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)
“He wants to know how you hurt your ankle,” Nikolai says. “I’m going to tell him you twisted it when you fell on the branch.”
“Makes sense.”
While he speaks to the boy, I glance up at Alina and give her a bigger smile. She’s probably worried that I’m mad at her, but I’m not. I’m grateful, in fact. I don’t know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t run, but I’m guessing that, at best, it would’ve delayed the clusterfuck I now find myself in. The assassins would’ve located me eventually, and either then or at some point later, I would’ve learned what Nikolai is capable of. By then, though, I might’ve been several weeks or months into an intense relationship with him, and it would’ve been that much more devastating to have my illusions shattered.
Or maybe, just maybe, he would’ve succeeded at keeping me in the dark, and I would’ve never found out that he kills and tortures as easily as other men cut grass. I would’ve slept in his arms and taken him into my body all the while convincing myself that my instincts are wrong, that the thread of darkness I’ve sensed in him is nothing more than my overactive imagination.
Ugh. Maybe I should be upset with Alina. That kind of ignorance does sound like bliss.
Visibly relieved, Alina returns my smile, and I push aside silly notions about how nice it would’ve been never to face the truth about Nikolai—or about Bransford and all the rest of it. If I were to indulge in that kind of thinking, I might as well wish for my mom to be alive, or better yet, for her to have never encountered my biological father in the first place.
I wouldn’t exist in the latter case, but it would be worth it to have her alive and happy in a life that hadn’t been derailed when she was a teen.
Realizing I’m again spiraling into useless what-ifs, I look up at Nikolai and say brightly, “How about Slava and Alina stay with me for a while? I don’t want to monopolize your time. I’m sure you have work to do, and I can teach Slava from my bed as well as from anywhere.”
Nikolai’s face tightens at my clear hint that I want him gone, but he rises to his feet and says calmly, “All right. I’ll see you in a bit. Don’t forget to eat, okay?”
“On it.” I grab the fork and bring the eggs to my mouth with exaggerated clumsiness. My goal is to make Slava giggle, and I succeed.
By the time I look over, Nikolai is gone.
Alina’s face is somber as she sits on the edge of the bed, taking Nikolai’s spot. “How are you feeling?” she asks quietly as Slava runs over to the window, apparently curious about the view from my room.
“I’m good. Already on the mend.” I stuff a big forkful of eggs into my mouth to showcase how quickly I’m healing. I’m not lying, either. My arm still hurts, but with the painkiller I swallowed upon waking, it’s manageable, and I’m able to put some pressure on the ankle without it protesting too much.
Alina smiles hesitantly. “That’s good.” She takes an audible breath. “Listen, Chloe… I was in bad shape yesterday morning. Really bad shape. I might’ve said things that didn’t make sense. Things that weren’t… necessarily true.”
I put down my fork, my appetite having vanished without a trace. I understand what she’s trying to do, and I hate it. “You don’t have to lie. He’s admitted it. And I saw what he did to the men who attacked me.”
A myriad of expressions flashes across Alina’s face before it turns carefully neutral. “I see. And you’re… okay?”
Okay? Does not jumping out of the window or running out the door screaming constitute okay? If so, I’m totally fine, or at least as fine as you can be after discovering that your biological father is a rapist and a murderer who’s trying to kill you, and that you’re being held captive by a man who might be even more ruthless than said father.
“I’m handling it,” I say, and to my surprise, it’s not a total lie. Maybe it’s the month of living on the run, or the horror of finding Mom’s body and hiding from her killers in the coat closet, but I’m not freaking out nearly as much as I would’ve expected. About any of it—but especially the fact that I’m Nikolai’s prisoner. It’s as if my mind has erected a wall between the present and the recent past, between what I’m experiencing and what I know.
Right now, I’m cozy and well fed, my safety ensured by the same security measures that would prevent me from leaving if I tried. And it’s possible to focus on just that first aspect of it. Just as it’s possible to forget Nikolai’s true nature when he’s being so caring and tender… when my blood turns to warm molasses at his touch.