Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“I’d like to do more than handle him. It takes a big man to threaten women.” I’m not just talking about the usual rage we all feel at the prospect of a man threatening a woman, generally speaking. There’s nothing general about this. It’s all about Mila. “To scare them,” I go on. “He wasn’t so big when I got through with him.”
Blood flashes across my mind, phantom screaming in my ears. I’ve never been a sadist, never taken pleasure in giving pain, but he deserved it and much worse.
“Will he live?” Dimitri asks.
“Unfortunately.”
I grab the basketball and shoot another hoop. This one swishes, too. Dimitri wanders over to the ball, returns to me, and shoots. He laughs savagely when it bounces off the rim.
“We’ve all got our strengths,” I tell him.
He sighs, nodding. “Your strength is making games, brother—being happy, being normal.”
I look at him in disbelief. “Dimitri, we were never going to be normal. That was off the table a long, long time ago.
“I know you’re right,” he says, “but sometimes, it’s like I can forget you’ve been part of this life, too. I can forget you’ve had to do the same shit. Take lives. Hurt people. I forget about all the darkness. I just see you, Mikhail, with that dorky grin, typing away, lost in your work.”
I clap Dimitri on the arm when his voice gets emotional. “You good?”
He grimaces, then nods. “Too damn tired. It’s making me weak.”
“You’re not weak for being human,” I tell him.
He laughs again. “Now you’re getting all emotional on me.”
“I’m not the one who thinks emotions are bad,” I tell him. “You don’t always have to be cold, Dimitri. Go on. Go be with your woman.”
“My woman?” Dimitri says, shaking his head.
That’s it—no denial, no confirmation. It’s not as if he has to come outright and say it as he walks toward the second house, hands in his pockets. I watch him go, then shoot another hoop.
After, I return to the house. Mila is still asleep, lying on her side, facing the door. Her hair has fallen across her face, making her look vulnerable, like she’s trying to hide. I’m about to leave when her eyes open slowly, but she doesn’t move. She seems half asleep.
“Mikhail?” she murmurs, as though she thinks this is a dream.
“I’m here.” I walk over to the bed, kneeling beside her and taking her hand. She’s sweaty to the touch.
“I had a nightmare,” she whispers. “Dad broke in. He took me. He took me away from you.”
I climb into bed next to her, pulling her into my arms. She lays her cheek against my chest. “Why is your heart beating so fast?” she whispers.
“I had to do something bad,” I tell her, “to the man who hurt you. To the man who would’ve killed you if he wasn’t so scared of your father.”
“It’s okay,” she whispers.
I kiss her forehead, ignoring the part of me that, even now, wants to claim her. I push that part deep down, ignoring the hunger for now.
“I want to take you somewhere,” I tell her.
She seems more awake as she sits up, looking down at me. We’re both wired, I can tell, in that tired-but-alert sort of way. “Where?”
“Somewhere we can pretend none of this exists.”
She sighs. “What about Drake? I want to ask …”
“Go on,” I urge, sitting up too.
“… Lia,” she murmurs, “to ask Dimitri if he’ll get Drake back. Do you think Lia can persuade him?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it,” I tell her, “but you can try. This is a tricky situation. One wrong move, and everything falls to pieces. Right now, your father has no way of knowing what’s happened here. Yevgeny—Kirill, I mean—is the only man loyal to your dad.”
“Are you sure?” Mila asks.
“Certain.”
“How?”
“It’s not something you need to hear,” I tell her.
She places her hand on my chest, giving me a fierce look. “All my life, that’s what I’ve heard. I don’t need to know about that side of things, but I’m not some princess. I know I’m not the strongest person. I accept that.” She sits up with even more dignity, looking fierce and capable and so beautiful I know I’ll never be able to be with anybody else. “If we’re going to …”
She trails off, but I can finish it: be together for the rest of our lives.
“I deserve to know.”
“I tortured him,” I say, holding her gaze, “but I didn’t go too far. I didn’t push him to where he’d say anything just to make me stop.” I keep staring at her, watching for any sign of fear, distaste, or resentment. I’m searching for a look like the one she gave me when she saw me carrying Ania into the house.
That was only a few hours ago, but since the meal last night, the work binge, then the near kidnapping, and the torture, time feels stretched and meaningless.