Heart of My Monster (Monster Trilogy #3) by Rina Kent

“He…lost a lot of blood.”

“That still won’t kill him. He’s Maks, remember?”

“He’s Maks,” he repeats in a less assured tone.

I hug him again, and we remain like that for what seems like an hour before the doctor comes along.

My brother staggers to his feet and nearly hits the wall when the doctor says that Maks is stable.

I squeeze his arm, smiling through my unshed tears. “I told you.”

He smiles in return, his expression easing before it sobers. “Remember when you said I needed to have something for myself?”

I nod.

“I will.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You were right, Sasha. Maks is more important than duty.”

I grin like an idiot. What? I’m their number one supporter.

“What do you plan to do?”

“Once he’s okay, I’m leaving this life and starting anew. Now that Babushka and Uncle Albert are gone, I’ll raise Mike and clear up the mess our family made in Russia.”

“Do you know where they left Mike?”

“Back in Saint Petersburg with a nanny. I told her to fly him here for now, so they’re on their way.”

“I can raise him, Tosha. I love Mishka to death, and you were never good with children.”

“No, I will. Mike and I need each other. Besides, you have your own son to worry about.”

“Mishka is not a burden. We can share his custody until I think you can take care of him properly.” I pause. “How did you and Maks end up there anyway?”

“Kirill let me go. He came earlier that day and said that he had evidence he wanted me to see personally.”

Right.

Everything is part of an elaborate plan for Kirill. He made Anton and me see our uncle’s true colors and did the same with Konstantin and Yulia.

Although I doubt he calculated all the shoot-outs that happened. At least, I hope he didn’t.

“Do you…know where he is?” I ask my brother.

“Probably the next ward.”

“I’ll come back, okay?”

“No need to. I’m going to go clean up and visit Maks.”

“I will come back,” I repeat, then give him a quick hug.

After I make sure he can stand straight, I wheel the IV drip to the other section of the ICU.

Sure enough, Kirill is sitting opposite the vending machine. Legs apart, his jacket thrown over the back of the seat, and his face closed off.

It looks cold under the bright lights, and I don’t know why that makes me hide around the corner.

He adjusts his glasses with his middle finger as Konstantin grabs two cups of instant coffee and then joins him.

The brothers sit shoulder to shoulder, silently sipping their coffee.

“This stuff tastes like recycled urine,” Kirill grumbles as he takes another sip.

“I have too many questions, but the most important are: one, how do you know what recycled urine tastes like? Two, is urine even recyclable?”

“A hunch for the first. Yes, for the second.” Kirill clutches the cup with both hands and steals a glance at his brother. “Are we not going to talk about the elephant in the room?”

“You drinking instant coffee?”

“Yulia being in a coma because of me.”

Konstantin exhales deeply, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I won’t apologize for putting her right where she belongs, but I know your feelings toward her are different from mine.”

His brother pauses, and I hold my breath until he releases a sigh.

“You know, I’ve thought long and hard about this, but I always come to the same conclusion. If you didn’t shoot her, she would’ve shot you.” He stares at Kirill. “I prefer this outcome much more than the alternative. I’m glad you’re the one sitting beside me right now.”

Konstantin probably didn’t notice it, but Kirill’s chest expanded with relief just now. Even if his face still looks like the same unperturbed cold entity.

In a fraction of a second, that emotionless gaze zeroes in on me. Although I’m half hiding behind the wall, he sees me immediately.

I don’t know why I feel the need to run.

My legs, however, don’t move.

Kirill stands and squeezes Konstantin’s shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

He abandons the cup of coffee in the nearest trash can and strides toward me.

Once he stops in front of me, it’s like he’s gained a few inches of height. The dark tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt appear monstrous when coupled with his closed-off expression.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is harsh and authoritarian, like in our army days. “You should be resting.”

“I’m…fine. The doctor said I can move around.”

“The doctor also said not to put a strain on your health.”

I swallow. “Is this because I’m pregnant? Are you concerned about your son’s life?”

“I’m concerned about your life, damn it.” His eyes blaze with flames. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were pregnant? Why did you choose to act suspicious and pull away from me instead?”

Emotions clog my throat, and I hate the feeling of being so vulnerable. So…damn inferior.

“I…didn’t want you to force me to stay because of the baby. I wanted to come to terms with us first.”