63

Kirill steps forward, and I lower myself so that my face is level with Konstantin’s. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anything.” I grab a box of tissues from the coffee table and wipe at the blood on his temple. I can sense Kirill’s stare—or more like glare—but I ignore it and focus on Konstantin instead. He curses under his breath with each of my ministrations, and his breathing turns shallower. He definitely has a fever, too. “They really did a number on you,” I say with enough nonchalance to sound concerned, but not like I’m pitying him. “Wait until I get my hands on those motherfuckers.” He coughs and wheezes. “I’ll drill their brains with holes, I swear to fuck—” “Isn’t it too late after they already got you?” “What the fuck do you know, asshole? Were you there?” “No, but if I had been there, none of this would’ve happened to you.” “You think you’re all that?” “No, but I’m probably better than your useless guards who allowed this to happen.” He purses his lips. “They were sho