Chapter Eight
Faith
" I have to ask you something," Octavio says, staring at me from across the kitchen table. He props his elbows on the table, steepling his hands together. Even with the wary look on his face, he's so handsome. His sharp jawline and full lips draw my attention. I don't know how it's possible for someone to look both powerfully fierce and gentle at the same time, but he does.
"What?" I ask, pushing my plate away. I've eaten more in the last two days than I think I've eaten in the entire last year. Every time I turn around, he's bringing me food. He doesn't say anything about it either. He just hands me a candy bar or an apple or an order of fries, and then goes about his business, leaving me in privacy to decide if I want it or not. I always take at least a few bites. I can't help it.
Trying to keep my defenses in place when he's so sweet to me is hard. I feel safe for the first time in my life. When he touches me, I don't feel afraid or nervous. And he's always touching me. It's never anything major—the brush of his hand against mine, him tucking my hair behind my ear, or even running the back of his hand down my cheek—but I think I'm becoming addicted to the way those brief moments of contact make me feel. My stomach flutters and my heart races every time. It's not nerves though. It's something else…something dangerously addictive.
I've slept in his bed since he picked me up and carried me in there three nights ago. With him beside me, I sleep soundly. I haven't had a single nightmare. Even before the shooting, that was a rarity.
I genuinely like him. So much that I've thought about telling him the truth about why Nikolai wants me back so badly. But every time I open my mouth to do it, the words won't come. They stick in my throat, refusing to form. I don't want him to think I'm a terrible person. What if I tell him the truth and he changes his mind about protecting me?
"It's about Tarasova."
"Okay." I lace my hands together in my lap and wait, my stomach churning uncomfortably. He hasn't asked me much about Nikolai. I'm not sure why. He said he wants me to help him bring Nikolai down, but he never brings him up or asks about him unless it's in relation to something I've unwittingly revealed about how he treated me.
"I need to know names, angel," he says with a grimace that makes me wonder if he wants to have this conversation at all. "Aside from Tarasova, who else is in a command position? Who does Tarasova trust? Who is in charge of operations?"
"Ivan Sedov, Maksim Semenova, and Victor Milonov are his lieutenants," I murmur. "Nikolai doesn't really trust anyone completely, so he divides up responsibilities between the three. He makes sure they don't share a whole lot of information with one another. I guess he thinks if no one knows everything except for him, no one can plot to replace him." It seems to work. He rules with an iron fist and carefully orchestrated shows of kindness, ensuring no one dares try to usurp his authority.
"What do you know about them?" Octavio asks and then frowns at me, standing up suddenly. "Hold that thought." He circles around the table to me and holds out a hand, pulling me to my feet.
I follow along beside him into the living room, trying not to think about the fact that he hasn't let go of my hand. Or about the fact that having his hand wrapped around mine feels way better than it probably should.
He draws to a stop in front of the sofa.
"Sit," he orders me.
I peek up at him in question but ease myself down onto the edge of the couch.
He cocks his head to the side and looks at me for a moment before he grunts like he's satisfied. He sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his body, but not so close that I feel crowded.
"You have enough bad memories associated with food because of those bastardos ," he mutters when I look at him in question. "Didn't want to have this conversation where you eat."
My mouth gapes open as something warm shoots through me, completely melting me from the inside out. I've never met anyone like him before. He's…I'm not sure what he is, honestly. He's still a mystery to me. He's intense and commanding, but he's also incredibly sweet and thoughtful. He goes out of his way to make sure I'm comfortable. How am I supposed to resist him when he's like this?
Do I even want to resist him?
I'm not sure.
"Now tell me," he says, propping an arm on the back of the couch and turning his body to face me.
"Ivan is a bully. He's violent and cruel, with a nasty temper. He's abusive to his girlfriends and sleeps around all the time. The women aren't always willing. He's dangerous, like a rabid dog." I shiver, remembering the way he always looked at me like he was defiling me in his mind. "When Nikolai needs to make an example of someone, he sends Ivan."
"What about Semenova?" Octavio asks, reaching out to brush my hair away from my face before dropping his hand back to his lap. "What do you know about him?"
"Maksim moved up the ranks fast. He's smart, but he uses it the wrong way. He's in charge of keeping Nikolai's dealers in line. He knows who all of them are, where they deal, and how much they bring in. He also knows a lot about drugs and the drug trade in general. He usually knows what's going on with the other cartels before anyone else does. He's kind of quiet, but he's capable of great cruelty too."
