Читать книгу Temporary Nanny - Carrie Weaver - Страница 8

Russia

IT WAS A WELDER’S worst nightmare: the odor of gas.

Royce started diving for cover a split second before the force of the explosion knocked him flat.

That’s when things began moving in slow motion. Debris rained down on him in waves distorted by the lens of his welding helmet. He grunted as jagged metal tore his flesh. The sound of his coworkers’ shouts was muffled by the ringing in his ears.

Dimitri ran to his side and yelled something in Russian.

Hang on. Or the Russian equivalent.

Royce tried to respond, but merely groaned.

Dimitri grasped his right hand, telling him it was going to be okay. But on some level, Royce understood it would never be okay again.

He tried to grasp Dimitri’s shoulder, but his fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Blinking blood from his eyes, Royce focused. Mangled tissue hung from the wrist where his left hand had once been.

A blessed numbness chased away the pain, but chills racked his body. Then darkness descended.

But not before the irony struck him.

Damn.

His ex-wife had been right. He would die chasing an elusive dream.