Page 104 of Marked (Russian Sinners 1)

I kissed her bruised knuckles. “Damn it, Anastasia,” I whispered to her still, unmoving form. “Don’t you dare leave me. You said you love me. Then stay and love me.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I couldn’t remember ever crying when I was a kid. Not when I was hungry, or cold, or beaten. I have been the hard, Russian Sinner for as long as I could remember. Ready to beat down the other boys for taking food from my brothers and me. Nothing ever scared me. I’d take the beating over and over again, while I schemed how I’d get them back. Tears didn’t come when I took a whip to my back at seven years old after being caught stealing food offerings from the church. Or when I was put into solitary for five days at twelve for taking extra blankets while Sergei shivered with pneumonia.

But now, my eyes stung with tears for this warmhearted woman that had given me more in the short time she’d known me than anyone else, including my rotten mother who had abandoned me at the doorstep of the cursed orphanage.

The door to her hospital room opened. I was ready to growl at whoever dared to come in when I realized it was her father and an elderly man with a cane. The green eyes of the old man reminded me of Anastasia, and I guessed it was her grandfather. Her father was pale, his usually meticulous hair and suit a mess.

Both of them looked surprised to see me here; their eyes drifting to where I held her hand in mine. If they thought I was going to let her go, they had another thing coming.

“The hospital said her husband was with her,” her father commented tiredly, his voice soft while helping her grandfather take a seat in the chair on the other side of Anastasia’s hospital bed. Hearing her dad speak in a weak voice was a punch in the gut. I much rather preferred his commanding courtroom voice. His fear fed my fear.

“Yes.”

“How did my granddaughter end up shot?” Her grandfather’s eyes never wavered from his granddaughter, his hand gently caressing her other hand.

“She took the bullet meant for me,” I uttered under my breath. It hurt like fucking hell to know she lay almost dead in the hospital bed because of me.

Neither one of them seemed surprised. Silence ticked along with her respiratory machine and I slowly felt my body relax when her father spoke, “You better be worth my daughter’s heart, Dimitry.”

I locked eyes with the man who had raised her and chased me for the past fifteen years to lock me up along with Boris, his daughter’s true biological father.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” he continued. “You were supposed to keep her safe. Not seduce her. She needs better, deserves better.”

I couldn’t argue that with Anastasia’s father. She deserved better than me but I couldn’t let her go. She had become my oxygen and true fear engulfed me at the thought of losing her.

“I can tell you right now I don’t deserve her.” My voice was hard. The thought of losing Anastasia or letting her go would take all my humanity away. “But I will work to be worth her heart and to deserve her for the rest of my life… if she’ll have me. I refuse to give her up for you or anyone else.”

We eyed each other warily, neither one of us willing to back off. To let go of Anastasia, my siren, would be like being pulled to the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean. My humanity wouldn’t survive it.

“She can tell you herself,” her grandfather spoke softly, breaking the staredown between me and her father. “Hello, sleepyhead.”

My eyes snapped to Anastasia, her green gaze disoriented.

Leaning forward, I gently whispered to her with my heart stuck in my throat, “Milaya, you're safe.”

Her eyes met mine and a weak smile played on her lips. “I’ll have you, Dimitry,” she whispered, her voice raspy and weak. My name was a soft comfort on her lips. “I love you.”

Shit, I could start crying right now. “And I love you, milaya,” I told her hoarsely, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “But we’ll need to establish some rules. You are never ever again to endanger yourself or take a bullet for anyone.”

She went to chuckle but winced, closing her eyelids. “Ouch… my everything hurts.”

“Fuck,” I muttered. “I’ll go get a doctor.”

She opened her eyes again. “Maybe some water first please?” I rushed to get a glass of water and a straw.

While she waited for me, I heard her say, “Hey you two.”

Her grandfather shook his head. “What are we going to do with you?” I was back at her bedside, her eyes on her family. There were tears glistening in the old man’s eyes; the same was true with her father. I finally understood what could make a grown man cry.

“I love you both, you know,” she murmured. “I’m kind of hoping you keep me. Despite the biological father crap.”

“First and foremost, you are your mother’s daughter,” her grandfather announced.

Her father coughed, and I had a suspicion he was trying to clear a choke in his throat. “You will always be my baby girl, Anja. I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job keeping you safe.”

“Oh, Dad but you did.” She reached out her hand from her grandfather to her dad, and he took it. “You are the best dad a girl could wish for.”

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