31. Robin
ROBIN
After that, Robin, we see what’s left of both of us.
I stare at Cruz.
I should say something practical. Something about clothes, food, the embassy, transportation, how long we can reasonably stay here without getting Senora Valentina and the others killed. I should ask him if he knows anyone who can get us fake IDs. I should be thinking like a Bellamy.
I’m not thinking like a Bellamy.
I want to tell him I’ll use every option at my disposal to get him to Texas safely. I’ll talk to Hawk. I’ll talk to Vinnie. I’ll talk to every lawyer, fixer, former federal agent, rich family connection, and morally questionable person my family has ever dealt with.
I want to say I’ll marry you.
And it won’t be a marriage of convenience.
It will be real.
A marriage of truth.
Because for some unexplainable reason, I’m falling head over heels for Cruz Moreno. Even though I shouldn’t. Even though I should be getting as far away from him as humanly possible. Even though he’s the exact kind of man I know better than to want.
Forbidden fruit.
It’s true. Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.
What if this man and I are fated to be together? Not forbidden fruit, but forbidden fate?
I almost laugh out loud because the thought is so dramatic I should be embarrassed by it. Forbidden fate? Please. It sounds like something written on the back of a paperback with a shirtless man and a stormy sky.
Except my heart doesn’t laugh.
Maybe there are some people you meet and your body knows before your brain does. Not safely. Not logically. But perfectly.
Cruz watches me from where he stands near the center of the room. His face is guarded but not cold. He never looks at me coldly. Not anymore.
That’s another problem.
I can tell the difference now.
I can tell when he’s shutting down because something hurts. I can tell when he’s forcing himself to stay calm. I can tell when he’s trying not to reach for me. I can tell when he wants something and hates himself for wanting it. That one’s especially easy, because I feel it too.
I tear my gaze away and look toward the window. Outside, morning continues as if everything is normal.
“This is different,” I whisper.
Cruz goes still. “What?”
I didn’t mean to say it aloud. “Nothing.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing.”
“Well, it was.”
He doesn’t push.
That makes it worse.
If he pushed, I could snap at him. If he demanded answers, I could get irritated. Instead he’s patient.
So different.
So different from ?tefan.
Weeks have gone by.
At the beginning, my fear was sharp. Every footstep could have meant death. Every locked door felt so final.
Now?
I’m still scared shitless, but the fear is quieter.
I mean, I’m still alive, so that’s a thing.
The house is somewhere remote. I know that much. Not a castle, despite every stupid vampire joke people make about Transylvania back home. It’s a farmhouse or a hunting lodge or some half-abandoned property tucked far enough away that screams don’t matter.
Men come and go.
Boots in the hall.
Cigarette smoke.
Vodka.
Arguments.
Laughter that makes my skin crawl.
The other girls have turned on me. They hate that I won’t give a name for ransom. They don’t believe that I have no one. Denisa refuses to even translate for me anymore.
Maybe if I had given them my name on the first day, my brothers would have paid whatever these men wanted and we all would have gone home sooner.
Or maybe the ransom would have made us more valuable.
Maybe it would have painted targets on everyone I love.
Maybe it would have told the kidnappers exactly which family had money, exactly which people to exploit.
Maybe I was brave.
Maybe I was stupid.
Most days, I don’t have a freaking clue.
They plan to send us back together. That’s what Denisa told me before she stopped talking to me.
“They want ransom for everyone,” she said in French, sitting across from me with her knees pulled to her chest. “Then they move us all at once so there’s less chance they get caught.”
She barely looks at me now. They all resent me because I’m holding out. The French girl who won’t give any name.
“Just tell them,” Ioana begs me one afternoon in broken English, tears streaking through the dirt on her cheeks. “Please. Please tell. We go home.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I can’t.”
“You selfish,” Andreea spits.
Maybe she learned that word just for me.
Now Denisa only translates for me when ?tefan tells her to.
?tefan.
He isn’t the leader. There are older men. Rougher men. Men who speak and expect others to move. But ?tefan speaks enough broken English to talk to me in my fake broken English.
So I let him think he matters.
I let him bring me extra water.
I let him sit too close.
I let his hand linger on my arm without jerking away.
And eventually, I let him take more.
It’s not sex. Not really. It’s survival. My body becomes something I can use to guarantee another few hours of life. Protection. One less beating.
I don’t enjoy it.
But I act like I do. I smile afterward as I lie still beside him on a stained mattress in a room that smells like mildew and cigarette smoke while he strokes my hair as if we’re lovers.
I hate it. I can’t imagine how some people get Stockholm Syndrome and fall for their captors.
That will never be me.
But ?tefan thinks otherwise. I make sure of it.
He sees love in my eyes. He hears soft words and moans from my mouth and throat. And he feels me touch him with tenderness and caring.
Yesterday he brought me an apple. It was bruised on one side, but I didn’t care. It was more precious than a freaking diamond. I nearly cried at the sight of it. I was so hungry. I still am.
