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)
Wow. Could he be any more considerate? If I hadn’t seen him kill and torture with my own eyes, I would’ve never believed him capable of such cruelty—even with that dark, dangerous vibe I kept getting from him.
“Thank you,” I murmur, trying not to think of his hands wielding a blade that sliced open a man as he extends the tray toward me, letting me pick what I want. There’s everything from cut-up fruit to stuffed blintzes to cold cuts and various cheeses, but I am still nauseated, especially with the gruesome images refusing to leave my mind, so I just grab the plain toast and a handful of grapes.
He watches me eat with an approving half-smile, and I try not to think about how warm that smile makes me feel—and not just in a sexual way. It’s an illusion, this feeling of safety and comfort he gives me, a leftover from when I thought he was a good man who just had trouble connecting with his young son.
I was beginning to fall for that man.
No. I’m lying to myself. I did fall for him, so much so that even with Alina’s terrifying revelations ringing in my ears, I had turned my car around and was heading back here when the assassins ambushed me.
His own sister told me he was a monster, and I didn’t believe her. I didn’t want to believe her.
I still don’t.
“Where’s Slava? How is he?” I ask, choosing the most innocuous topic I can think of. There are so many things we need to discuss, from Bransford’s motivations to whether or not I’m a prisoner here, but I’m not ready to go there yet.
That last question, in particular, is too disturbing to contemplate at the moment.
“He’s just returned from a walk with Lyudmila,” Nikolai replies. “Alina had her take him away before our arrival.”
“Ah, good.” I was worried the child might’ve seen us from his window. “What will you tell him about… you know?” I wave at my sling with my left hand.
“We’ll just say you fell on a branch.” His jaw tightens. “I’d rather he didn’t know you left him.”
“I didn’t—” I stop, because I did. I was coming back, but Nikolai doesn’t know that. Nor am I planning to tell him.
I don’t want him to know how easily he’d fooled me, how even now, a part of me refuses to believe that he’s a killer as ruthless as the men who’d murdered my mom.
His tiger eyes narrow with speculative interest. “You didn’t what?”
“Nothing.” The word comes out unconvincingly fast. I scramble to cover it up. “I just meant, I didn’t leave him.”
It’s as if a thundercloud passes over Nikolai’s face, blocking out all light and warmth. His gaze turns shuttered, his magnificent features taking on a statue-like hardness. “Right. You left me. Because of what Alina told you.”
I swallow hard. I’m not sure I’m ready to go there either, but it looks like I have no choice. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my arm, I push up to a more upright position. “Did she lie?” My voice wavers slightly. “Did she make it all up?”
He stares at me, the silence stretching into painfully long seconds. “No,” he finally says. “She didn’t.”
Something inside me withers. Up until this moment, I’d still held out hope that his sister was wrong, that despite what I saw him do to the two assassins, he’s not guilty of the horrific crime of patricide. But there’s no room for doubt now.
By his own admission, the man in front of me killed his father.
“What happened? Why—” My voice cracks. “Why did you do it?”
He doesn’t respond for another long, nerve-racking moment. His face is that of a stranger, dark and closed-off. “Because he deserved it.” His words fall like a hammer, heavy and brutal. “Because he was a Molotov. Like me.”
I dampen my dry lips. “I don’t understand.” My heart pounds against my ribcage, each beat echoing in my ears. A part of me wants to shut this down and run away screaming, while another, infinitely more foolish part longs to curve my palm over the harsh, uncompromising line of his jaw, offering comfort with my touch.
Because hidden underneath that hard, emotionless façade is pain.
There has to be.
He opens his mouth to reply when someone knocks on the door. The sound is quiet, tentative, but it kills the moment as surely as a gunshot.
Springing to his feet, Nikolai strides over to the door to open it.
“Konstantin is on the phone,” Alina says from the doorway. “His team has found something.”
4
Chloe
My stomach is in knots by the time Nikolai returns, the toast I’ve eaten sitting inside like a rock. I know Konstantin is his older brother, the tech genius of the family, and I strongly suspect that the “something” his team has found relates to my situation.