Chapter 29
We stepinto the safe house and skid to a stop.
Lamplight burns with a soft glow in the living area where Dimitri dances in circles around the living room, humming in tune with the kiddie music coming from the TV. He shed his suit jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves. Lexi rests on the burp rag over his shoulder as he rubs gentle circles on her back, the ring of her pacifier looped around his index finger. Her eyelids sink shut, then flutter open, before shutting again, each blink getting longer and longer as she drifts off to sleep.
Two guns rest in holsters on either side of his spine, and I can’t help but laugh at the picture he makes tall and tattooed, his dress shirt snug over thick, sinewed arms, and a pink butterfly-covered baby blanket tucked under the arm holding up Lexi’s little protruding baby butt.
Faith sits on the couch, her knees up, with Alex nestled in against her thighs. A pink flush fills her cheeks, the blush I know she gets from laughing.
Grigori scratches his hand through his hair, wincing at the picture Dimitri makes. With a resigned sigh, he peels off his jacket and tosses it over a dining room chair.
Konstantin freezes, a blank look on his face as he blinks several times in rapid succession. He opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he heads straight for the whiskey decanter with a resigned shake of his head. Like he’s going to need a minute to absorb this new domestic reality.
“Whoa… you guys look like shi—poop,” Dimitri says, looking us all up and down. “What happened?”
“Someone at the party outed us. They sent two cars full of boys to do a man’s job. Now they’re at the den,” Konstantin says over his shoulder, grabbing the whiskey decanter.
Faith’s gaze narrows and her mouth falls open. After scooping Alex up and tucking him in the crook of her arm, she scurries across the room to get a better look at me. “Oh my God. You look like you were…” She trails off and gulps, whatever she intended to say, dying in her throat.
My stomach clenches with the realization that the last time she saw someone this much of a mess was Regan after Elijah had raped her.
Squeezing her arm, I dredge up the last scraps of energy in me and offer her a smile. “It wasn’t what you’re thinking. I promise. I’m fine. Pissed off, but fine.” I brush my finger along Alex’s impossibly soft cheek. So warm and relaxed, blissfully unaware of the chaos going on around him. “Bet you’re glad you stayed home now,” I murmured.
Konstantin fills two highball glasses and glances at me, his gaze flicking back to the drinks, silently asking if I want one.
His offer takes me by surprise considering I’m not technically old enough to drink, but then, once you cross the lines we have, does it matter? I’ve ended a life, I’ll be ending more, and I’m debating the legality of drinking in my head.
God, I might really be losing it.
But no. No, I don’t want one. I want to soak in a tub until I can walk without looking like I’ve been railed by a savage giant. Then I want to sleep for a week, maybe two. I want to feel normal again.
Whatever normal is.
More than anything, after the way Konstantin touches me, I want to forget. I want to forget what my father said. I want to believe when Konstantin tells me his feelings have nothing to do with my mother, so I can stop sifting through memories. Moments in time, including both of them, searching for a clue in the grainy flashbacks, looking for signs he’s only telling me what I want to hear.
What he knows he needs to say to win.
Relegating me to the stupid, gullible girl I told him was dead.
My biggest fear is she’s not. I’m terrified she’s buried deep inside, so isolated and lonely, she’s ready to settle for whatever affection is tossed her way. She’s pretending she can’t see the glaring truth in front of her so she can live in moments fulfilling fantasies she thought only lived in a teenage girl’s journal.
I live in a world where men lie to suit their means. And though I’ve never known Konstantin to lie to me, is it really possible he’s the only man in my life who hasn’t?
So I keep searching. Hoping to find some convincing piece of evidence to tell me whether I let him in or let him go.
“Are you okay if I go get cleaned up and get some sleep?”
Faith smiles down at Alex and feathers a kiss over his silky golden-brown hair. “Sure… I’ll be fine. Actually, Dimitri brought us cell phones. Yours is charging on your nightstand. He programmed our numbers already, so if I need you, I’ll call.”
“Thank you,” I say, smiling over Faith’s head at the man himself who keeps smiling down at Lexi.
“You’re welcome. I figured Faith’s got her hands full and sometimes”—his gaze finds Faith and lingers there—“it might not be so easy to go get you, so this should help.”
“It will, and I appreciate it.” I slide a knowing look at Faith and lean in so only she can hear me. “You have some explaining to do.”
“There’s nothing to explain. He’s nice. We’re friends.” She says the words, but she’s taken a keen interest in Alex’s little fingers so she doesn’t have to look me in the eye.
“He is nice. He’s also hot. And I can practically hear your ovaries crying out when you watch him with Lexi.”