I took it, aware of the other girls watching. I’d share it if I could, but what good would one bite do each of us?
“Thank you,” I said to him.
He smiled. “You like me.”
I bit into the apple before answering. It was soft and mealy, but it tasted like Champagne. I swallowed. “You are kind to me,” I said.
“You stay close,” he said. “No problem.”
No problem.
Right.
The other girls really hate me now.
They know ?tefan takes me to another room, and they know I come back looking less hungry than when I left.
I’m alone with them. They all huddle together on one side of the small room while I sleep beside the opposite wall wrapped in a thin blanket that smells like BO. It’s probably mine. I haven’t showered in…who the hell knows?
My mind never stops except when I succumb to sleep. Across the room, I hear the others breathing, snoring softly, until—
I jerk upward just a moment before—
A blast throws me sideways.
For a second I don’t hear anything more…but then the noise slams back into the room so hard I scream.
Shouting.
Glass breaking.
Wood cracking.
Men yelling.
Girls crying.
Another explosion? I don’t know. I know only that the air is suddenly full of smoke and dust, and the building that has held us for weeks seems to be under attack.
Poli?isti!
The men yell. I know that word. Police.
The door bursts open, and light floods the room. Men in black. Helmets. Guns.
For half a second, hope is so bright it hurts.
Then the men holding us start shooting.
The girls scream. One of the police officers yells something. A gunshot cracks so close my ears ring. Then another.
I hit the floor.
Someone steps on my hand. I yank it back, swallowing a cry. A beam of light swings across my face. A man shouts in Romanian. A body slams into the wall.
“Down!” someone yells in English.
Or maybe I imagine the English.
I don’t know.
Ioana runs.
I see her because she moves into the open, her dark hair flying, her arms up as if surrendering and escaping are the same thing.
“Ioana!” Denisa screams.
Ioana turns toward the sound.
A shot cracks.
Her body jerks.
For a second, she keeps standing.
For a second I think she’s okay.
Until red blooms across her chest, and she falls.
No.
No.
No.
She hits the floor hard, one arm bent beneath her, eyes open.
The girls were angry with me. They whispered about me. They blamed me. They hated me, maybe.
But I never wanted any of them dead.
Gunfire keeps ripping through the house.
Police shout.
The kidnappers shout back.
I press myself to the floor, looking for a path.
Then I see ?tefan.
He’s near the far wall, half shielded by a doorway, firing.
And in that split second, I know something with absolute certainty.
My best shot is the man who thinks I love him.
I push up on my elbows. “?tefan!” I crawl forward, coughing, dragging myself over broken glass. My knee hits something wet. “?tefan!”
This time, he hears me.
“Colette!” he shouts.
I force myself to stand even though every instinct screams at me to stay down.
A police officer yells something. Maybe at me. Maybe at ?tefan. I don’t know.
I raise my hands. “I love you!” I scream in English. Then, “Je t’aime!”
The words tear my throat raw.
?tefan freezes for a split second. “What?” he shouts.
“I love you!” I walk toward him, moving quickly while still being aware of my surroundings. “I love you, ?tefan,” I say again, and I make my voice crack with what I hope registers as fear and yearning. “Please. Stop shooting.”
His face twists.
Behind him, another shot cracks. He flinches but doesn’t turn away from me.
Good.
Keep looking at me.
“I want to be with you,” I say. The lie tastes like bile. “I want to spend my life with you.”
He shakes his head once. “No.”
“Yes.”
“You lie.”
“No.” I step closer. “No, I swear.”
He raises his gun toward another officer. I move fast, putting myself in front of him before he can aim.
“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t shoot.”
His eyes widen. “Move.”
“No.”
“Colette, move!”
“If you stop, I can help you.” I’m close enough now to see blood on his cheek. Dust in his hair. The wild pulse beating in his throat. “I lied before. I do have a family. They have money. They can help. Legal bills. Lawyers. Whatever you need. They can get you out. They can get you safe.”
He stares at me.
He wants to believe it.
God, he wants to believe it so badly.
For all his violence, all his choices, all his cruelty wrapped in tenderness, there is still a boy in him desperate for the woman he took to choose him back.
“You come with me?” he asks.
“Yes.”
His face softens. “You stay?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’ll stay.”
He loosens his grip on the gun.
Behind me, someone shouts.
?tefan flicks his gaze away from mine, just for a fraction of a second.
A shot rings out.
I jump back as he collapses at my feet. Blood spreads beneath him.
For a second, I can’t move.
The gunfire continues around us, but it sounds far away now. Muffled. Like I’m underwater.
?tefan looks up at me. His mouth opens. Blood bubbles at the corner.
His eyes look into mine, and for a moment, I think he can see straight through me. Straight to the truth.
And in those eyes I see something.
Not anger.
Not fear.
I see betrayal.
And I wonder who the true monster is.