The Island, page 13
Though he was still moving slowly and looked woozy, Spencer moved in front of me, blocking me from Arseny’s bullet—though I was certain it was probably a large enough caliber to fire through both of us. We were seconds from death, and I took no satisfaction in having ended Ivanov beforehand. What had it accomplished if we were dead too?
I was shocked, and I was certain Spencer was too by his indrawn breath, when Arseny simply flipped the gun and put it back in his holster. He nodded at me. “My thanks.”
My mouth dropped open. “What?”
He gestured to his boss. “Thank you for dealing with the filth. The Stelzvoy bratva is willing to pay a large reward for his corpse, which will make it easier to sever ties with his current less-than-desirable associates. We had already planned to do so and start our own organization.”
“He’s your boss.” I said the words in shock, but they sounded dumb as I uttered them.
He flashed me a smile full of white teeth. “He was the boss, but he was also sloppy, careless, and dishonorable. He never lived up to his word, and when we discovered he was wanted by the Stelzvoy for betraying them, that was the final straw. We’d planned to deal with him tonight before he could leave on his boat, and you saved us the trouble. In return, we’ll ensure the mess is cleaned up, and you’ll never hear about this again.”
“What about my sister?”
Arseny reached into his pocket, and I stiffened as I expected him to draw the gun for some reason. Instead, he held a phone that he dialed without looking at the keyboard. Using the speakerphone function, he spoke to someone on the other end. “Return the girl, Grigori.”
“Sure, boss,” said the other voice I recognized as the one who’d taken my sister.
I sighed with relief, leaning against Spencer, who had yet to relax. I supposed I wouldn’t entirely either until they were gone, and I was assured that Carrie and Sasha were both safe too.
“Were you just going to let him shoot Anya and take Sasha?” He sounded angry as he asked the question.
Arseny snorted. “Do you really think you’d still be conscious if I wanted you unconscious, Mr. Wallingford? In what world do you imagine you could’ve gotten my gun from me just by wrestling for it when you’re in that weakened state? And do you suppose it would’ve perfectly landed right where Miss Russo could grab it if I didn’t want her to have it?” He chuckled to himself as he moved around the bed and stepped over the pile of what had once been Ivanov without even looking down. “You’re a very funny man, Mr. Wallingford.”
Hearing Carrie and Sasha in the hall, I scrambled out of bed and raced to check on them. I was unable to avoid completely looking at Ivanov, but kept the glance brief. My stomach churned, and it settled heavily on for me for a moment that I’d killed someone.
I placed a hand against a post of the fourposter bed to keep from swaying before shaking my head. I did what I had to do. At least this way, there was absolutely no chance Ivanov would come after us again. I had no regrets for killing him, though the act of taking a life was still nauseating.
Forcing myself to shrug it off, at least for the moment to deal with later, I hurried into the hallway and hugged my sisters. Carrie was shaken up, but I expected Sasha to be worse, since she’d almost been taken. She was surprisingly calm and hugged me in a soothing fashion when it should’ve been the other way around. “I’m okay. That Grigori guy told me he’d let me go as soon as he got the all-clear from Arseny.”
I let out a shaky laugh, partially amused, but mostly terrified, at the subterfuge that had taken place that night. “I guess it’s all clear now.”
“What happened?” asked Carrie hesitantly.
I didn’t know if she’d heard the gunshot. There had been something that I tentatively identified as a silencer on the barrel, which explained why there had only been a brief moment of sound and pain, and I could hear almost as well as normal now. I just shrugged. “He won’t bother us again.”
“Did his people really help us?” asked Sasha.
I nodded. “Yeah, Arseny took care of it.” I didn’t bother to explain exactly how he did that. If my sisters never found out I’d been the one to kill Ivanov, I was perfectly content with that.
There was a groan from the doorway, and I looked back in time to see Spencer shuffling forward unsteadily. He was leaning heavily against the doorway, and I stepped away from my sisters to rush back to his side.
Offering support, we moved from the master suite to the nearest guestroom down the hall, where I sat with him on the side of the bed. My sisters were nearby, and I saw a couple of men going down the hallway toward the main bedroom, but made no attempt to stop them or waive them down for an explanation. They were clearly dealing with Ivanov’s body and making all traces of the incident disappear.
Chapter Eighteen
I rested heavily against her, humbled by how weak I felt. I also felt disgusted that I hadn’t been more help to her. I turned my head and nuzzled her cheek. “I’m sorry this happened. I thought I’d handle him, but I must’ve half-assed it.”
She surprised me with a low laugh. “It’s okay. I told you we should do this together, and I guess we did.”
I shook my head, immediately regretting it as there was a throbbing pain in my skull. “No, you did it yourself.”
“With Arseny’s help, but you got them here—though that wasn’t your intention. The important thing is, he’s out of our life, and we handled him together.” She curled her fingers through mine and squeezed reassuringly.
I wanted to keep arguing, but was a little too addled to do so. My head was throbbing, and if that was Arseny’s idea of holding back, I was thankful he hadn’t given me the full brunt of the pistol against my head. He could’ve faked it a little more, I thought grumpily as the room spun, and I saw two of Carrie standing nearby.
“You have to go to the hospital.”
“No.” I soundly rejected Anya’s insistence, knowing there would be too many things to explain if I turned up at the hospital with this head injury. Arseny and his group were going to make it like Ivanov’s death never happened, and I didn’t want to do anything to risk the authorities realizing what had gone down. I doubted Anya would be in trouble if they investigated, but I wouldn’t put her through that just because I had a concussion. “I’ll be fine. I just need you.”
