Bebe
“Griff,” I scream when the gun goes off. I see a bloom of dark wetness spreading across his black t-shirt, just under his collarbone, but he’s not thrown backward by the force of the bullet. In fact, he takes one more step before his leg wobbles and he goes down to one knee.
He hunches over, head hanging low, and I think he might just topple over. My heart slams painfully in my chest, and I have to blink my eyes hard to dispel the welling tears.
Bogachev remains still, his arm extended with the gun pointed at Griff.
Slowly, Griff raises his head. Even though his eyes are glazed with pain, his expression is one of determination. A lump forms in my throat as he pushes himself up… miraculously rising with just the power of his legs as his arms are still entwined with rope and wooden pieces of chair. He’s bleeding badly and wobbling, but his chin is lifted stubbornly as if daring Bogachev to finish him off.
“Anatoly,” I cry out, hoping to take the heat away from Griff.
Bogachev is no fool though. He keeps his gaze locked on Griff—who is still very much a threat—but his head tilts slightly my way to indicate he’s listening. The gun drops slightly.
“Please don’t do this,” I beg him. “Just leave Griff alone and take me. Do whatever you want to me, just…” My voice cracks, emotion clogging my throat. I can’t bear it if Griff dies. I don’t care what happens to me—I just need to save him.
“She’s begging me,” Bogachev says smugly, and a low growl emits from Griff. “It’s a beautiful sound, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you,” Griff snarls. “Fuck you straight to hell.”
I’m not prepared for his sudden move, but neither is Bogachev. Griff lunges at him, and he’s momentarily stunned into inaction. Another scream tears free from my throat, but it’s drowned out by the sound of the double doors bursting open. Sunlight temporarily blinds me. I hear gunshots—three to be exact—and I see Griff slamming into Bogachev where they both crash to the floor.
I turn fearfully to the door, expecting to see Karl there with a smoking gun. Instead, I’m stunned to see Kynan with a grim expression and a gun leveled at the mass of legs and limbs on the floor. Behind him, Cruce and Saint move into the room, sweeping their guns and gazes left and right to ensure there’s no hidden threats.
“Griff,” I cry helplessly. I whip my head toward Kynan. “Help him, please.”
Cruce moves to me, holstering his gun, then his hands go to the knots at my wrists. My gaze goes back to Griff, and a flare of hope pulses within me when he rolls off Bogachev with a loud groan. I scan his body, but I can’t see anything other than the dark blood spreading even further over his chest.
Kynan moves carefully toward them, his gun leveled at Bogachev, who lays utterly still on the floor. I can’t keep my eyes off Griff, though, who is now on his back and staring at the ceiling while seeming to gasp for breath.
Cruce removes the last piece of rope from me, releasing me from the chair, and I try to spring up to get to Griff. Cruce’s hands come to my shoulder, holding me in place. “Just wait a minute.”
I struggle against him, and he orders again, “Just give Kynan a moment.”
Kynan?
My gaze goes back to him as he inches carefully toward Bogachev, gun still aimed at him. I take a breath, focusing on the supine man. His eyes are closed, and I can’t see if his chest is rising and falling. I can see a bright red bloom of blood in the center of his chest, and it’s the first time I understand… at least one of those gunshots I heard had been reserved for Bogachev.
Kynan squats, puts his fingers to Bogachev’s neck, and holds still for a long moment. His gaze comes to me, and he gives a slight shake of his head.
That asshole is dead, and I can’t find it within myself to care.
Cruce’s hands go slack on my shoulders, and I bolt from the chair. I fall to my knees at his side, hands on his cheeks as I bend over him. “Griff… please, please, please don’t die.”
His eyes are dulled slightly, but he manages a smiling sort of grimace. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Ambulance is on the way,” I hear Saint say from near the door, but I don’t take my eyes off Griff.
Kynan moves in beside me, pulling Griff’s shirt up so he can survey the damage. There’s a single bullet hole just below his collarbone, mercifully high above where his heart lays.
“Are you hit anywhere else?” I ask, distinctly remembering I’d heard three gunshots.
Griff shakes his head and then coughs, a slightly gurgling sound that alarms me. “I’m pretty sure you’ll find three bullet holes in Bogachev.”
I’m immediately relieved he has that presence of mind. That he counted the same gunshots I did—and knowing Bogachev is dead on the floor beside him and he only has one wound—and that the others hit their mark.
Griff’s gaze moves from me to Kynan. “Thanks, man.”
Kynan doesn’t respond. Instead, he casts a worried glance over at Cruce.
“What?” I ask Kynan, my fear already compounded by what just went down and the fact the man I love has a bullet in his chest.
Kynan doesn’t respond. He takes my hands from Griff’s face, then places them over the bullet hole in his chest that’s leaking blood. “Keep pressure on him. Ambulance will be here soon.”
Without looking, Kynan pushes to his feet and moves over to where Cruce and Saint wait by the door. I gaze at Griff, who seems to understand the current of unspoken emotion swirling around everyone.
“What’s going on?” I whisper.
“Kynan just killed a man,” he replies, his voice surprisingly strong given his injury.