She peeks over at him with a shy smile, and he winks at her. “We have very different lives.”
“You get to choose whatever life you want now. Just be sure you can live with the decision you make.” I give her a hug, missing our nights, whispering in our shared room, rocking babies and dreaming big dreams. “Call me if you need me, okay?”
Just turn around and go to bed. Don’t look for him.
But my heart won’t listen to my head. I meet his eyes and I’m right back in that cemetery. He’s curled over me, driving into me, tormenting me, and even in our rush, exploring my body, taking the time to learn how to pleasure me. The picture is distinct, like I can reach out and touch his face again and trace over the stubble on his chin.
The sound of my voice as I asked him who he belongs to is so alive and powerful in my mind. And all I can hear is his answer playing again and again and again.
You.
One word, his complete surrender, brought me the closest I’ve come to caving. But it was more than the word. It was the agony on his face, as if he feared me slipping away… for good this time.
The same expression on his face right now, right before I turn and walk away.
I force my feet to move until I’m in my room, the door quietly clicking behind me. Slumping against the cool wood, I listen for the faint sounds of them in the living room, but only silence greets me.
I drag off my heels and vow to never wear heels quite that high again. Not with more car chases in my future. Sinking my feet into the plush carpet, I push away from the door, my eyes landing on the Sharpie still lying where Konstantin left it.
He was stealth, I’ll give him that.
Blinking down at the marker, I bite my lip. How did he know it was in there? Why was it in there? Along with other personal items that you’d see in someone’s room, not their guest room.
The pieces start to come together.
The way he reached in, like he was so familiar with the surrounding space.
How I can’t get away from his scent. It’s constantly lingering in the air.
It’s his room.
I’m sleeping in his fucking room.
Of course I am.
My eyes immediately go to the closet doors and the nightstands. Curiosity has me wanting to rifle through and see what I can find. See how much of himself he keeps here. I round the bed and head for the drawer where my new phone is charging.
Just as I grip the handle, my phone buzzes with a text from Faith.
I’m not a child. What the hell am I doing?
Picking up the phone, I click on the message.
Faith
He has not stopped staring at the hallway since you left.
Me
Yeah, he’s a good bulldog.
Faith
Stop that. You don’t have to do that with me and you know it.
Me
I know. I’m just… I don’t know what I am right now.
Faith
Is it possible not everything is the way you thought it was? Maybe your father was lying.
Me
You didn’t see Konstantin’s face. What my father said was true.
Faith
But it doesn’t mean it’s still true. It doesn’t mean it was even true then. Just that it was true at some point.
I type, then stop. That’s the problem. Can I handle the truth? What if it gets into my head and ruins everything moving forward? What if I can’t believe any compliment, any endearment, any touch… until my own doubts poison us and anything we could have? And that’s only after we reveal this to Nikolaj. Which is a massive risk when I can’t even be sure I can get past this.
Right now, Nikolaj has a valuable advisor in Konstantin, and he has a plan that’s working. He’s sacrificed everything he’s ever wanted for his own life to take on our father and brother. And he’s done it so he can keep me safe. He’s the second son. The illegitimate second son. He should have been able to do anything, be anyone.
But he knew leaving meant condemning me to this life. A bargaining chip for our father and brother, nothing more. He’s spent a lifetime doing everything he could to protect me from the worst of Vlad’s advances. As far as he knows, he protected me from all of them. He couldn’t live with himself if he walked away.
He’s gaining power. There’s a real chance he can take on my father and brother and win. He’ssacrificed so much already. There’s blood on his hands that never would have been there if it weren’t for this path he’s chosen.
Now I’m supposed to just toss that all to chance, drop the truth in his lap, and hope it doesn’t destroy everything.
Me
There is too much at stake.
Faith
Can you ever be happy if you spend the rest of your life wondering if you were wrong?
With nothing left to say, I head for the bathroom, taking it in with new understanding. The bath sheets make sense now. He’s a big guy, and he’d dwarf a regular towel.
Bone-deep exhaustion settles inside me. I stare longingly at the tub that looks untouched and decide against it. Sinking into that warm water would put me right to sleep at this point.
Head hanging under the pounding spray, I watch Konstantin’s blood wash away from my thigh and stain the water swirling down the drain.
The minute he tore open his pants to see what I had done, when I glimpsed the V carving its way down his abdomen to the dark patch of hair, I was a goner. Already erect, I knew what would come next. I knew, and I didn’t walk away. I didn’t fight.
Because I wanted it. I wanted to be able to see his face this time, the way I had in that church. I wanted to watch his pleasure swallow him whole again.
