AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Three will do for a quick walk outside,” he murmured, anxiety tightening his body when I climbed off him. “But I want you holding a second.”
I smiled, making no attempt to hide my relief or love. “I’ll get a second.” I knew where he kept his weapons now, and I had the code for the door. “Coming with?”
I already knew the answer, so I wasn’t surprised when he nodded and followed me up the hallway. He stayed by my side as I grabbed another gun and edged even closer when we approached the front door. Sweat beaded at his temple as I unlocked it, the door opening with a familiar creak. His hand locked around my elbow like a vice, but we stepped over the threshold.
We made it three seconds before Damien stiffened, a darkness chasing through his eyes. His breath caught, then sped. His eyes flicked around frantically, not even seeing Jonathan, and he pulled me back inside so quickly I almost tripped. But it was more than we’d been out of the flat indays.
Safely back in our locked flat, I pulled Damien into a hug and hated the way he trembled. His heart beat so hard I felt it against my own chest.
Healing wouldn’t happen overnight, but I’d prove to him that we were safe inside our own home. And until then, I needed to figure out how to find Finch and kill him. It was bad enough when he terrifiedme,but now he was threatening my husband’s peace of mind, and it was beyond personal.
I didn’t just want him dead so I would be safe; I wanted to watch the light leave his eyes.
CHAPTER 19
DAMIEN
Life was a rope tearing itself out of my grasp. It was so strong, so out of control, that no matter how hard I gripped it, more and more of it unspooled. I didn’t know how much strength I had left. I’d barely slept for weeks, my body was riddled with weakness because it needed rest, needed me to take better care of it, and every single sound from the building or out on the road was Finch and his men coming to take my wife.
The men who killed Mum and Willow were long dead, and Finch wasn’t even connected to them, but I couldn’t separate their murder from Finch’s obsession with owning Vasilisa. Any other man would have cut his losses, decided she was too much trouble, and found another wife. But not Finch. He would never stop hunting her, and now Artur was dead, Finch would send his own men. Or he’d make a personal visit.
I closed my eyes, leaning into the punishingly hot water pounding down on my body, but nightmares waited behind my closed eyelids. My chest cinched painfully tight when I sawthem, my family. Bloody, brutalised, broken—and dead. My imagination added Vasilisa beside them, her bones snapped, blood spilled, and clothes ripped to showcase every inch of vileness she’d been put through.
Fuck. I needed my eyes on her, needed to hold her, to climb back into bed and feel the warmth of her body in my arms—safe where no one could ever take her from me. My arms shook, my breathing sharp, rationed, barely any air reaching my lungs.
“Shit,” I gasped, shutting off the water. I was fucking losing it, and the only thing that kept the storm of panic at bay was having Vasilisa close. I rested my head against the cold shower tiles to catch my breath, but I couldn’t fucking do it. Every time I blinked, I saw Mum, Willow, and Vasya in that cesspit, covered in blood and cum and filth. I pulled on my hair until the roots screamed in pain, but I couldn’t get the image out of my fucking head.
I didn’t dry myself; I just stumbled out and threw a towel around my waist. Wracked with sickness, out of control trembling in my arms and legs, I rushed back into the bedroom.
And froze.
“No,” I rasped, staring at the bed. The covers were thrown back on Vasya’s side and it wasempty.“No. No, no, no,” I choked out, more breathless with every gasp.
I checked around the bed, irrationally praying she’d rolled out and was still here, safe, but two seconds told me she was nowhere in the room. Oh, god. I choked down air, my head starting to pound behind my eyes.
“Vasya?” I shouted, bursting into the hallway, icy cold prickling my arms like needles of apprehension. There were no bullet holes, no broken vases or photo frames knocked off the walls—no signs that she’d been taken. But she was gone. She wasgone.
“Vasilisa!”
I burst into the living room like a feral animal, relief punching into me when my wife called, “I’m here, Damien. I’m okay.”
But a quick scan of the living room and kitchen proved she wasn’t here and—no, no, no.She was on the balcony.
I gasped for air, choking on whatever breaths I did manage to inhale, and threw myself across the room, feet slipping as I dripped on the floor.
“Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed when she saw me. She rose from the table where she’d been sitting with a half-finished cup of tea and the sketchbook she’d been drawing in since she discovered her love of art at the Tate Britain.
“Come inside,” I pleaded, but it came out too hard, a pure command. “Please. I’d feel better with you inside.”
Her warm hand moulded to my face, and I knew by the sigh that drifted from her that I was a mess. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me on our own balcony,” she said gently. “I’m completely fine, Damien. Will you sit with me?”
The longer we were out in the open, the more black spots crept into my vision. My headache pounded a brutal hammer on the anvil of my skull. Empty eyes stared at me accusingly.I won’t let her die, too, I promise.
“I just want some fresh air,” Vasilisa said, worry darkening her rich chocolate eyes. “No one’s going to hurt me here, I promise. And I have my gun.”
“Inside,” I rasped, my voice weak.
She sighed, dropping her hand. I felt the loss like a fist to the stomach. “Damien, I’m going mad inside the flat. I know you’re struggling, and I’m not pushing you to leave, I know why you’re scared, but—I can’t breathe. I need to getout.I miss going places with you. I want to go back to the gallery. I want you to show me more of your favourite restaurants. I want to visit my café and—”