“Good,” I reply shrilly. “Because he was getting ready to kill you.”
Griff’s smile is wan. His hand comes up to cover mine where it’s pressed onto his wound. “He has no authority here. No jurisdiction. He’s a civilian—”
I lean in closer, putting my face near his. “I don’t care. Bogachev was getting ready to kill you. Kynan was defending you and protecting me. Surely they’ll see—”
“Ambulance is here,” Saint says, cutting over me. The sound of the siren gets closer and closer.
I give a confident smile to Griff. “No more talking. Let’s just get you taken care of. We’ll worry about Kynan later, okay?”
He coughs again, grimaces, and nods.
There’s a flurry of activity. Paramedics come in first with a gurney and bags of gear. They dress the wound and start an IV while one of the paramedics gets on the phone with an emergency room doctor to apprise them of the situation. He tells me they’ll take him straight into surgery.
As they’re loading Griff into the ambulance, I see Kynan, Cruce, and Saint each talking to three separate police officers. Their expressions are grim, and I have a moment of fear shoot through me.
Is Kynan going to be in trouble over this?
I told Griff I didn’t care that he shot and killed Bogachev, but now that Griff is on his way to get medical help, I know I really didn’t mean to be dismissive of Kynan’s plight.
Spinning from the gurney, I trot over to Kynan and the cop he’s talking to. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but can I speak to Kynan for a moment?”
I don’t give the police officer time to argue with me, simply pull Kynan away by the arm. We step several feet to the side before I ask, “How much trouble are you in?”
His smile is confident and reassuring. I don’t trust it a bit. “Don’t worry about me. Just head to the hospital to be with Griff, and we’ll meet you there when we finish up. I’m sure a police officer will come there to get your statement too.”
“Will you really?” I ask, feeling like I’m going to hurl. “Or are you going to be arrested?”
“I’m not going to get arrested,” he promises me.
I don’t believe him. “Promise on Joslyn’s life.”
Kynan’s face clouds over. “That I’ll never do. But you don’t need to worry, Bebe.”
“Ma’am,” one of the paramedics calls. When I look over to him, I see Griff has been loaded into the ambulance. “We need to go.”
“Get going,” Kynan says, his hand coming to my shoulder and squeezing.
I hesitate just a moment, but then nod. “Okay. See you at the hospital.”
♦
The glass door to Griff’s hospital room slides open with a soft hiss, and Kynan walks in. I immediately rise from the reclining chair a nurse had brought in a few hours ago.
“How’s he doing?” Kynan murmurs, nodding toward Griff.
I move over to him, leaning in to speak softly so as not to wake Griff. “Good. Surgery was pretty easy. The bullet went through and didn’t damage much of anything. They said he’ll probably be released tomorrow. He’s been sleeping the anesthesia off.”
“Good,” Kynan replies with relief. “That’s really good.”
“What about you?” I whisper urgently. “An FBI agent came and talked to me while Griff was in surgery, but he wouldn’t tell me anything.”
Well, that’s not exactly true. He told me Ken Battersham was severely injured in the bombing Bogachev set into motion. He’s in critical condition in the ICU, and Griff is going to be devastated when I finally tell him.
“It’s all good,” Kynan says, and I dare to hope.
“I need more than that,” I demand.
“They aren’t going to press any charges against me,” he says, and my knees go weak with relief. I put a hand on the wall for support. “The FBI intervened with the prosecuting attorney’s office, and they also put some pressure on the police because someone inside the precinct leaked the information to Bogachev in the first place. But bottom line… I was acting in defense of you and Griff. They get it.”
Letting out a sigh that completely deflates my lungs, I feel my eyes fill with unwanted tears. I try to blink them away, but they keep coming, spilling over the edge and streaming down my cheeks as I realize it’s all over.
I try to hold it in, which is a bad idea because I end up releasing a horrible, racking sob that has my head whipping toward Griff to see if it woke him. He slumbers on, but I’m immediately pulled into Kynan’s arms.
The minute I’m wrapped in his secure, strong embrace, I let loose. Burying my face into his chest, I let the tears flow and I don’t hold back in the slightest.
“Shh.” His hand rubs the middle of my back. “It’s all over, Bebe.”
I cry even harder, muffling my sobs into his strong chest.
“Shh, shh, shh,” he urges, hands going to the side of my head to push me back from his chest a bit so he can look down at me. He’s blurry from the cascade of tears flowing, but I blink them back. “Hey… it’s over, Bebe.”
I nod furiously, blinking away more tears. “It’s over.”
“Then why the tears?” he asks gently.
Why indeed?
It’s monumental, really. “Because I’m finally free. Free of my past and the terror Bogachev always held over me. Free of my mistakes and the losses they produced. I’m just free… and it’s overwhelming.”
Smiling, Kynan nods in understanding. He glances at Griff. “That guy there is part of your newfound freedom.”
I look over my shoulder at the hospital bed where my man sleeps peacefully, thanks to the pain medications. My lips curve upward, even as a few more tears slip free.
Yeah, I’m finally free… and Griff is part of the future now spread wide before me.