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Authors: Bella Rose
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“She’ll wake up when her body replenishes what it needs. And she’ll be tired and thirsty.”
“Boss, we have to get out of here.” Ivan touched Grigori’s arm. “Teller and his men are sweeping the area. I see one of them headed this way now.”
Grigori noticed a narrow alley between the buildings that seemed to lead out toward the parking garage. “Let’s head that way now. We’ll pick up Anson and go home to regroup.”
Chapter Nine
Flynn blinked experimentally, trying to decide why she was lying on her back in bed. She never slept on her back. It was uncomfortable. But when she attempted to roll to her right side, an agonizing pain shot through her shoulder all the way to her fingertips. The haze of pain left her tingling all over.
“Grigori?” she called out, knowing exactly where she was now but not remembering how she’d gotten there.
He appeared in the doorway. “I’m right here.”
She gazed at his disheveled good looks and briefly had the thought that there really had to be some crazy explanation for why she was so attracted to a man she should theoretically hate. Then she noticed how worried he looked.
There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his arms were crossed tensely over his chest. His jeans were spattered with something that looked disturbingly like gore, and he had changed from the blue shirt he had been wearing earlier to a simple black T-shirt. He walked into the bedroom and sat down beside her.
He pursed his lips and appeared to give her a thorough onceover from her head to her toes. “How are you feeling?”
“Good, I guess.” Then she tried to sit up and had to reevaluate that statement. “Sore, actually. And my head aches. What happened?”
Something in his expression tipped her off that she was not going to like the answer. Her gut churned. She remembered meeting with her father. Teller had made some threats. Then Anson had been yelling at them and they were running. Her mind just sort of went blank after that.
“Someone tried to kill you, Flynn,” Grigori said quietly. “I think it was your father, but I can’t be certain as to why he would make a move like that.”
A tight feeling of mingled horror and sorrow lodged itself in her gut. Her father had attempted to kill her? She put her face in her hands to hide her shame.
“Someone shot you from a rooftop. Do you remember?”
“Not much, but that explains why my shoulder hurts like hell.” Then she lowered her hands and twisted her head, trying to see her injury.
“You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Did I go to a hospital? Who took care of this?” She racked her brain, trying to remember.
“There was a medical student hiding around the corner of a building with us. He dressed it. Then when we got home I had Ivan redo it with something other than socks.”
“Wait. Did you just say socks?” Her brain couldn’t even process that nonsense. “My shoulder was packed with socks?”
“We used what we had.” He shrugged it off, so she did the same.
“Am I going to be okay?” It felt stupid to ask that, but she really didn’t know anything about gunshot wounds.
“That depends on whether or not your father is going to make another attempt on your life. Flynn, why would he do that?” Grigori gently stroked her hair. The touch was so very soothing. She didn’t want him to stop.
“He wants the money. My father is a US district attorney, but he has political aspirations far beyond that. He wants to run for a Senate seat, and that takes money.”
“I thought politicians sold themselves to their constituency in order to get campaign funds.” He seemed amused by this concept.
“Sort of. You have to have enough money to start a campaign.” She thought about all of the fights and the pressure over the last few years. “Sort of like that old saying that you have to spend money to make money, you know?”
“So he wants your inheritance to fund his campaign?” He seemed to be
“Boss, we have to get out of here.” Ivan touched Grigori’s arm. “Teller and his men are sweeping the area. I see one of them headed this way now.”
Grigori noticed a narrow alley between the buildings that seemed to lead out toward the parking garage. “Let’s head that way now. We’ll pick up Anson and go home to regroup.”
Chapter Nine
Flynn blinked experimentally, trying to decide why she was lying on her back in bed. She never slept on her back. It was uncomfortable. But when she attempted to roll to her right side, an agonizing pain shot through her shoulder all the way to her fingertips. The haze of pain left her tingling all over.
“Grigori?” she called out, knowing exactly where she was now but not remembering how she’d gotten there.
He appeared in the doorway. “I’m right here.”
She gazed at his disheveled good looks and briefly had the thought that there really had to be some crazy explanation for why she was so attracted to a man she should theoretically hate. Then she noticed how worried he looked.
There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his arms were crossed tensely over his chest. His jeans were spattered with something that looked disturbingly like gore, and he had changed from the blue shirt he had been wearing earlier to a simple black T-shirt. He walked into the bedroom and sat down beside her.
He pursed his lips and appeared to give her a thorough onceover from her head to her toes. “How are you feeling?”
“Good, I guess.” Then she tried to sit up and had to reevaluate that statement. “Sore, actually. And my head aches. What happened?”
Something in his expression tipped her off that she was not going to like the answer. Her gut churned. She remembered meeting with her father. Teller had made some threats. Then Anson had been yelling at them and they were running. Her mind just sort of went blank after that.
“Someone tried to kill you, Flynn,” Grigori said quietly. “I think it was your father, but I can’t be certain as to why he would make a move like that.”
A tight feeling of mingled horror and sorrow lodged itself in her gut. Her father had attempted to kill her? She put her face in her hands to hide her shame.
“Someone shot you from a rooftop. Do you remember?”
“Not much, but that explains why my shoulder hurts like hell.” Then she lowered her hands and twisted her head, trying to see her injury.
“You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Did I go to a hospital? Who took care of this?” She racked her brain, trying to remember.
“There was a medical student hiding around the corner of a building with us. He dressed it. Then when we got home I had Ivan redo it with something other than socks.”
“Wait. Did you just say socks?” Her brain couldn’t even process that nonsense. “My shoulder was packed with socks?”
“We used what we had.” He shrugged it off, so she did the same.
“Am I going to be okay?” It felt stupid to ask that, but she really didn’t know anything about gunshot wounds.
“That depends on whether or not your father is going to make another attempt on your life. Flynn, why would he do that?” Grigori gently stroked her hair. The touch was so very soothing. She didn’t want him to stop.
“He wants the money. My father is a US district attorney, but he has political aspirations far beyond that. He wants to run for a Senate seat, and that takes money.”
“I thought politicians sold themselves to their constituency in order to get campaign funds.” He seemed amused by this concept.
“Sort of. You have to have enough money to start a campaign.” She thought about all of the fights and the pressure over the last few years. “Sort of like that old saying that you have to spend money to make money, you know?”
“So he wants your inheritance to fund his campaign?” He seemed to be
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