Page 51 of Secret Bratva Twins

I pushed open the door, and my heart nearly gave way at the sight of him passed out on the bed. There was so much blood.

So much…

My hands were shaking, and it was only after I pressed my face to his neck that I realized I was crying too.

“You have to wake up, Maxim. You have to…” I couldn’t even get the words out. I choked. It felt like I was drowning, suffocating, and there was no one to save me.

A few times, I might have had near-death experiences, but nothing felt as terrifying as watching Maxim lay partially lifeless.

The doctor worked on his arm like I wasn’t there, and I was glad no one tried to peel me away from his side. I wouldn’t even have budged if they used a bulldozer.

I didn’t want him to go; we barely started anything. There was still so much we could do together. And it was sudden, but I wanted a chance—a chance to experience a life with him, to be happy with him.

I kissed his cheek, though bloodied and bruised, and I trailed my finger down the hard lines of his jaw.

The doctor said something in Russian before he left with a silent nod, and thankfully, Vincent was there to interpret and get it done. They closed the door behind them, and I finally felt free to cry to my heart’s content.

I hugged him and held him tightly, for fear of letting him go, and before sleep dragged me under, I whispered into his ears.

“I miss you. Please… wake up.”

***

Groggily, I stirred and opened my eyes. Maxim lay still, with his eyes shut and the rest of his features relaxed. Worry almost set in until I saw the steady rise and fall of his bloodied chest. Now that sunlight poured in, bathing him in an ethereal glow, I saw more red than I’d seen the night before.

There was blood everywhere, even if I knew most weren’t his. His shirt was ripped across the torso, and his pants were stained with dust and wood splinters.

I kissed his cheeks and his busted knuckles. I imagined his fists going up and down into people’s jaws. He looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb him.

I had a quick shower, rang one of the housekeepers to bring breakfast, and started cleaning him up when he stirred.

I looked up from the basin of warm water to his face and felt my heart skip when he stared back at me with a lopsided grin on his lips. He was so handsome, if I wasn’t mad at him, I’d have probably damned my pride and kissed him.

“Are you a nurse now, or something—ow!”

I whacked his good arm and pressed the cloth harder against his chest to scrub the blood out. “Only you would have the nerve to make a joke after something that scary happened to you.”

He looked at me funny, like the way I looked at a math puzzle that was difficult to solve. And I wondered why?

His fingers brushed my cheeks and flicked off something.

Crap! I was crying again.

He coughed, his throat raspy and dry. I offered him a glass of water without looking at him. “Gianna…”

“No,” I shook my head and slammed the cloth on his chest. “No, you don’t get to act like nothing serious happened last night.”

“But I’m fine.”

“You got shot!” My chest heaved.

I found the courage to look him in the eye, and more tears found a way to roll out when I did. My chest burned so intensely that it took a moment to know why.

“You could have died out there, Maxim! And—and I don’t know how I could have gone on living if you did.”

Something warm flickered past his gaze, disappearing as quickly as it came. His eyes hardened. “I had to do it,” was all he said.

I swallowed, took my time taking the cloth off him, and dropped it into the basin. “And I appreciate your savior instincts, but I don’t want…”

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