Page 2 of Deadly Knight

She received no response, but she felt his body brace beneath her hand like he expected to be moved. Maya sucked in a breath, quashed down the voice in her head that told her she was being foolish and to walk away right now, and maneuvered herself so that she could slip an arm beneath the man’s shoulders. Maya knew that lifting him would require a herculean effort, and that she’d never be able to do it without help, but she had to try. To her relief, the man was conscious enough to support some of his own weight, and once she got him on his feet, he leaned on her heavily, but seemed capable of walking.

“What’s your name?” she asked as she guided him from the alley. She no longer heard the footsteps from before, but she didn’t know if that meant her follower had given up or that he was standing back and watching, waiting.

She received no response.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

Again, she was met with silence.

Maya gave up after that, focusing instead on making sure the man made it to safety. Her flat wasn’t far, which was why she’d chosen this alley, but they would still be out in the open, which could be a risk to both of them—from whoever was following her and also from whoever had tried to crack his head open.

“Galina,” the man murmured. He slumped against her as they walked, and she did her best to hold him upright. “Pomogu…”

“Ya pomogu tebe,” she promised.I will help you.

And whoever he was, no matter what his relation was to her father, shewouldhelp him. If he was a random Russian who’d been caught in a fight, fine…but if his proximity to her flat was a sign of something bigger going on, she wanted to know about it. Besides, if her father had tried to eliminate this man, it meant he’d opposed her father in some way, and to Maya, that was a clear indication that they were on the same team. She’d put a little kindness out into the world, and hopefully, she’d receive a little kindness in return. No matter what, she’d trust her gut on what to do. It had never steered her wrong before.

“Come. Let’s get you inside.”

CHAPTER2

Kostya

Awarm, wet washcloth dabbed at his eye. Kostya groaned and squeezed his eyelids shut tighter than before. All he knew was that his head felt like it had been put into a paint mixer, and his ribs were sore.Some bastard must have jumped me,he thought, but the conclusion fizzled out almost as soon as it came into focus. Right now, figuring out who’d attacked him was less important than figuring out where he was…and who exactly was dabbing a washcloth against his eye.

He opened his eyes and prepared to face down whoever it was, only to find his eyelids wouldn’t part properly. His right eyelid fluttered, but his left seemed to be glued shut. Panic struck, then morphed into rage. Kostya had sewn eyelids shut before, just like he’d stitched up lips, and fingers, and toes. If someone was making an attempt at torture to force information out of him, he’d never talk. He’d rather die. He would not betray the Sokolov name.

But a warm, wet washcloth didn’t scream torture, and the way it touched his eye was too gentle. A soft hand touched the side of his face, turning his head slightly before slowly moving down his body, pressing against him. He held back the groan when the hand reached his ribs, but he couldn’t control the sudden tension when the hand pressed against a sore spot.

He lifted an arm a fraction, just to see if he could, and found to his surprise that his body was unrestrained. The washcloth parted from his eye, and whoever stood next to him sucked in a tiny, startled breath. Kostya clawed at his eye and found that his eyelashes were matted together with something both tacky and crusty.Clotted blood. He tugged it from his eyelashes, then let his hand drop. Eyelids no longer glued shut, he opened his eyes.

Bright light. A white ceiling. A startled female face. Kostya blinked a few times.

A woman?

“Hi,” the woman said.

She looked to be in her early twenties, but her soft features and large, innocent eyes made it hard for him to judge her age precisely. “I’m Maya,” she offered. “I found you on the street. Are you okay?”

Although she seemed to be trying very hard to mask it behind British pronunciation, Kostya heard a slight Russian accent. He squinted up at her, trying to make her face out in detail from where he lay, but the bright light was making the pounding in his head pound even worse. Concentration was all but impossible. All he could conclude was that she looked familiar, but he couldn’t recall ever having met a Maya in his life. “Do I look like I’m okay?” he rasped after another minute.

“Well, you’re talking, and in English, so that’s already better than before!” She smiled at him, then swept her hair back from her forehead with her wrist. The movement was alluringly feminine and pretty, and for a moment, Kostya allowed himself to be swayed by it. “When our paths crossed, you were asking for help in Russian.”

Kostya shut down his emotions. When he spoke again, his words were frosted over. “I was asking for help?”

“Very softy. I found you in the alley, lying in a pile of trash, and when I came near, you asked for your mother to help you.”

Kostya’s shoulders clenched. He looked at Maya with suspicion. Never once did her expression sour, not even when he was curt to her. “I would never do that.”

She shrugged. “I’m only telling you what I heard. When I picked you up and helped you walk back here, you kept calling me Galina. That’s…all I know about you. So if you could tell me if you’re okay or not, for starters, I’d really appreciate it. I figured you wouldn’t want me to call a doctor.”

Kostya shut his eyes again. For a brief moment, he’d entertained the notion that she was lying to try to lull him into a false sense of security, but he didn’t think that likely anymore. Galina was his mother’s name, and he figured that if he was so out of it that he’d asked for help in the first place, he would only have resorted to sharing it in the hopes she would know who he was talking about. A sour taste flooded Kostya’s mouth, and he opened his eyes again to look up at her. “Who do you work for?”

“If I answer your question, you have to answer mine.”

“Who do you work for?” Kostya had forced the words out more confidently this time. Shewouldanswer him, and he would deal with her from there.

“Well, right now I work with New Beginnings, which is a nonprofit organization devoted to helping London’s homeless population. Mostly, I work with women and children who’ve escaped abusive households.” She paused, then bit down on her lip and looked to the side thoughtfully, almost bashfully, like she wasn’t sure if he could be trusted with what else she had to say. When she spoke again, she did so slowly, as if trying to downplay the significance of her words. “We’re trying to open a new shelter right now, and I’ve been doing more paperwork and attending more meetings than should be legal. Is that good enough for you?”

---