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As soon asmy phone rang, I pounced on it. Sasha had been gone for hours. Too many hours. Way longer than any of his other “meetings” usually lasted. My curious texts went unread. My angry texts went unread. My worried phone calls went straight to voicemail.
So, when a Chicago number I didn’t recognize flashed across the screen, I was hopeful. Normally I wouldn’t have answered a number I didn’t have in my phone, but maybe he was using someone else’s. Maybe his died, or he broke it, or lost it, or… something. Something completely innocent.
“Sasha?!”
“Um, no. But hey, I guess I got the right number,” a decidedly non-Russian male replied.
My whole body froze. Muscles, limbs, circulation — everything. In the span of five seconds, I morphed into a living block of ice. “Who is this?”
“That ain’t important. So, listen, Sasha had a little bit of an accident—Sean, shut him the fuck up, would you? I’m on the phone here!” Another male yelled something and the mystery caller cleared his throat. “Anyway. Um, he’s in the hospital. Advocate over on Wellington. They wanted you to know.”
I heard the words, but I still had a hard time comprehending what this anonymous stranger was telling me. Sasha. Hospital. It didn’t compute. The man had been shot and instead of seeking professional treatment he was fully prepared to cauterize the wound with a fucking butcher knife in his kitchen. What could be worse than getting shot? Except, shot again? Shot in a worse spot than his arm?
“They? What happened? Who’s they?” I asked. And why the fuck was this random person calling me and not Sasha? Or Misha? Or anyone else who knew I fucking existed? I would have even taken Valery at that point, or Maxim with his broken English.
“Good luck, kid.”
“No, wait!”
The guy hung up anyway.
“Fuck!” I stared at the phone for all of two seconds before jumping to my feet. I sprinted to the door and yanked on the first pair of shoes I saw, not even bothering to grab a coat on my way out.
* * *
Misha wasin the hospital lobby when I got there. He looked perfect, as usual, except for the worried look on his face. It made me irrationally angry that he looked fucking perfect while Sasha was in the hospital for God knew what fucking reason! And since Misha looked so goddamn perfect, why didn’thecall me?!
“He’s alright,” Misha said, putting his hands up as I charged at him. “He got out of surgery a little bit ago.”
“Surgery?! For what? And why the fuck didn’t you call me?!”
Wrapping his fingers around my bicep gently, Misha led me away from anyone who might overhear us, lowering his voice as well. “Kazimir stabbed him in the kidney. I don’t know if they were able to save it or not. There was a lot of blood loss and he went into shock. We still don’t know if there was any poison on the knife. That will take time for the labs to come back.”
Stabbed. Shock. Poison.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I shoved him in the chest as hard as I could. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing, considering who Misha was, but I didn’t give a flying fuck about rank or skills or anything. I thought he was a decent person and a decent person would have fucking called! “At any point over the past few hours did you stop to think that maybe, justmaybe, I would want to fucking know he’d been hurt?!”
“Shhh!” Misha glared at me, his gaze darting past my head to make sure the coast was clear before turning back to me. “I know you’re angry, but I wasn’t going to call you until I knew he’d be alright. As soon as I was assured he’d live, I had one of our associates reach out.”
Folding my arms over my chest, I expelled a short breath, trying to calm myself down again. I’m sure there was some sort of criminal explanation for why he didn’t want to call himself, but that ship had sailed so I did my best to let it go. “Did you at least get him? Kazimir?”
Misha nodded. “Sasha did.”
“Good.” It was cold comfort, but at least if Sasha did die from some super secret Cold War poison, that was one less Russian crime boss I had to worry about. “Can I see him?”
“Of course. They were bringing him out of recovery right before you got here.”
Trailing behind Misha like a lost puppy, I stayed a step behind him until he slowed down again. The minute I saw Sasha’s hand laying on top of the sheet, an IV stuck in the center of it, I shoved Misha out of the way and ran into the room.
Sasha was awake, barely. All things considered, helookedok, not like he’d nearly died. Again. His bicep had been re-bandaged and from the angle of his hips it was safe to say he’d been stabbed on the left side.
Blinking and glaring at different things in the room, Sasha didn’t even seem to recognize me when I darted in. It wasn’t until I laid my hand on his arm that he turned and looked at me, his brows furrowed. “Solnyshko?”
“Yeah.” I smiled, trying really fucking hard not to cry. “It’s me.”
A fleeting smile crossed his lips before he proceeded to babble in Russian, gesticulating in random motions. Apparently he had zero concern with the fact I had no fucking clue what he was saying. He kept talking until he reached the end of his story and watched me, like he was waiting for my answer.
I looked to Misha for help, grateful he was lingering near the doorway despite me being an asshole to him. “Did you understand any of that?”
