CHAPTER TWO
Then
She was fourteen when they first met.
Had only been in the country for barely two months.
It was late, dark, and cold. Drunks shouted and laughed outside her window.
She didn’t like New York at all. There were too many people and not enough trees. It was busy and filthy and terrifying.
And she hated sharing Tiernan, her twin brother, with other people.
Now, they had a father. He was tall and had nice teeth. He bought her nice clothes and pink sneakers and filled the fridge with food she could eat without even asking for permission.
She knew she should like him, but for some reason, she couldn’t. Her tummy felt heavy, and not with food, every time he walked into the room.
Maybe she’d like him better if she understood what he said.
But Tiernan was the smart one. Her twin brother had learned English quickly. She only knew Russian and some American Sign Language she’d learned from a prisoner in Siberia.
The last six months had been a blur. She didn’t remember how she and Tiernan had escaped the prison camp. She just knew they had and were meant to be safe here.
But she didn’t feel safe. She felt like a guest in a stranger’s home. She didn’t know her father or older brother any better than her next-door neighbor.
They tried to be nice, but every time they looked at her, they exchanged sharp glances, like there was something wrong with her.
Of course there was something wrong with her. In fact, she doubted if there was one thing right with her. But she didn’t need the reminder that she not only felt broken but also looked it.
They stared when they thought she wasn’t watching, while she picked at the old scabs on her skin.
One time, she managed to peel an entire layer of skin off her forearm using a butter knife.
The pale, freckly skin rolled smoothly, revealing pink, raw flesh.
She had smiled to herself because she’d finally managed to feel something after months of numbness.
Pain.
The next day, all the sharp objects in the house had magically disappeared, and Tierney was scheduled for a weekly meeting with a Russian-speaking therapist.
They must’ve filled in the blanks about everything that had happened to her in the work camp. Little did they know, even the worst they assumed wasn’t half as terrible as what really happened.
Funny, how she didn’t remember the journey here, but she did remember every second of her fourteen years in Siberia.
The abuse.
The torture.
The humiliation.
The pain.
The rape.
“They pity you,” Tiernan had chided her in ASL, scowling. “Stop moping around, or they’ll think you’re weak.”
Maybe she was weak.
She cried. All the time. Crying felt like giving her soul a shower.
But she didn’t want to disappoint Tiernan, so she tried really hard to forget everything that had happened in Siberia. And the therapist, although nice enough, was very nosy. She kept poking around in things that were none of her business and only made Tierney cry more.
But none of it bothered her half as much as one simple fact: She was losing Tiernan.
To the Callaghans.
To America.
To the Irish Mafia.
When they moved here, she suggested they take the same room, but he liked the idea of having his own space, so now she had to sleep by herself.
She wasn’t used to it. In the work camp, they’d slept with dozens of prisoners.
It had been smelly and filthy, but she had never felt alone, and there had always been body heat and noise around her.
Now, lying alone in bed, she felt so cold.
Her father had visitors tonight. She could hear them through the wall, knocking back drinks and talking.
Tiernan and Fintan were included in the meeting.
Tiernan even spoke a few times. She was secretly angry with him for adapting so quickly.
He slid right into the family like he’d grown up with their father and older brother. He’d even adopted their stupid accent!
Tiernan and Fintan were invited to all of her father’s meetings.
Not her. She never fit in anywhere. Like an old puzzle piece curled at the edges, no natural place existed for her in the family.
Sick with jealousy, she curled into a ball under her duvet and drifted in and out of sleep.
An hour later, she woke up slicked with sweat and with a scream in her throat. She had had a nightmare. Again.
They were on top of her.
Laughing.
Unbuckling.
Kicking.
Slapping.
Putting their things in her.
She thrashed and made a choking sound, fighting off her duvet before opening her eyes and remembering where she was.
She felt a presence in the room and stirred awake.
“T—Tiernan?” she croaked.
A shadow glided into the room, closing the door behind it.
Taller and broader than her brother.
Someone who smelled like burning wood and old leather, not Irish Spring and mint.
A boy.
Although it was too dark to make out his features, something told her he was more or less her age.
