Page 159 of Bratva Jewels Box Set
starts ripping my shirt off.
Grace returns with a bottle of whiskey. “Here,” she says, giving it to Sergei.
Sergei pours some of the whiskey onto my wound.
“Motherfucker,” I say through clenched teeth. Next thing I know, Grace is grabbing my hand and entwining it with hers.
“Squeeze my hand if you need it. I want to help.”
I look at our linked hands and electricity sizzles between us. Then I feel Sergei digging around for the bullet.Fuck, fuck, fuck. My hand squeezes Grace’s, and she winces at my strength.
“Done.”
I hear the bullet clang onto the plate.
Sergei pours more whiskey onto the wound and then closes it up with surgical tape.
I then grab the bottle of whiskey and take a big swig of it, trying to ease my pain.
“Now, is anyone going to tell me what the fuck is going on between the two of you that it nearly got me killed?”
Sergei and Grace look at each other.
14
GRACE
Oh shit.
“It can wait till tomorrow. You must be tired from, like, killing people and surviving gun fights and things.”
Maxim sits up on the kitchen counter, and those dark eyes stare down at me. “We have a lot to talk about you and me.”
Yeah, I guess we do. If only the problems between us were that I freaked out when we tried to have sex, not that your sister has come back from the dead and is working with my worst enemy. The man that wants me dead or worse, sold.
“You must be hungry. I can make us some supper,” I say, stalling.
“I’ll do that for you, Grace. Why don’t you take Max into the living room and sit and talk? You have much to catch up on.”
My eyes narrow on the old man, and he gives me a satisfied grin. Fine. I reach out and help Maxim down from the kitchen bench and walk him into the living room. I know he can walk, but I don’t know how much blood he may have lost or if that whiskey went straight to his head. I help get him comfortable on the sofa and take a seat in the armchair beside him.
“I’m sorry, Grace.” Maxim surprises me with his apology.
Looking over at where he is laid out against the chair, his enormous body takes up the entire sofa as he stares at me intensely with those dark eyes.
The man’s been shot, Grace, throw him a bone.
Getting up from the armchair, I move over to his side of the sofa and take a seat beside him. I take his large hand and connect it with mine as I sit cross-legged beside him. “You don’t need to apologize, Max. I thought I was ready. I wanted to replace all the other stuff with your touch. I was sick of feeling those men on my skin every day.”
“I thought you thought I was like them,” he says, letting a slither of vulnerability through.
“Never. You are nothing like those men.”
“I’m still the bad guy, Grace.”
“Just not in my story, Max.”
He gives me a lopsided grin.
