Page 112 of Secret Heir

Guards are everywhere. They’re shouting into radios and running toward the fire with extinguishers, trying to contain the blaze before it spreads to the house.

And I can’t see Maksim.

“Maksim!” I scream. “Maksim!”

No answer. Just fire and smoke so thick I can barely breathe.

Terror like I’ve never known floods through me. He was going to that car. He was supposed to be in that car. He should have been⁠—

Then I see him.

He’s near the garage entrance, on the ground. He’s covered in blood and debris, but he’s moving.

He’s alive.

“Daniel, stay here!” I shove him toward one of the guards. “Don’t move!”

Then I’m running to where Maksim is trying to push himself up on shaking arms.

“Maksim!” I fall to my knees beside him, my hands hovering over him. I’m afraid to touch him, worried I’ll hurt him worse. “Oh God, Maksim⁠—”

“Aria.” His voice is rough and strained. “Daniel? Where’s⁠—”

“He’s safe.” My hands find his face, and they come away bloody. My heart sinks. There’s so much blood. “What hurts?” I ask, trying to keep the rising panic at bay. “Where are you hurt?”

“I’m—” He tries to sit up and gasps, his face going white. “Ribs. I think they’re broken.”

I can see the injuries now. There are shrapnel wounds across his back and side, shredding his suit jacket. Blood mats his hair from a head wound and his face is cut in a dozen places from flying glass.

But he’s breathing, which means he’s alive.

“Don’t move.” I strip off my light weight cardigan and press it against the worst of the bleeding on his side. “Just stay still. Help is coming.”

“Len.” Maksim’s voice breaks. “Len was in the car. He⁠—”

I look at the burning wreckage and understand, my heart sinking. The driver was in the car when it exploded.

The car Maksim should have been in.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say. “I’m so sorry.”

“The bird shit.” Maksim laughs, and it turns into a cough that makes him groan. “Fucking bird shit saved my life.”

Does he have a concussion? Is he losing it? My hands still as I stare at him. “What?”

“My mother’s superstition. Bird droppings on the windshield.” He’s going into shock, I realize. He’s talking too fast, his eyes unfocused. “She made me promise. Never ignore the signs. I thought it was nonsense but I couldn’t—I couldn’t get in the car⁠—”

“Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” I keep pressure on the wound, my other hand cupping his face. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Mama!”

I turn to see Daniel running toward us, tears streaming down his face, one of the guards chasing after him.

“No!” I cry out, holding my arm out to block our son from seeing Maksim. “Daniel, stay back⁠—”

But he’s already there, dropping to his knees beside Maksim, his hands reaching for his father.

“Maks!” He sobs. “Maks, don’t die! Please don’t die!”