Her arm around my waist tightened, and she pressed her cheek against mine. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know you’re not. You’re going to marry me.” I slurred the words as the world grayed around me.
She stiffened. “Enough with that alpha bossiness. You can’t just order me to marry you.”
Somehow, I managed to chuckle. “I’m just telling you what’s going to happen. I’m going to marry you.”
“Not until you ask, mister. I’m not going to put up with your imperiousness all the time.”
“Fair enough.” I nuzzled against her neck. “I love you, Anya. Will you marry me?” And wouldn’t you know it? Before she could answer, I passed out.
Epilogue
Of course I married him. How could I not when I loved him too? However, I held out until he took me to a real restaurant, on a fancy date, and popped the question with a ridiculously ostentatious diamond ring before I gave him a proper acceptance. I had to do something to keep him in line, or he’d walk all over me.
He was impatient and used to getting what he wanted, so he’d been annoyed when I made him wait six whole months for the ceremony. It took that long to plan, plus I’d always wanted to be a winter bride.
We married the week before Christmas and spent the holidays and our honeymoon in Aspen. My sisters were along, but had their own rooms. We locked ourselves in the honeymoon suite for a good part of that vacation, only emerging on Christmas and once more on New Year’s Eve.
After that, we came back to New York City and all settled into our new life together. I was ridiculously happy then, and I was insanely happier now, three years later. It was New Year’s Eve, and we were getting close to midnight. Everyone around me had paired up with the person they wanted to share a midnight kiss with, and of course, I was cuddled in my husband’s arms.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Kelly wave at me. Foster had his arm around her, and his other hand over her burgeoning stomach. Her daughter was at home, but simply because it was an adult party, not because she was ill any longer. Her treatment had worked, but I wasn’t entirely clear on all the details. I didn’t know if she’d paid for it out of the money she earned on the island, or if Foster had helped her when he tracked her down a few months later after deciding he couldn’t live without her.
I turned my attention from them back to Spencer as he tried to steal a kiss. I averted my face, offering my cheek instead. “You’re a little too early there, Spencer.”
“I’m not too early. I figured I’d just get a head start on the kiss and keep it up until the New Year.”
Before I could answer, I caught sight of Sasha, who I hadn’t seen much of that night. I frowned when I recognized the man with whom she stood—far too close and clearly preparing to share a New Year’s kiss. “Is that Grigori?”
Spencer looked over, stiffening before cursing softly. “It certainly looks like it.”
I frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You want me to go over there and send him on his way?”
I hesitated for a moment, imagining our party ruined by a confrontation between my husband and the former mobster. If he had gone legit like he claimed, I guess it wasn’t that big of a deal. “No, Sasha is eighteen, and I have to trust her judgment.”
“You’ve done a fabulous job raising her, and I’m sure she’ll do the right thing.” He punctuated the complement with a kiss on my nose that I allowed. When he tried to lower his mouth to my lips though, I managed to slip away again.
“Not until midnight. Quit rushing me.” I winked as I said the words. Our relationship had been all about rushing. We rushed into everything, though a respectable six-month wait between our engagement and marriage had been an exception. So was the decision to hold off starting a family until I graduated from college and got a job. I’d just graduated two weeks before, but hadn’t yet found a job. Now, it would probably be a while before I was ready to look for one.
“I didn’t see Nash and Dai,” said Kelly as she and Foster moved closer to us.
I shrugged. “I’m not surprised. They’re still in the honeymoon phase. We probably won’t see them for at least a few months.” I laughed, though I remembered exactly how it was to be unable to tear myself away from my husband long enough to leave the house for more than a few minutes at a time.
There were days when it was still like that, so I could understand why Dai and Nash had chosen to skip the New Year’s party in favor of a private celebration at home. They’d only been married a few weeks, having eloped in Vegas after Nash found her again.
I didn’t know the whole story of that either, but knew I’d find out someday, when she was ready to share it. It must have taken quite a bit of convincing, but Nash had worn her down, and they appeared to be as happy with each other as I was with Spencer, and Kelly was with Foster.
Suddenly, the room started counting down from ten. I joined in, but paused when we they got to three. Leaning closer, I pressed my lips near Spencer’s ear and whispered, “Happy New Year, Daddy.”
He stiffened, and his eyes were big when I pulled away far enough to see them. He looked stunned. “Daddy?”
I nodded.
He still seemed disbelieving as the people around us reached one on the countdown. I pressed my lips to his for a deep kiss, and of course he responded even in his surprised state. It wasn’t until we broke apart a moment later that he spoke again.
“Are we having a baby? That’s way you called me Daddy?”
I laughed, delighted by the question. “It sure isn’t because I’m indulging in some kinky new game with you.” There were plenty of those, but I’d never felt the urge to call him Daddy and never would.
His arms tightened around me, and he kissed me again. “We’re having a baby.” He whispered the words to me before turning to the people attending our gathering. “We’re having a baby,” he shouted, his joy obvious. He put his hand on my still-flat stomach, cupping gently. I leaned against him and soaked in the moment of happiness that was one of millions I had already experienced with him, and just another of the many more ahead of us.
About Kit Kyndall
Kit Kyndall is the pen name USA Today bestselling author Kit Tunstall uses when writing contemporary steamy and erotic romances. It’s simply a way to separate the myriad types of stories she writes so readers know what to expect with each “author.”
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Kit Kyndall, The Island
