31. Viktor

[ 31 ]

VIKTOR

Ranger’s brain was fine. Cam had made the doctor at the private clinic we had all used before write a full report, one that sent frigid shivers down my spine.

Agitation.

Severe pain.

Acute concussion, exacerbated by previous injuries, at least two of which I felt responsible for.

You weren’t even there when he got in the ring with Nash McGovern.

But that was the point. Ranger had fought Nash because loving me in that moment had hurt him. Because he had needed Nash to hurt him more. And if that wasn’t my fault, whose was it?

Beside me on the bed, Ranger stirred. He did not wake, but I was less alarmed about that than I had been when I’d seen him collapse eighteen hours ago. Sleep was the best thing for him, and Cam had already told me Ranger was not leaving this place—this bed—anytime soon.

“Bet you want to goddamn punch me too.”

Not really. In the moment, I had been angry with Jake, but hindsight was a wonderful thing. What Alexei and I had planned had been exactly the same. The only difference was Jake and Cam’s deception had succeeded.

Eighteen hours.

I rubbed my chest, guilt lancing my heart that it had taken so long to dispose of every scrap of evidence. To erase the men we’d killed as if they’d never existed. We had done it to protect Ranger and Cam as much as ourselves, but being away from him had nearly killed me.

Was still killing me, along with the hard truth that Ranger had only been there because of me. That it had taken him and Alexei no time at all to convince me to allow it. But if I took nothing from what we had done at the port, it was that the time to look back was over.

Tell him you love him.

I had. Repeatedly, not caring who heard. But he had not been conscious to hear me. I could only hope that he sensed my presence beside him. That he knew I was here to stay, however long it took him to open his eyes and truly see me.

Ranger settled again, pressing his face into my side with a low groan, lips twisted in a grimace.

I rubbed his shoulders, hating that he was in so much pain, that he had been so sick, blaming myself more than Saint who had already confessed to causing Ranger’s injury.

“It was not your fault. You did not hit him the other three times.”

I had told him that, more than once. But I got the feeling it haunted Saint as much as not telling Ranger I loved him weeks ago was haunting me, and Saint did not deserve that.

A soft knock at the bedroom door drew my attention from tracing patterns on Ranger’s neck with my thumb.

I expected Cam. He had not yet left, leading me to idly wonder if he was scared of the wrath that awaited him with Alexei, but the figure that filled the doorway was taller. Fairer. And looked a thousand times better than when I last saw him.

“Hello, Locke.”

Locke embraced me, and I could not describe how that felt. How the arms of a man I had spent less than a month with had come to feel like something I had known my whole life.

He smelled like sweet lemons, his skin faintly damp from a recent shower, and I pulled back to realise he had octopus slippers on his feet. “My kids spend way too much time with Rubi.”

“And that persuades you to swap your boots for these?”

“Something like that.” Locke rubbed his palms up and down my biceps. “Don’t acknowledge them around him, or you’ll get a pair too.”

He turned his attention to Ranger, switching gears. And I remembered this about Locke Halliwell more than anything. That he was a natural caregiver. A trained one. And that I would not have lived to see this moment without him.

Locke had quick and gentle hands. He assessed the taped wound on Ranger’s head and took his vitals without waking him. “What’s he like when he’s conscious? Still confused?”

“He has not been conscious since I got here.”

Locke eased Ranger’s head back onto the pillow. “He was rowdy as hell earlier—at least by the standards of someone who’s supposed to be out cold.”

“He was awake?”

“Not really.” Locke grimaced. “He was pretty sick, and to be honest, I think he was looking for you.”

“I am here now.” I spoke to myself as much as Locke, taking a breath that seemed to lose itself somewhere I could not be right now.

Locke rose and returned to me. “I’m here too, so you should take a break. Get some food down you. Sleep. I know you’re a tough motherfucker, but you’re no good to him if you’re dead on your feet.”

“I’m fine.”

“Never said you weren’t.” Locke gave me a look that was more parental than any I had ever experienced. “But I know how this goes. You love him, you don’t want to leave him. But Ranger’s gonna do his nut if he opens his eyes to find you hanging on by fuckin’ thread.”

“I am that transparent?”

“Viktor, I know you. And by the way, I called this shit between you and him.”

“You did not.”

“I did.” Locke smiled, his warm eyes crinkling at the sides. “And just so you know, for a long time, this idiot was the only reason I ever laughed. Now fuck off to the kitchen. Orls will sort you out.”

He all but pushed me out of the room with a silent promise to remain with Ranger until I came back, though he stopped short of shutting the door in my face.

I let it happen and followed the scent of food through a living space I hadn’t taken much notice of when I’d arrived. It was simply decorated. Bland. As if no one lived here. But voices from the kitchen lured me in, and I found Orla O’Brian slicing bread at the counter while the vice president of the Rebel Kings MC lounged on a stool.

