even celebrated receiving the title from the bank with a bottle of her favorite pink champagne. All the hours she had worked at different jobs through college and then later at his gym and doing side gigs as a party planner had gone into that car and her student loans—another thing she refused to let him pay off for her.
Why does this keep happening to her?
She had witnessed so much violence and pain since coming into his life. She had been protected from the worst of it the night his home had been invaded by men trying to find the drugs and money her sister had stolen, but he hadn’t been there to protect her the day she had been kidnapped. She had been forced to watch Artyom bleed out on their front steps while men dragged her into a delivery truck.
He could still remember the smell of the old dairy farm where she had been held hostage with Bianca. The memory of her finally safe in his arms was one that never left him. The fear and panic of being told she had been kidnapped always lurked in the back of his mind, often waking him up in the middle of the night.
How many nights had he bolted upright in a cold sweat, terrified he would reach for her and the bed would be empty? How many nights had he been compelled to walk the house, checking windows and doors and the security cameras? He had promised he would take care of her, love her, protect her—but he kept failing.
By the time he found a parking spot in the hospital parking garage, he had all but decided that he was hiring a driver for her. And a bodyguard. Maybe two.
He tamped down his panic as he entered the emergency room and strode toward the registration desk. The woman in front of him was just finishing up so he didn’t have to wait long for his turn.
“Can I help you?” the older woman behind the counter asked without even looking up from her computer screen
“My wife was brought here by ambulance.”
“Name?”
“Erin Markovic.”
“Her date of birth? Address?” She typed in the information he gave and then directed him to find a chair and wait.
He didn’t want to wait. He wanted to see Erin right fucking now, but he pushed aside the urge to demand he be taken to her. The last thing she needed was him making a scene so he took a seat across from the double door entrance to the emergency room.
Almost immediately, he noticed the strange looks and bold stares sent his way. He glanced down at his shorts and bare legs and grimaced. He tried to keep the evidence of his criminal past covered in public, but he had been in such a rush to get here it had been the last thing on his mind. There were only a few centimeters of skin from his toenails to his neck that weren’t tattooed, and everything was on display to anyone curious enough to look.
The double doors opened and nurse called, “Mr. Markovic?”
He stood quickly and joined her at the door. There was no mistaking the way her soft smile hardened as she took in his tattooed hands and legs. It didn’t bother him, but he hated knowing that Erin would be treated differently once people realized she was married to a criminal.
Former criminal, he silently corrected as he followed the nurse into the emergency room.
Wordlessly, the nurse tugged aside a curtain to reveal Erin sitting in a hospital bed looking impossibly small and vulnerable. She had one of his old hoodies draped across her legs, A small cut on her cheek had been closed with strips and another on her temple had been closed the same way, but the gash on her hairline had been sutured. There was dried blood on her chin and neck and under her nose. Her upper lip was swollen and the tiny straps of her workout top made it easy to see the angry red bruises on her upper arms and shoulders.
Rage burned through him. Some piece of shit had dared to put hands on her. He swore then that he would find that asshole and make him pay.
“Ivan!”
Her tears and the way she said his name were like a knife to the chest. Rushing toward her, he carefully cupped the back of her neck and kissed her forehead and then both cheeks. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.” He wrapped his arms