"And Milonov?"
"Victor oversees Nikolai's trade routes outside of Los Angeles. Nikolai says Victor knows how to move people and product better than anyone. I think he's more violent than Ivan, but he doesn't have a temper. Even when he's hurting people, he's calm about it." I wrap my arms around myself as memories of his punishments inevitably float to the surface of my mind. I've seen him torture people without flinching. "He scares me," I whisper, my voice shaking.
Octavio scowls and leans a little closer like he's trying to protect me from my memories. "Did he ever hurt you, conejita ?"
"He never touched me."
"That doesn't mean he didn't hurt you."
I swallow hard, glancing away from him.
He sighs softly but doesn't push me to talk to him. "Who else does Tarasova trust?"
"Mikhail Marozava. He trusted Lev Abashev too, but Lev's dead."
"Tell me about Mikhail."
"Mikhail is one of Ivan's friends. He's a bully too. He enjoys hurting and humiliating people. I think Nikolai accepts him in his inner circle because Mikhail follows Ivan around like a little puppy."
"Tarasova trusts Ivan more than anyone else?"
I shrug a shoulder, glancing back over at him. "Nikolai doesn't trust anyone very far. He's paranoid and very careful, but he has so much dirt on Ivan. I wouldn't say it makes him complacent, but maybe it gives him a little confidence that Ivan can't betray him without hurting himself?"
Octavio nods in understanding, his gaze shrewd. "Tell me about Tarasova."
"Nikolai is…" I hesitate, not sure how to describe Nikolai. "He's a chameleon. He can be anyone he needs to be to get what he wants. He's conniving and intelligent. Most of his men are afraid of him because he's ruthless. If you cross him, he won't hesitate to kill you or the people you care about to make an example of you. He never gives anyone anything without expecting something in return. He's also patient and isn't afraid to play the long con. He's been doing it most of his life."
Octavio brushes his hand down my arm again like he's trying to comfort me.
"He can be cruel and heartless, but he also knows that fear alone isn't enough to keep him in power. He makes sure his men are taken care of. He pays his people well and makes sure they have all the women, alcohol, and territory they want. It keeps them loyal. When their loyalty is in question, he doesn't hesitate to eliminate them."
"Was he nice to you, angel?"
"Nikolai isn't nice to anyone," I whisper, "not really. It's all a game. He likes being in charge. Everything he does is to ensure he stays that way. That's all that matters to him. That and his daughter." Like me, she's locked up. Only Nikolai's men would never raise a hand against her. She wants for nothing but freedom. I don't envy her. I know what living in one of his cages is like.
There's no warmth or affection, no humanity. I was just someone for him to control and use, not even worth basic human decency. I hate him for every moment of the last five years of my life. I hate him for every moment of pain, for every cruelty. I hate him for every night I spent wishing I was dead because that would have been preferable.
"Faith, conejita ," Octavio murmurs, sliding closer to me on the couch. One hand goes around the back of my neck, tilting my face up. He uses the other to wipe away tears I didn't even realize I'd shed. "You're crying."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I push away the sadness, forcing it down until the pain is manageable and the dark memories recede.
"He hurt you," Octavio whispers back, stroking my cheek. His eyes are so warm and soft, so full of emotion… I get lost in them. I couldn't look away even if I tried. "Never apologize for what he did to hurt you or for being human enough to bleed because of it, not to me or anyone. You're allowed to grieve, Faith. You're allowed to feel however you want to feel."
"Can I tell you something?" I ask and then wait for him to nod. "Until the night of the shooting, I hadn't been outside of his territory in five years. I planned on running once I got to the hospital. I didn't know where I'd go or what I'd do, or even how I'd get there, but I wanted…"
"Freedom," he whispers, something flickering in his gaze.
"Yeah. Freedom. I'm not even sure what it means to be free, but it's all I've wanted since the day he found me."
"I want that for you." Octavio's hand in my hair tightens, his eyes locked on mine. "You deserve freedom, little bunny."
A wave of gratitude and peace flows through me, wiping away the sadness that clings to me. With his hands on me, I don't feel sorrow or grief. All I feel is…desire. I reach for it with both hands, greedy for more. I lean forward without conscious thought, pressing my mouth to his.
His lips are soft against mine, his breath warm and sweet.