She rose to her forearms, her heart still thundering inside her chest. What was he doing here? What did he want from her?
She wanted to ask but couldn’t. Damn her useless brain!
She blinked. He didn’t. In fact, he didn’t move at all.
He was so, so still. And so, so beautiful. Like those kids you see in glamorous American TV shows. His eyes were so dark she could see her own reflection in them. She wanted to drown in them and never come up for air.
He stepped toward her, clasped the edge of her duvet, and slowly slid it up her body. That was when she realized she was shivering. Her skin was covered in gooseflesh.
She wasn’t scared. Maybe because she could still hear Tiernan through the wall.
Her brother would never let anything bad happen to her.
The boy rearranged the duvet over her, fidgeting nervously, then reached beyond her shoulder, picking up a book from her bed and placing it on the nightstand beside her. He refused to look at her now, eyes stuck on his shoes, like they fascinated him.
“I just…um, you seemed cold,” he muttered.
She didn’t understand what he said.
She wanted to thank him but didn’t have the words. So she reached out cautiously and touched his cheek. It was warm and fuzzy, like a peach.
The boy sucked in a breath and flinched, like it hurt. They both stared at each other in shock.
What just happened?
She didn’t hurt him, did she? Then why did he look like he was in pain?
Gulping, the boy stepped forward again, forcing himself within reach of her.
“D—do it again.”
What was he saying? What was she supposed to do?
He grabbed her wrist and put her hand on his cheek, staring at her with wild, wonderous eyes.
She didn’t know what was happening but didn’t want to stop it either. The boy hissed, trembling into her touch. She didn’t know it, but it was the first time he’d felt a loving hand.
Slowly, he leaned into her palm until he rested his entire cheek on it and closed his eyes.
Oh my God, she thought.
I’m touching a boy.
I’m touching a boy, and I don’t want to throw up.
I’m touching a boy, and I don’t want to die.
I’m touching a boy, and it feels even better than picking at my scars.
They stayed like this until her arm began to hurt and her palm began to sweat, but still she didn’t want to let go. She had a feeling he needed her touch more than his next breath. Which was silly. She was a nobody. To him and at all.
“Chelovek,” she choked out.
“Chelovek?” he repeated, frowning.
She nodded. “Chelovek.”
He tucked a stray hair of hers behind her ear, smiling like a weirdo.
He was glad it was too dark for her to see him blushing—and surprised he was capable of such bodily function at all.
Heat flooded him, and he didn’t know what to do with it.
It was good heat. Not angry heat. The kind that tickled his stomach when his dad gave him a pat on the back.
It didn’t happen often, but when it did… his whole world tilted.
He didn’t know what to do with all the tightness in his chest, so he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. Butterflies exploded in his stomach, tickling the back of his throat as they took flight.
The gesture was so soft, so sweet, it made her head swim. No one had ever kissed her before. Not even her twin brother.
Her body had been violated, abused, and used so many times, by so many men, and yet she had never experienced a small, innocent kiss.
The boy stepped back and turned around, his steps heavy as he headed to the door.
No! her mind screamed. Please don’t leave me.
“Nyet!” she blurted out, clapping a hand over her mouth in shock.
She had never spoken to anyone who wasn’t Tiernan. Not her dad. Not her therapist. No one.
He froze midstride, turning around slowly, blinking at her.
“You no go.” She pointed at him, too desperate to be embarrassed about her broken English. “You stay.”
They studied each other. Neither of them dared breathe. Finally, he pointed at her desk chair with a question in his eyes.
She nodded.
Yes.
Please.
Stay with me.
Bad things happen when I’m left alone in the dark.
One day, when I find my words, I’ll tell you about them.
He sat down, his eyes never leaving hers.
His stare warmed her skin. An extra blanket to shield her from the world.
They had no idea what this all meant. How their lives would coil around one another in a serpentine spiral of toxic obsession and desire that would throw the entire underworld off its axis.
All they knew was she was alone, and so was he, and together, the world seemed slightly less cold.
She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
He didn’t leave until the sun rose and chased away the darkness.
Protecting her from her own demons as much as from himself.