Page 73 of Wicked Arrangement

The sound of a thunderous explosion answers my question, and I watch in horror as the part of the buildingthat Marta was in, where Yaroslav was heading, goes up in a ball of flames. The men all immediately race toward the scene, fearlessly hoping to help whoever is still inside. I try to do the same but strong arms grab me, holding me in place.

I’m vaguely aware that someone is screaming hysterically, the sound mournful and hopeless. It’s only after a moment that I realize that the person screaming is me.

The guard holds me firm in place and turns me around, so I am no longer looking upon the fire and the choking clouds of thick, black smoke. The fire that has most likely just killed Yaroslav and Marta, two people I care for deeply.

“Kimberly, we have to get out of here, I promised to keep you safe, there’s nothing you can do. Our men will find them. I swear—”

Whatever he was about to swear gets cut off by the sound of a gunshot. The bullet hits the side of his temple and the brave man whose name I never even got to know, the man who was risking his life for me, crumbles to the ground, dead. I stand there for a second, frozen in shock, and then I feel a sharp prick of a needle in my neck. Immediately, my legs crumple and I fall to the floor, paralyzed. I think that this must be it, my time has come, and that I’m going to die after all.

As I fade into the blackness, my last thought is of Yaroslav and the baby whom I tried so hard to protect and failed.

The last thing I hear is an unfamiliar voice followed by a chillingly out-of-place sound given the horrors surrounding us, laughter.

Chapter 37

Yaroslav

April 11th, Charleston City Private Hospital

I’m pulled from the depths of my hell by a bright light.

Could it be? Somehow me, Yaroslav Volkov, leader of the wolfpack, bona fide monster is being given a second chance? After all I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt, could I be forgiven for my sins and go up, not down?

But as my brain starts to drag itself out of the pits of my subconscious, it becomes depressingly clear. I’m not dead at all. Certainly not destined for heaven, nor am I in the fiery depths of hell. I’ve awoken in a hospital bed, unable to move and with no idea what’s going on. A different kind of hell.

The bright light comes from the bright sunshine outside, a gloriously sunny day. Doesn’t the weather know it has no right to be cheerful?

I failed.

The last thing I remember is the explosion, coming from where Marta, my sister, was being held captive by my enemy, Roman Sharkozi. I didn’t make it to her in time. There’s no way she could have survived the blast. A quick survey of my bandaged body and the increasing agony I’m now experiencing, tells me I barely survived myself.

What about the others?

Have I been usurped? My men, dead, with Roman now in charge of my empire?

Kim.

Kim was kidnapped alongside my sister Marta. I was forced to pick one to save first, and I chose Kim. At least I got her out unharmed. She will have been outside of the blast radius.

But where is she? How long have I been here?

I’m thoroughly unaccustomed to not being in complete control. I’m a man who likes to know everything and now I know zip. It’s incredibly frustrating.

I try to move, to get up, but my body screams in protest, my back feels like the skin has been stretched tight and covered in the itchiest material known to man. I’m knowledgeable enough about injuries to know that means I’ve suffered burns, bad ones.

To my relief, a doctor arrives at that moment. An older gentleman with gray hair and large bags under his eyes. “Hello, Mr. Volkov, it’s good to see you awake and alert. Your uncle will be glad to hear it,” he says, catching me by surprise.

“Innokentiy is here? How long have I been out for?” I ask, my voice coming out hoarse from disuse.

If Innokentiy is here, that means it’s been at least a couple of days, it’s not like Russia is just around the corner.

“Today is April 11th, you came to us on March 27th, so it’s been just over two weeks. You’ve been in a medically induced coma,” the doctor replies while inspecting my chart and checking me over.

Fuck. I’ve been here for over two weeks. No wonder Innokentiy came over, two weeks is enough time to topple a Bratva without strong leadership.

I reply, “So my burns are bad?”

The doctor seems more intrigued than surprised that I’m somewhat aware of my injuries. “So you remember what happened to you?”

---