He growls like a hungry lion, his chest vibrating with the sound. He takes control of the kiss, flicking his tongue against the seam of my lips until I open for him. As soon as I do, his tongue plunges into my mouth, demanding more. I give it to him, moaning as my tongue slides sinuously against his. My entire body hums with energy, everything but him fading away. Heat grows in my chest and belly…and then lower. Until I feel like I'm on fire, grasping for something I don't even understand. Something powerful and bright and terrifyingly beautiful.
"Octavio," I whisper. "Please."
"Fuck," he growls, ripping his mouth from mine. He jumps to his feet.
I cry out, nearly falling forward before I'm able to catch myself. My hand throbs, pulling a pained whimper from my lips. My eyes fly open to see Octavio halfway across the room, his back to me. He's breathing hard, sucking in air in greedy gulps.
"Octavio?" I whisper, confused and unsure why he pulled away. I thought he wanted me too. It was there in his eyes…but maybe I read it wrong?
"You can't kiss me like that, Faith." His voice is hard and angry, his body rigid with tension.
His words are like ice water poured over me…poured directly into my veins. They freeze me from the inside out. Tears spring to my eyes, though I don't know why. I've been rejected most of my life. Why should it hurt more now that it's Octavio doing the rejecting?
I shouldn't have kissed him.
God, I'm so stupid!
"I'm sorry," I mumble, jerking to my feet. My face burns with humiliation.
"Faith, wait," he says, reaching out to grab me as I rush past him.
I jerk away from him and flee down the hall to my room.
"Faith, dammit," he calls from behind me.
I slam the door closed, my hands shaking as I try to get the lock engaged before he gets to me. I barely get it clicked into place before he tries to turn the doorknob. Worried that he might try to break it down, I lean back against it and then slide weakly to the floor.
"Faith, please open the door."
"I'm tired, Detective Hernandez," I lie, hating how small my voice sounds. I swallow hard, forcing back the emotion threatening to choke me. "I'm going to bed."
"Dammit, Faith. Open the fucking door."
"Don't curse at me!" I growl, anger rushing in to join the cacophony of emotion battling for dominance in my head and in my heart. For the first time in my life, I reached for something I want, some one I want, and I got knocked right back down. He said he wanted me to have my freedom, but I'm no freer here with him than I was locked away in Nikolai's territory. That's never been more painfully apparent than it is in this moment…when I can't even walk out the front door despite the urge to flee in humiliation.
Something thumps against the bedroom door, rattling it. I jump, crying out in alarm before I can stop the sound. My heart pounds, though I don't think I'm scared of him, just startled by the display of temper from someone who always seems so controlled. As soon as the sound leaves my lips, the thumping stops.
Octavio stands outside the door for a long time afterward, not speaking. And then he sighs.
"I'm sorry, little bunny," he says before walking away.
"Me too," I whisper, brushing tears away.
I feel like hell the next morning. I barely slept, despite moving from the bed to the closet floor not long after I heard Octavio go to bed. He didn't try to convince me to sleep in his bed with him again. After what happened, that probably shouldn't have hurt my feelings, but it did anyway. I was awake for a long time staring up at the ceiling after his door closed. When I finally managed to fall asleep, the same nightmares haunted me.
Dr. Shapiro says it's common to have nightmares after a traumatic event. She wanted to prescribe something to help me sleep, but I refused. She thinks I'm trying to tough it out, but really, I'm just afraid that Nikolai or Ivan will come for me one night and I'll be too drugged to fight them off.
When Octavio meets me in the kitchen, he doesn't look like he slept any better than I did. He's still far too handsome for words, but his eyes are shadowed beneath and frustration all but crackles in the air around him. He watches me pick apart a granola bar for a long time without saying anything.
It's unnerving.
"Can we talk?" The deep growl of his voice sends a shiver through me.
"There's nothing to talk about." I carefully avoid meeting his gaze, instead focusing on the granola bar in my hands. I'm not very hungry. My stomach is twisted into knots. Even the orange juice I drank sits uncomfortably. "Are you ready to go?"
"Faith, dammit–"
"Don't curse at me, Detective!" I snap my gaze up to his, my eyes narrowed. "I don't curse at you. It's rude, and I don't appreciate it."
Frustration turns to surprise in his sepia eyes. Something perilously close to pride sweeps through his expression before those eyes narrow on me. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but I don't give him the chance.
"We don't need to discuss what happened last night," I mutter. "It was unintentional, and I can assure you, it won't happen again."
"Faith–"
"Are you ready to go?"