Nash McGovern. I had dealt with him a lot over the last few years, and I had always liked him. Appreciated his even temper and honesty. His kindness when he had adopted Ranger and his friends into the Rebel Kings. Would I have known Ranger as I did if he had not done that?

I truly could not say.

“Come sit.” Nash patted the stool beside him. “Take the weight off that leg.”

“My leg is fine. How is yours? You are okay?”

He had been hurt—Jake had told me, maybe? It seemed a lifetime ago. Long enough that Nash waved away my question.

“I lived. But I hurt just looking at you, so sit the fuck down, boyo.”

Nash was too Irish to sound like Locke, but the sentiment was the same, and I found it easy—too easy, perhaps—to do as he asked.

I sat down.

Nash leaned in and gave me a one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

He wasn’t talking about the gun battle a few nights ago, and I knew it, so I spoke nothing but truth in return. “I was not sure either.”

“You doing okay? Need anything?”

“No, Nash. I am fine.”

The answer was automatic. As unstoppable as it was untrue, and Nash was not fooled. But I had other concerns. “Cam has gone home?”

Nash leaned back in his seat. “Think so. Though the last time he told me he was going somewhere, he was lying through his fucking teeth, so . . .”

I bit back a smile. “If it is any consolation, I was not expecting to see him when I did. My brother lied to me too.”

Orla banged a plate on the counter. “Look at that. We both have brothers who are massive dickheads.”

“For the best of reasons though, yes?”

“If you say so.” Orla’s beautiful scowl deepened. “Saint and Alexei are in my bad books too.”

“Orls.” Nash’s voice held a warning.

“What?” She flipped her glare to him. “Viktor was there. He knows. Who’s he going to tell? Fucking Ranger?”

She stomped to the stove.

Nash heaved a quiet sigh, shaking his head. “Sorry about that. It’s been a fucked-up few days and we’d got too used to the quiet.”

“Hopefully you will have it for longer this time around.”

“That’s the dream.” Nash drained a coffee mug and set it aside. “Your brother left, by the way. In case you didn’t know. Said he was going home, wherever that is.”

With Jake, who knew. The island wasn’t his only port in a storm. “He was okay?”

“Think so. He looked fucking tired, but he didn’t want to hang around. Said to tell you there’s a bird by the sea. That make sense to you?”

I nodded, trying to care about helicopter locations and escape routes. But the Kings had always possessed a way of making such things feel unnecessary. “I am surprised he lived long enough to leave. Ivanov put a blade to his throat three times while we were out.”

Nash snorted. “That’s not going to stop. Dude holds a grudge like no one I’ve ever met, and I’ve known Orls since I was sixteen and skinny.”

“Watch your mouth.” Orla came back with plates of food and an orange that she rolled across the counter. “Eat what you can, sweetheart. I know it’s hard.”

Sweetheart. The term jarred me. No one had ever called me that. Not even Ranger when he was laughing at me, which was a lot. And I missed that laugh so much right now. It felt like weeks since I had last heard it.

Months.

Years.

“At least have a go.” Nash nudged me. “Come on, I’ll eat with you.”

I zoned back into him pushing a plate of breakfast food closer to me—the kind of food Ranger would have fallen on if he’d been well enough to eat it.

Orla gave me an encouraging smile too. “Eat it for Nash, if not for you. Save him having three breakfasts in the space of an hour.”

Honestly, as the Rebel King’s matriarch pinched my cheek and walked away, I would rather have eaten the orange. But without Ranger to share with, it did not feel right.

I ate the breakfast, staring into space, until I noticed Nash had no shoes on either. “You . . . live here?”

Nash pointed at the ceiling. “Upstairs. We own the whole building except the old gal on the ground floor.”

“Thank you for allowing me to be here. I will not forget.”

“Jakov said that to me once.” Nash took my plate and his to the sink. “But it’s us with the debt—me and Orls. We wouldn’t have Locke if you hadn’t got him out and got him across that river. We won’t ever forget that.”

“Thank you.”

Nash rotated to face me again. “I need to tell you something else.”

Tension flooded me. Stress I did not have the energy for. “Can it wait?”

“It’s nothing bad…I don’t think, anyway.” At my soul-deep frown, he continued, “We found your bike. The black Ducati. It was on farmland down in Newquay. Locke said you were riding it the night you got took.”

Relief replaced whatever emotions had strangled me. I let air flow through my lungs again. “They did not burn it?”

Nash shook his head. “I have it squared away somewhere safe. I can fix it up for you, if it’s not too hot for the road.”

I considered that, but my brain rebelled. I did not care about bikes or anything else, and perhaps it showed.

Nash came closer and squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll keep it till you figure it out. Don’t worry about it for now. We’ve got you, brother.”

Locke joined us before I could respond, slipping quietly into the kitchen and close enough to Nash to kiss the top of his head.

It was sweet, and Locke deserved the way Nash looked at him in return.