I wanted to believe it had everything to do with me, with us… not her.
I’m losing myself. Bit by bit, slipping away under his constant assault on my resolve.
I refused to admit I’m his, but I did it with my thighs spread for him, so really, did I even win? Twice in one night, he took what he wanted and I did nothing to stop him.
Because I wanted it too, and apparently more than I wanted to win.
Each time he took me, he kept me from something. First, dancing with Logan. Then when I staked partial claim on the men who came for us.
He’ll try to keep me from going to the den… whatever this den is. He’ll fuck me, trick me, or lie to me so he doesn’t have to share the payback.
So he can be the hero. So he can have the upper hand.
Again.
A growl of pure frustration tears from my throat as I slam my fist against the tile. Every time he wanted me distracted and bending to his will, he came at me with the goddamned godfather rocket and scrambled every bit of good sense I’d gathered in the past year.
And I almost felt bad for cutting him.
Well, now I don’t. Now I wish I had cut him deeper.
I grab the loofah, slather it with bodywash, and go to work on his signature on my thigh. Tears leak from my eyes, swept away by the spray as I scour at my skin until it’s red and burning.
His name mocks me, only slightly faded from my efforts to scrub him away.
As mad as I am at him for marking me, I also feel the loss of the bold lettering. And I hate myself for secretly loving his unapologetic claim.
Everything he does serves a purpose. Even his name on my thigh. But I’m onto him now. Next time he puts his hands on me, I’ll be looking beyond, at whatever he’s trying to protect me from.
I wrap myself in a towel and head out to the bedroom. Just as I reach for my pajamas, I catch sight of the closet door.
Don’t do it.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and turn away. I last all of ten seconds before my hand is turning the handle and flicking on the light.
Three walls of suits hang neatly, mostly black, a couple navy, and a few charcoal suits on the end. Everything is clean, and still, it all smells like him.
I press my face to a crisp white shirt and breathe him in. The fabric is surprisingly soft. Three times with him and still, I don’t know what it’s like to roam his body with my hands, taste his skin—to feel what it’s like to fall asleep skin to skin, wrapped in him.
Reaching out, I hesitate just an inch from the hanger.
He’ll never know. This way I can have a bit of him and he’ll never know.
Before I can think too much about it, I ditch the towel and slip into the shirt. It reaches to my knees, but God, this is it. This is what he feels when he wears it. This is what it feels like to be wrapped in him.
This might be the closest I ever come.
I bury my nose in the collar and it’s almost as satisfying as burying my nose against his neck. Padding to the bed, I turn the lamp down to its lowest setting and climb between the sheets.
I’m not weak. I’m just exhausted.
I am not weak.
I’m not slipping back into the gullible girl I was.
I’m choosing to momentarily lay down my armor… just for now. In the privacy of this room.
Burying my face in the pillow, I let myself drown in his scent.
When I let her in, the endless signs of him no longer haunt me, but instead become a craving I can indulge in.
And I loathe myself for it.
Lying on my side, I peek at my phone one last time. My hand brushes the handle of the drawer as I draw it away.
I resisted opening it before, but really, what harm can it do at this point?
The scrape of the drawer is barely perceptible, and still, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder to the door, just to be sure.
God, I’m being stupid.
Sliding it the rest of the way open, I look over what’s inside. ChapStick, three pens, a pad of paper, the top sheet grooved with his handwriting from whatever note he’d written last. I brush my fingers over the indentations, then slide it aside and spot a box of condoms.
I clench my fist and immediately want to kick him in the balls for my sleeping arrangements. Really? He couldn’t stick those anywhere else.
Like, I don’t know… straight up his ass.
I yank my hand back and the light from the lamp catches on something shiny. Reaching back—because really, can anything be worse than finding the fucking condoms he uses to fuck other women—I tug on the cool metal.
When I open my palm, my stomach plummets to my toes. The air stutters in my lungs and my eyes brim over with tears.
The familiar sacred heart locket my mother wore every minute of every day mocks me for even daring to believe for a single moment he was mine.
It’s not like he stuck it away there long ago and forgot about it. The safe house was new in the past year. And in that time, he made the conscious decision to tuck her locket away here where it would be close.
Pain sweeps through my chest, until I gasp. The last bit of him that felt like home to me, cracks under the suffocating doubt churning in my gut. My fingers tremble as I dump the locket back in the drawer and quietly close it.
This is what I get for letting that girl in who so desperately loves him.
The shirt mocks me now, but the pulsing pain keeps from getting up, and instead, I allow myself this one last time to sink into the hurt.