Page 160 of The Lazarov Bratva

I ran myself ragged and cry until I have nothing left to give.

I ache for comfort, for something to soothe the rampant thoughts triggered to life by seeing the doctor die. The ache builds, starting in my chest where muscles throb from constant short, panting breaths that last longer than I care to count.

The world is colder, and the sun has sunk low behind the mountain, turning my silent watcher into a looming threat that towers up into the darkening sky.

It’s colder. My limbs are numb and my heart is heavy when I place my head into the crook of my elbow and close my eyes to the exhaustion weighing down my eyelids.

Emotional whiplash is a killer.

It’s unclear how long I stay like that, my mind drifting through tired thoughts as I slowly, painfully, calm down. Just when the chill gets too much against my bare feet, a twig snaps to my right.

My heart jumps faintly and I slowly lift my head. Any reflex or desire to run has faded with the tears I cried. Through salt-laden lashes, I spot a figure moving about near the hedge entrance to the garden. I wet my dry lips, but it barely makes a difference, I’m so dehydrated.

Then I see him.

Kristof.

Of course.

Kristof emerges from the garden, his lips pressed into a thin line and his brows pulled low. The world grows darker around him as he approaches, making the sharper edges of his face look sunken and deep.

He stops a foot away and his expression softens ever so slightly.

“Alena,” he says, and like an addict, my blood runs warm just at the sound of his voice.

This time, I don’t run.

14

KRISTOF

She was never supposed to see.

Her face of horror on the stairs upon watching the doctor’s body crumple to the ground will stick with me for the rest of my life.

But it had to be done.

No one, and I mean no one with intimate knowledge of Alena and her pregnancy can be allowed to leave here. Not with Aleksander out there. I can’t trust anyone, and I am taking zero chances when it comes to Alena and my baby.

I’d asked him to stay. He’d refused.

So, I did what I did.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I then found that things had taken a much worse turn.

“I’m so sorry,” Andrev stuttered, his face as white as a sheet. “I thought she meant—the way she asked, I thought maybe you’d told her.”

The panic in his eyes angered me only briefly, but my concern for Alena overruled any desire to yell at him. He was wound just as tightly as me, and the secret was sure to come out eventually.

Just not like I’d planned.

So, I followed Alena at a distance. It became clear rather quickly that the shooting had triggered her in some way, and she needed to run. I didn’t blame her. Triggers came with panic and definitely not rational thought. Seeing me would probably make it worse, so I kept my distance.

I followed her through the gardens and past the statues, out through the trees and to the very edge of the property where nothing but a rickety fence stood between me and the looming mountain.

As a child, I’d always wanted to climb it. Strange that my life kept leading me back to its base.

When Alena crumpled, sobbing, at the base of a tree, it took all my strength not to run to her immediately. In the past, I would have done just that and dragged her back to the house, keeping her under lock and key.

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