“How is your back?”

Locke faced me. “Shite. How’s yours?”

“I do not really think about it.”

“Can I see?”

It was nothing to me to pull my shirt off to show Locke the healed wounds on my torso. He had seen them fresh and helped me keep them clean.

Nash, though. It upset him; I could tell. To look at the marks on me and know that Locke had far more and far worse.

A new dark bruise stained my ribs. Locke opened a medical bag and rubbed ointment into it. Treatment I did not need, but I let him do it. “You live upstairs too?”

Locke smiled. “I do.”

“That is nice.”

“It is.” He screwed the cap back onto the ointment and drifted closer to Nash again. “I’m a blessed man.”

Nash snorted. “We’re the blessed ones.”

They shared a deep stare that was intimate enough that I should have looked elsewhere, but my thoughts were slow. The adrenaline of the past few days a distant memory as the food settled in my stomach and did God’s work.

“You can stay as long as you like.”

Nash’s words felt sudden. As did the realisation that Orla had left the room.

I blinked. “Pardon?”

He refilled my tea mug. “Ranger doesn’t have a house. But he’s not going anywhere for a while, and I want you to know you’re welcome here too.”

A while. How long was that? But the truth was, whether he had a bricks-and-mortar home in this place or not, I had always expected Ranger to come back to Devon. His grandmother was here, his friends—his brothers. The sanctuary we’d carved out on the island had always been temporary. “Thank you. I will stay as long as I can.”

“You have somewhere else to be?”

Locke. And he stared at me as if daring me to say that I had.

“There is nowhere else I want to be,” I amended. “But time will tell if that is enough, no?”

Locke had the air of a man with more to say, but he let it go as Nash slid a burner phone across the counter to me.

“You can reach us with this. Or bang on the ceiling, we’ll hear you.”

The implication that they were leaving relieved and unsettled me in equal measure. I was tired. What if I fell asleep and didn’t hear Ranger? What if the pain relief he’d been given for his head pushed me over the edge?

I hadn’t looked at it. Did not know what it was. But I knew where it was, and as the reality that I would be in this flat for the foreseeable future sank in, that bothered me.

“There’s a message from Jakov on there too.”

I glanced at the phone. Sure enough, a message lit up the screen. I opened it, scanning the vernacular that was familiar enough for me to know it was definitely Jake.

It was written in code, telling me the island was secure. That Katya was safe—that Lida was safe—and Jake would be with them soon.

Relief physically rocked me.

Locke moved to my side. “Everything okay?”

“Almost.”

“Your family?”

He knew about Katya. I had told him, I think. Perhaps when we had survived a long night of pain together. I could not be sure. “They are safe. Jake is on his way to them.”

“That’s good.”

I hummed my agreement. “Your children are well?”

“Well enough to give me a heart attack.” Locke watched me unfold my body from the bar stool and stretch out my leg. “The dodgy quack gave Ranger a non-opiate prescription in case you were wondering.” Locke recited the drug name. “Non-addictive. Folk’s used it before and been okay.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I know he worries about this shit too.” Locke spread his hands, coming in peace. “That people he cares about won’t take the good drugs because of him. So I thought you should know Ranger has everything he needs.”

I appreciated that, but my tolerance for being away from Ranger was about to run dry. I could not bear the thought of him waking up alone.

He’s not alone.

“Can I ask you something?”

I was halfway to the door, and anyone else, I might have walked away from them. But Locke . . . his lovers might have believed he’d come back to them because of me, but that I’d lived to make that happen was all him. “Anything.”

“The note you left me . . . it never felt right to ask someone to translate it, so I have no fuckin’ idea what it says.”

“You have it with you?”

Locke retrieved a wallet from his back pocket and thumbed out a folded scrap of paper.

I did not recognise it, but the Russian words were scrawled in a hand that was clearly mine. “I must have been feeling profound that day.”

“It’s not your shopping list then?” Locke quipped.

“No. You would like me to read it?”

Locke nodded and I studied the words again, knowing Ranger would laugh if he was in the room. “It says, I would have died without you. If I can ever help you live, you must only ask. And be old when you die, my friend. Be old. I must have really meant that if I took the trouble to say it twice.”

Grinning, Locke ventured closer and embraced me again. “Well, I feel fuckin’ old if that helps.”

“Ranger loves you.”

Locke tightened his arms around me. “I love that grumpy bastard too. Tell him that so I don’t have to suffer through him rolling his eyes and chucking shit at me.”

“I will.” Right after I told Ranger that I loved him. And that I would forever and a day, even after we were both dead.

Emotion squeezed me tighter than even Locke’s hug. These Rebel Kings. I did not know how they survived with such big hearts. How it did not weigh them down.

“Viktor?” I pulled away from Locke as Orla spoke from the doorway, revealing the now obvious swell of her stomach and delivering news that loosened the vice around my lungs. “He’s waking up. And he’s asking for you.”