Page 35 of Thorns of Love
“You’re bleeding,” she murmured.
“Don’t worry about that,” I hissed. “I’m fine. Let’s get you out.”
I let out a string of curses as I saw a piece of glass cut into Tatiana’s arm. There was too much of it everywhere to keep it away from her. It cut into her flesh, blood gushing out of her forearm. Or was that my blood dripping down on her? I hoped it was the latter, but the way she clenched her teeth, stifling her whimper of pain, told me it was her cut and her own blood.
“Come on, moya luna,” I ground, pulling her body. It terrified me that she might have fatal internal injuries that I couldn’t see. I had to get her to the hospital.
She crawled up, glass cutting into her knees but it gave me just enough access to her. I put my hands around her waist and lifted her out of the burning car.
The scent of roses and ash filled my lungs, mixing with the terror of almost losing her. I wrapped my arms around her. She buried her face in my chest, the mixture of pale golden hair stained with blood brushing against my three-piece-suit. Her fingers curled into my jacket, gripping it tightly.
“Thank you,” she muttered against my chest. Her body shuddered and my palms roamed her back, hoping to soothe her. It gutted me to see her so shaken up.
She pushed her face away from my chest while her hands remained on my chest, gripping my suit like it was her lifeline. Slowly, her eyes darted around. Marchetti. Agosti. Our men. Nikita. Boris.
Then lowered to the ground. “Adrian!” she screamed.
I took her chin. “Don’t look.”
She pushed me away with so much force, she almost stumbled back and would have fallen if I hadn’t caught her. She slapped my hand away, taking another step back.
“Don’t you fucking touch me,” she hissed, her eyes on Adrian’s body on the ground.
Then she fell down on her knees. Her bloody fingers shook badly as she crawled over the gravel, reaching for Adrian’s dead body.
Her fingers searched frantically for his pulse, pressing against the vein on his neck. Then his wrist.
“Adrian, please,” she cried, and fuck if it didn’t hurt seeing her like that. I didn’t like to see her upset. Yes, the bastard deserved death but she didn’t deserve the pain. She leaned over him, her lips pressing on his. I fucking hated the sight of it. My hands clenched into fists and it took all my control not to yank her from him. “Please, please, please.”
“Wake up,” she pleaded, cupping his head. Her tears, a mixture of blood and dirt, stained her face. “Wake up.”
She shook his body, but there was no waking him up. He was dead. My father’s words swept through my mind as the wind picked up.
Boys grow up to become men. They come back to find you and suddenly, the hunter becomes the hunted.
He was right. If I had let my father do what he needed, Adrian would have never come to be. It would have saved us all this bullshit. And Tatiana her pain.
She leaned over and started performing CPR. One. Two. Three. She breathed air into his lungs. One. Two. Three. “Breathe,” she screamed. She repeated the procedure. Over and over again.
Her eyes lifted, darting around desperately. Frantically.
“Please, help me,” she screamed her plea. “Please. Just one breath and then I can save him.”
She sobbed, pressing her palm on his chest where he had been shot mere minutes ago. She attempted to stop the bleeding. It was pointless but she refused to give up.
“Adrian, please wake up,” she murmured, pressing her forehead against his. “P-please wake up. P-P-Please. Come back to me,” she choked.
It was for naught. The fire from the car was expanding, but when Tatiana lifted her eyes, it had nothing on the inferno burning in her gaze. She screamed, devastation vibrating through her and traveling through the air. She raised her bloodied hands and gripped her hair, ignoring her injured shoulder.
I took a step towards her but the hate in her eyes stopped me. There was raw rage there and it was aimed at me. At us.
She rose to her feet. Her body was in bad shape. Cuts, bruises and who knew what else had her unsteady on her feet. I closed the distance and took her elbow, holding her up. She jerked away, then her small fists came to my chest. She hit me. Then another punch landed. Her small fists started pounding on my chest. Over and over again.
“You killed him,” she shouted, tears streaming down her beautiful beaten face. “You did it.”
I grabbed her forearm and shook her, pulling her to me. She didn’t seem fazed, her rage feeding her actions and her next words. Her fists curled into my jacket.
“I’m going to kill you for this,” she vowed with such calmness I feared she meant it. Her gaze traveled over all of us. Her eyes were unfocused. She blinked hard. She was losing her strength fast. “I’m going to kill you all for this.”
