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I wince at the news. I’d thought as much—it was actually the best outcome, since otherwise, it meant her mother had met a worse fate. Gingerly, I cup her cheeks. “It’s all right; we?—”
“No!” she snaps, teeth flashing as she rips away from my touch. “It’s not all right! He’s going to hurt her! He’s been hurting her!”
I’m taken aback by the ferocity she aims at me. This rage should be meant for Yevgeniy. Yet in this moment, I’ve become her target, and I can’t figure out why.
Look at her, you fool. Look and see. She’s standing with her feet spread apart, her jacket straining over her shoulders. Instead of a frightened woman seeking reassurance, which I expected, she stands before me—shoulders squared—as if she’s ready to fight.
I was foolish to assume Galina would simply rush into my arms, seeking me out as a source of safety. She’s always been ferocious in her own right, since the very first time our paths crossed. On occasions, I’ve seen that ferocity rise to the surface. But here and now, in the flesh, she’s reminding me that she isn’t a damsel in distress.
Not by a long shot.
As I take in the sight of her, I can see the invisible barbs that have wrapped around her—signs of secret suffering during her time as a captive of Yevgeniy. The woman I love has been damaged and hurt, all because I was stupid enough to let her out of my sight.
Because I trusted that someone else could keep her safe.
I won’t make that mistake again.
“What happened?” I growl. “What did he do to you?”
“Are you not listening at all?” She notices me scanning her and stiffens. “It’s not me that we need to worry about. It’s my mother and what he’s doing to her! We have to go after him! We have to save her!”
“And we will,” I insist flatly.
“Then why are we still here?” Her frown trembles at the corners. She darts her eyes from me to my Escalade. “Why aren’t we chasing after Yevgeniy right now?”
My phone buzzes again. Mila demands my attention, but Galina needs it more. I don’t have a satisfying answer for either of them; it’s a no-win situation for me.
“Because I need to make sure you’re okay first,” I tell her. “And because we don’t know where he’s gone. Do you?”
“No,” she admits hesitantly. “I tried to pay attention on the drive here, but he intentionally took lots of weird turns and did a lot of backtracking.”
That’s not surprising. I dip my head in frustrated resignation.
“He’s always been cautious.” My temples thrum as I stare around us again, scanning for threats that still refuse to materialize. “Why did he bring you to a playground, of all places?”
Something flashes across Galina’s face as she opens her mouth before shutting it quickly. Her expression changes in a split second, but I spot it just as it fades. Guilt. She looks away suddenly, as if she can’t bear to look me straight in the eyes.
Suspicion pricks up and dances over my spine. A tiny voice whispers in the back of my mind that Galina is hiding something.
I swoop her hands into mine. “Galina, you have to trust me.” She doesn’t pull out of my grip, and I convince myself she doesn’t want to. “I’ll do everything in my power to get your mother back. But we can’t find her by standing here. And I need to make sure you’re okay. Let’s go home. All right?”
She turns her eyes to the ground, the combativeness slowly melting away with each tumbling breath in the winter air. “If you say so.”
I’d built up an image of the reunion in my head. In my imagination, it was a glorious moment where both of us crashed together like crashing ocean waves, the force powerful enough to polish stones into jewels.
Yet reality has a way of disappointing.
The only similarity to the ocean here is the chill I feel in my bones.
And a sense that I’m slowly drowning.
Opening the car door, I ease her inside before I slide over to join her. The boeviki in front give us quick glances. “Drive,” I snap. The one at the wheel revs the engine, and the car peels onto the road.
Galina peers at the backs of their heads. She’s looking all over the car, but never at me. Her legs clamp together, and her hands are wrapped in a knot on her lap. She looks equal parts vulnerable and wary—like a wolf that has to chew off its own leg to escape a trap.
I sweep her close, pouring my warmth over her as I greedily drink in her scent, her presence, and her sea of clashing emotions. She’s here. She’s really here.
I’ve been dying for this moment.