"No," he growls, stomping around the island toward me. I quickly scurry around the other side before he can reach me. His scowl deepens, but he doesn't make another circuit, instead planting his hands on the marble top. He's imposing as he leans toward me, his expression fierce. His dark blue Polo stretches taut over the muscles in his upper arms and chest. "Don't tell me you didn't mean to kiss me, conejita . I saw the desire in your eyes."
"You're wrong," I lie, batting my hair back from my face to return his scowl. "I used you."
"You used me?" He leans even closer, his expression turning disbelieving. One corner of his lip turns up like he's amused. His right eyebrow climbs. "Please, tell me how you used me."
"I…" I falter, struggling to come up with a suitable lie. "Talking about Nikolai upset me. I kissed you so you'd stop making me think about what he did to me," I say, triumphant when the excuse suddenly appears in my mind. "The only desire you saw was the desire to be done thinking about him and his men."
Octavio's smile slips, some emotion I can't name flickering through his eyes. It's there and gone so quickly I can't get a read on it, but I instantly know I don't like whatever it was. It makes my stomach clench and my heart ache. Guilt pricks at me, deflating me like a balloon.
"I'll give you that one because I deserve it." His voice is soft as he turns away from me. "But that's the only lie you get, Faith."
I want to apologize, but I don't. I can't, not if I'm going to keep my distance from him until I find a way to get out of here. And I am going to find a way to get out of here. There's no way I can continue staying here with him when the thought of leaving already makes it hard to catch my breath.
He doesn't want me, and I'm not a masochist. I've been hurt enough for one lifetime, thank you very much. I'm not going to stick around long enough to fall in love with him when he doesn't want me the same way. And falling for him would be far, far too easy.
"Let's go," he mutters, stomping toward the door.
I drop my destroyed granola bar in the trashcan and follow behind him.
He's completely silent as he locks up the house and escorts me down the sidewalk. When we're halfway to Roman's, he curses under his breath. "I will never hurt you," he says, his voice hard as stone, "but if you lock your door against me again, I'll take it off the fucking hinges."
Shock ripples through me, sadness following right on its heels. I think he means it. Maybe I don't really know him at all if he's willing to strip away every ounce of privacy I have. He said he'd never hurt me, but that's a lie. He just broke a piece of my heart.
"For someone who swears he wants me to have freedom, you have a funny way of showing it, Detective. At least with Nikolai, I knew where I stood. I knew hope was fruitless," I mutter. "You lie about it, just so you can snatch it away."
He jerks like I hit him.
"Take my door off the hinges, and I'll never forgive you," I swear, tears burning at my eyes. Luckily, before he can respond, Roman pulls into the driveway in his truck, distracting him. I hurry my steps until I'm practically running for the safety of Roman and Mila's house.
Octavio says something behind me, but I don't stop until I'm knocking on the front door. Mila throws it open a second later, her bright smile falling when her gaze lands on me.
"Are you okay?" she asks, stepping aside for me to enter. Her gaze goes past me to Octavio and Roman and then back to me.
"I'm fine," I lie, brushing at my damp cheeks.
She searches my face like she wants to demand the truth, but whatever she finds there seems to convince her to let it go. Instead of asking anything else, she bites her lip and nods. "Come on," she says, pushing the door closed with a wicked smirk. "Let's go hide from Roman and see how long it takes him to find me."
"Not very long," I murmur, not doubting that he'll find her within thirty seconds of walking in the door. He always comes looking for her as soon as he gets home. He doesn't even say hi to me or Luke until he's set eyes on her and seen for himself that she's okay. It's honestly too cute for words.
He's about three times her size, but he's obviously wrapped around her little finger. I think his favorite place in the world is at her side. She might tease and defy him at every available opportunity, but it's obvious she's just as enamored as he is.
The way they look at each other makes my heart ache. All my life, I've wanted someone to look at me like they look at each other. I've wanted someone to love me, to choose me. My mind drifts to Octavio, to the soft way he looks at me and how that makes me feel before I quickly shut down that train of thought.
He doesn't want me. He's made that more than clear. And right now, I'm not even sure if I want him. I definitely don't want the man willing to hurt me like he did this morning. Maybe it's time to stop deluding myself into believing he cares about me and start accepting that, just like with Nikolai, I'm a means to an end for him. He may pretend to be nicer about it, but at the end of the day, he's capable of cruelty too. He wants to use me too.
I am so done being used.