Page 3 of Thorns of Lust
“No.” A cold voice. A hard tone. But it wasn’t Adrian’s. Was he even alive?
My nails dug into my palms, squeezing so hard that pain exploded on my skin. More commotion. More words. I couldn’t process a single word because my brain was still stuck on ‘she dies’ and terrified they meant me.
“Are you sure?” The deep masculine voice filled the air along with the sound of crunching glass. A pair of expensive, leather Italian shoes filled my vision.
I had to be in shock. Because I registered the brand. Santoni’s men’s shoes. My husband was in danger, and I stared at a pair of five grand Italian shoes.
“The woman doesn’t know anything.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar. I couldn’t place it. “I’ll take full responsibility for her.”
“If I find out she had anything to do with her husband’s games, I’m coming for her.” A light Italian accent. Deep voice.
“She knows nothing. If she does, I’ll handle it.” Another pair of expensive shoes. Art. 504 shoes. Even more expensive. Dark suit pants. Perfectly fit in length. Expensive material.
I shook my head. I needed to get out of here, not identify their wardrobe.
Another pair of expensive shoes entered my vision. A pair of Prada shoes.Adrian wore Prada shoes.
Was that him? I should have called out to him, but instead I stayed frozen in my spot. Staring at the Prada shoes like the ones I’d bought my husband.
“D’accordo.” Definitely Italian. What the fuck did that mean? “Don’t make me regret it.”
Bile rose in my throat and I inhaled deeply to stop myself from retching. One of the men left, a pair of expensive Italian leather. Two remained. My heart raced. My vision swam. My ears buzzed. My lungs burned as I waited.
Bu-bum. Bu-bum. Bu-bum.
Bang.
The last bullet. It felt like the final bullet before it was my turn.
A body hit the dirt with a loud thud. My eyes pulled from the shoes outside my window to the other side of the car. Adrian’s dead eyes met mine. An expression I couldn’t identify was still etched on his face. The last expression before he died. Staring back at me. A single bullet hole in his chest, blood seeping out.
A gasp left me, and my heart stopped beating.
“A-A-Adrian,” I choked out, my voice broken. He didn’t move. His stare blank, fixed on something I couldn’t reach. His face bruised and bloodied, whether from the impact of the car crash or someone’s fists, I couldn’t tell.
With each heartbeat my life slowly faded, following him. Until something inside me snapped.
“Nooo!” I shrieked and my world as I’d known it ceased to exist.
ONE
TATIANA
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A steady beeping. The nauseous scent of disinfectant all around.
Blood. Bleach. Sterile coldness.
Adrian’s scent cocooned me, citrus and sandalwood, but there was a spice in it too. Maybe it was just the hospital.
There were sounds of hushed voices.
“You better heal her if you want to live.” The voice was hard. Cold. Russian accent. It wasn’t my brother’s voice. But who?
“Sir, we’ll do our best.”
“You will do everything,” he roared. “Not your best.”
