Lies of My Monster (Monster Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

“Your grandmother won’t like this,” he says with an aggravated tone. “She’s waiting to hear about his death, and if she knows you stopped it, she will…”

“What? Punish me? She can do whatever she wants, and it’ll mean nothing to me anymore. I went through hell for this family, but you and Babushka chose to use me. I’m going to bet she’s not sick at all and all of this was a setup.”

“Sashenka—” He reaches a hand for me, but I step away.

“I’m not your Sashenka when you fucking used me, Uncle. You forced me to indirectly put two bullets in the chest of the man who saved me when I was on the brink of death. You weren’t there when I nearly died on that mission, but he was, Uncle! He carried me and got me medical care. He saved me.”

“After he killed your entire family.”

“I told you I don’t believe that!”

“You’re being unreasonable right now, but that’s fine. We’ll talk about it. Come back to see Mother and Mike with me.”

“Not now.” I stare at the emergency room door. “I’m not leaving until I know Kirill is all right.”

“What is this fixation you have on Kirill?” He narrows his eyes. “Is there something I need to know?”

“No.” I point at the exit. “Now, go, Uncle. I don’t want you here.”

He purses his lips, probably irritated at how I spoke to him, but that’s the last thing on my mind.

After he leaves, I stand in place, staring at the door, unmoving.

Three whole hours pass before the doctor finally emerges, his face worn out and his posture defeated.

My legs barely carry me, and my eyes blur with tears as I ask in a voice so low, I think he doesn’t hear me, “How…”

The doctor speaks in a rural accent, “We were able to remove the bullets, but some fragments hit the heart and caused damage to the fine arteries. He also lost a lot of blood. We did our best, but the rest is up to him now. We’re moving him to the ICU. The next twenty-four hours will determine whether or not he survives or slips into a coma.”

He talks about the cause of the incident and how he’s obliged by law to call the authorities, but I’m not listening. Once he’s out of sight, I fall against the wall and sob so loud that my heart feels like it’s bleeding along with Kirill’s.

What have I done?





3





SASHA





I’m a mess.

After I cried my eyes out upon hearing about Kirill’s slim chances of survival, I haven’t been able to fully gather myself together.

The only reason I don’t crumble is because I can’t leave Kirill alone. If I do, he might be in more danger. Yes, Uncle Albert left, but that doesn’t mean he or his men won’t come back.

I’ve been standing guard in front of the ICU the whole time, then when I get tired, I sit down. I haven’t left to change my clothes or wash my hands, not even when the nurses asked me to. So they brought me some disinfectant wipes to at least get the blood off my hands.

It’s been five hours since I heard the news, and only now has the doctor come back to check on him.

I wait on pins and needles, but when he returns, there’s no change in his expression.

“He’s still unconscious, but that’s not out of the ordinary,” he says before I can ask anything.

“Can I see him?”

“Not unless you’re a family member.”

“I’m…” I can’t even lie and say I’m his girlfriend since I look like a damn man. “His cousin.”

He eyes me suspiciously probably because Kirill and I look nothing alike. However, the doctor nods and points down the hall. “Take a left, and the nurse will direct you.”

“Thank you.”

I’m about to head there, but the doctor blocks my path. “As I mentioned earlier, we have to report gunshot wounds to the authorities. The police will be here shortly and will have questions for you.”

I nod, not really thinking about the police right now. I’ll manage to mislead them when it’s time.

Before I’m allowed to see Kirill, I clean up and change into fresh clothes from my backpack. After I’m done, I follow the nurse with heavy steps.

She leaves once we reach the window, through which I can see him. A large ball clings to the back of my throat, and I suppress a sob at the view in front of me.

Everything is white—the lights, the bed, the bandages covering his naked chest. Even his skin is pasty, making the dark tattoos contrast harshly against it.

His face is too colorless, too lifeless, as if he’s given up and is already crossing to the other side.

My hands touch the glass slowly, carefully, as if I’m actually stroking his cheek. “I’m sorry, Kirill. I’m so sorry…if I’d known…I wouldn’t have come, I would’ve listened to you and stayed, I would’ve…”

I curl my fingers on the glass, knowing full well that any excuse I offer or what-ifs I think of are futile. It all happened, and Kirill is fighting for his life because of me. That’s the truth that I can’t change no matter what I do.

That knowledge doesn’t erase my sense of culpability and frustration, though.

I taste salt, and I realize I’m crying again. What’s wrong with me today? Since when did I become a crybaby?