Page 123 of Wicked Vows (Suvorov Bratva 2)

“How much have you—?” She peeks at the desk and then nods. “Well, that explains it.”

“I’ve never been as unsure as I am in this moment.”

She looks concerned. “I can see that.”

I hold out my hand. “Come here,rodnaya.”

My eyelids are heavy, but I can see her small smile. I can sense her relief with my invitation. She takes my hand and slides into my lap, straddling me comfortably.

I’ve had enough to put me down for the night, but I’m actively fighting sleep.

“Whatever you’re worried about,” she whispers while cupping my face. “It can wait until tomorrow. Why don’t you come to bed and be with me for the night?”

It’s hard to resist the relief I feel. My wife wants me to come to bed. She came down to tell me so.

I rest my hands on her hips. “I thought you were pissed.”

“I have a way of making exceptions.”

“I killed your friend.”

She gulps but ultimately rests her forehead on mine. I sense her hesitation. Then she says, “It was an accident.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

Her expression falls. “I didn’t say that.”

I huff. “I don’t see why I deserve to go to bed.”

“Because you need rest, my love.”

My love.

That’s thrice now. Or has it been more? My brain is too hazy to recollect anything with any degree of accuracy. And by the time I try to sort it out, she’s already sliding from my lap and taking my hand.

I let her lead me from the makeshift office. I allow her to guide me up the spiral stairs. My head is spinning when we reach the bedroom door. Her motions are slow and calculated. What I thought were furtive glances of attraction now reveal their true purpose: she’s treading carefully around me, walking on eggshells in my presence.

She’s afraid. Like she might set me off with the wrong words.

That’swhy she called Janine’s death an accident.

I stare at the bed while realizing how unfair it is.

“This isn’t fair to you,” I manage to say. “This…the whole…”

She shushes me. “Come here.”

While my feet move, I protest as best I can, slurring my words. “I haven’t…been fair…to you.”

She unbuttons my shirt and then sits me on the bed. While she slides off my pants, I close my eyes, focusing on the soft fabric brushing against my skin every so often.

“I love that top on you,” I whisper gruffly.

She sighs and then strips the rest of my clothes off, leaving me in my briefs. While she tucks me into bed, I open my eyes, watching the ceiling spin. It makes me nauseous, but I don’t make a move for the bathroom. I don’t want to miss Liya. I don’t want to be without her touch.

She’s never put me to bed drunk. She’s never taken care of me. It’s always been up to me to take care ofher.

What did I do to deserve this?

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