Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I glance at him in surprise. “Chloe? I already have.” As much as it upsets me that she ran, I understand why she did it. What my sister told her would’ve frightened anyone, not just a vulnerable young woman who’d already seen the worst of humanity.
“No. Alina.” Pavel shoots me a sidelong look. “She’s upset. Lyudmila caught her crying.”
Fuck. I should’ve known he’d take my sister’s side in this. “She should be upset. She fucked up, big time.” My words come out harsher than I intended. I’ve been trying not to dwell on Alina’s role in all of this, but the fact of the matter is, Chloe almost died.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive Alina for that.
“She knows she fucked up,” Pavel says evenly. “But she’s still your sister.”
“And blood is thicker than water, right?”
He ignores my sarcasm. “It’s not good for her, to be so upset. The headaches—”
“I know all about her fucking headaches.” I take a steadying breath. “Look, I’m not sending her away or punishing her in any way. We’ll still do her birthday celebration Friday, as planned. But you can’t expect me to just forgive and forget. High or not, Alina knew what she was doing when she opened her big mouth and handed Chloe those car keys.”
“But she didn’t know.” Pavel’s expression is grim as he steps in front of me, blocking my way. “You hadn’t told her Chloe was in mortal danger. And don’t forget why she was high last night.”
My molars grind together. “Get out of my fucking way. Now.” He might be my friend and mentor, but if I had my knife to his throat right now, I wouldn’t care—not with the dark memories surfacing in my mind, filling my stomach with a toxic brew of rage, horror, grief, and guilt.
Alina’s need for medication is my fault, I know.
However big her fuckup, it can’t hold a candle to mine.
Pavel must realize he’s gone too far, because he wisely steps out of my way and drops the topic. We cover the remaining distance to the house in tense silence, all the benefits of our sparring undone by this short exchange.
There’s no way I’m falling asleep now.
Not when I can once again feel my blade sinking into my father’s stomach and see the monster that is me in his dying eyes.
8
Chloe
I’m about to consume the forkful of scrambled eggs Nikolai is holding to my mouth when I hear voices in the hallway, followed by a knock on the door. My gaze jumps to Nikolai’s face, and my cheeks flame at the amused gleam in his eyes.
We both know I’m not incapacitated enough for him to be spoon-feeding me; it’s just a peculiar, slightly kinky dynamic we’ve fallen into. I didn’t even try to eat with my left hand this morning when he brought me breakfast—he just started feeding me and I let him.
Even his four-year-old eats without help, yet here I am, with one arm completely functional, acting as if I can’t hold a fork on my own.
My embarrassment deepening, I snatch the fork from Nikolai and set it down on the tray sitting on the nightstand. “Come in!”
I was expecting Pavel or Lyudmila, but it’s Alina who steps into my room, Slava’s tiny hand clasped in hers.
The child’s eyes brighten when he sees me. “Chloe!” Letting go of Alina, he dashes toward me, babbling excitedly in Russian.
“He’s been worried about you,” Nikolai translates, smiling wryly as Slava jumps onto my bed with the boundless energy of a puppy. “Even though I told him you won’t die like his mother, he feared you might, so he’s been asking to see you ever since he woke up this morning. Which was forever ago because—and I quote—you slept so, so late.”
“Oh, no, darling, I’m totally fine.” I pat his back with my left hand as he wraps his arms around me in as fierce a hug as his childish strength allows. “It’s just my arm that’s hurt, see?” I show him the sling when he pulls back.
He frowns and rattles out a question.
“He’s asking why you’re in bed if it’s just your arm,” Alina says, and I look up to find her standing next to the nightstand. Her strikingly beautiful face is again fully made up, her slender figure clad in a sleeveless yellow dress that looks like it came off the runway. No trace remains of the tormented, broken woman who’d confronted me yesterday morning with terrifying warnings about the man sitting at my side.
I give her a cautious smile before shifting my attention back to Slava. “It’s because my ankle hurts a little too,” I tell him, and Nikolai translates my words. I notice he’s avoiding looking at Alina; he hasn’t acknowledged her presence at all, in fact.
Slava peers at my blanket-covered feet and asks another question.