to me.”
I heard her sniffling into my throat and squeezed her lightly. “Your brother intercepted Scott’s attempt at murdering me.”
She stiffened.
“Nothing else happened besides this,” I promised.
“What is this?” she whispered brokenly.
I swallowed, definitely not wanting to admit this part but…
“A gunshot wound,” I said.
She sounded much steadier when she said, “To the face?”
“He had the gun raised before I could comprehend,” I admitted. “It was stupid. I know better than to do what I did today. Years and years of training went out the window because I was sleeping.” And thinking about you. “It’ll never happen again, I swear it.”
She pushed lightly at my chest and said, “Get that fixed up enough that it’ll ride. We’re going to the hospital.”
I stepped backwards into the bathroom and said, “I’ll be quick.”
“He’ll be done when he’s done,” the paramedic said shortly.
Her temperament left a lot to be desired.
But I liked that she was thorough.
Her nametag read ‘Howe’ and I was curious of her first name.
Not that I would ask her.
She looked ready to murder me.
I sat back down in my spot.
She cleaned me up for the next ten minutes until she was satisfied with her work.
It was as she was gathering up her things that I heard rapid fire Russian coming from my bedroom.
I glanced out of the bathroom doorway to see what had to be the other Semyonov brother—they all looked a lot alike—in my bedroom on the phone. He was halfway between me and the door, staring at me. Yet he was speaking in Russian so fast that one syllable flowed right into the next.
“I wonder what he’s saying,” I mused.
“He’s telling whomever he’s on the phone with to get a private investigator on the ‘fake brother’ who just assaulted his sister’s fiancé,” the medic replied.
I looked at her. “You know Russian?”
“I know Russian,” she confirmed.
“What’s your first name?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have a fiancée?”
“Not a fiancée. Yet.” I grinned. “But I have a brother who’s just as grumpy as you.”