Chapter 33
DARIUS
Anna stared at me, eyes wide, hand covering her mouth. The color drained from her face.
I frowned. Why was she suddenly terrified of me? She'd told my men she wanted to talk. Then I followed her line of sight down to my hands.
Fuck. The blood.
I raised my palms, keeping my movements slow. The last thing I needed was for her to panic the first time she reached out to me.
"It's okay," I said, softening my voice. "It's not my blood."
Her eyes snapped back to mine. "You realize that only makes it a little bit better, right?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Shrugged. At least she thought it was better that I wasn't bleeding out.
"Fair point," I admitted.
She rolled her eyes and ducked behind the counter, emerging with a pack of baby wipes that she tossed at my chest.
"Whose blood is it?"
"Why do you have baby wipes behind the counter?"
"Because they're gentle on vinyl when a dry cloth won't work." Her voice had an edge now. "Whose blood is covering your hands?"
I studied her for a long moment. She wasn't stupid. She knew.
"Darius. Whose blood is it?"
"Who do you think?"
She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, like she might be sick, and shook her head. I knew the question was coming. I wouldn't volunteer the information, but I wouldn't lie to her either. I'd let her keep plausible deniability unless she asked for the truth.
"Did you kill him?"
"I didn't go there planning to kill him," I answered. "I only intended to make sure he never raised his hand to another woman again."
Her skin went pale. Her hands trembled before she pressed them flat against the counter, leaning on it for support.
"What do you mean you weren't planning on killing him?"
"I went there to teach him a lesson. He made choices that were out of my control."
"What does that mean?"
I shook my head, hands on my hips as I scanned the spotless record store. When I looked back, she was watching me. She motioned to her chin, indicating I had something there. I pulled another wipe from the pack and dragged it across the spot. The wipe came away pink.
Peregrine had been a bleeder.
"You don't want to know, maya soloveyka."
"I do."
"It means I had every intention of letting him live until he pulled a gun on me. He made that choice impossible." I paused. "And based on what I saw in his apartment, he didn't deserve to breathe. You weren't the first woman he put his hands on. You wouldn't have been the last."
She nodded, teeth sinking into that full bottom lip. I tossed the soiled wipes in the trash and approached slowly, stopping on the other side of the counter. I rested my hands on either side of hers. Not touching. But close enough that I could feel her heat.
Anna stretched her pinky out, laying it across my thumb.
When I looked into her eyes, the shock had faded. The fear was gone. All that remained was quiet acceptance. A weight I hadn't realized I was carrying lifted off my shoulders.
"I told my mother Peregrine was violent. The only reason we were ever together was because she thought he was a good match for her campaign. Part of the image she wanted."
"And what image is that?" I asked, turning my hand over so her smaller fingers rested in my palm.
"She said we made the picture-perfect American couple. Right education. Right smile. Right appearance. His father had the right connections too. My mother intended to use him to further her own career." A bitter laugh left her lips. "I guess that was the first time she tried to whore me out."
"You told her he was violent, and she—"
"She told me not to make him angry. That if he hit me, I should make sure he didn't leave bruises where reporters could see them."
Even now, her mother's cruelty staggered me.
"I guess now I don't have to worry about her forcing me to be with anyone. At least not him. Thank you."
"Wait. You said the first time?" Heat crawled up the back of my neck.
She looked at me with a sad smile. "Earlier today, she came here. She told me she needed you distracted. Said I should fuck you to keep you busy."
I wanted to pull her into my arms, tell her she'd never have to see her mother again. But the counter was in my way, and her fingers were wrapped around my palm. I didn't want to move.
"Is he really dead?"
Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but her tone told me I'd done something right. Even though going after her ex instead of forcing the senator to vote the way I'd paid her to felt like a betrayal of everything I was at the time, I couldn't bring myself to regret it.
Having her look at me like this was worth more than any Senate vote.
I'd made a rash, irrational, emotional decision to go after her ex-boyfriend instead of securing a billion-dollar vote. And I'd do it again without hesitation.
"Why did you do it?"
I knew what she was asking. Did I pursue him because he'd touched something I claimed or was there something more?
I captured her face, tilted her jaw up until those beautiful, stormy eyes locked on mine. "You know why."
Doubt flickered in her gaze. I couldn't blame her. I could hardly believe it myself. Before meeting her, I would have said I wasn't capable of doing something for unselfish reasons. That I'd never put whatever this was over money.
But I had.
Just because it was the first time I felt this emotion didn't mean I didn't recognize it. I saw it every time my nephews looked at their wives. Every time they justified decisions I'd considered foolish.
I wasn't ready to call this feeling love.
Not yet.
Too soon. Too extreme. But damn if it didn't feel close.
What else could drive me to act so recklessly?
To kill another man with no planning, no strategy, just a primal need to protect this slip of a girl who'd somehow gotten under my skin?
Not only did I not get rid of the body, I'd rushed across town with blood literally on my hands because I got the message she wanted to talk.
I was halfway here before I even texted my men to clean up the mess.
Every excuse my nephews had made suddenly clicked into place. Gregor chasing his wife for three years, never giving up. Damien grinning like a fool when the others teased him about Yelena hitting him with a brick. Even Roman marrying the woman who'd been hell-bent on destroying our family.
Every irrational choice. Every stupid, sappy comment. It all made sense.
No one had ever needed me to care for them before. No one had ever wanted to rely on me. Not really. But if anyone needed someone to care for them, it was my little nightingale.
She'd never asked for it, but she needed someone to protect her. Someone to remind her it was okay to put herself first. And I wanted to be that someone. The one who protected her from her mother's poison, from any ex who crawled out of the woodwork, from anyone who could mean her harm.
I wanted her to come to me.
I leaned down, ready to take her lips in a deep kiss, but she put her hand on my chest and stopped me.
"Wait."
"Do you not want to kiss me, maya soloveyka?"
"I do, but I have to tell you something...and you might not want to kiss me after."
There was nothing she could ever say that would make me not want to kiss her. But I stayed silent, giving her the space she needed.
"I told you, my mother came to my apartment right after you left.
She's going to double-cross you. That's why she wanted you distracted.
An Irish group are paying her more to vote the bill down.
They want her to restructure it to cut your family out and use theirs instead.
I thought you should know while there was still time to fix it. "
And just like that, her sweet act of defiance—her loyalty to me over her mother—pushed me from infatuation straight into love.
There wasn't a single thing I wouldn't do for this woman.
Including keeping her.