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Dad crossed to a mahogany cabinet against the wall and got out a half-full bottle of whiskey. How he knew about my secret stash, I didn’t know. “Here,” he said, sitting a glass in front of me and giving me a long, measuring stare. “Drink that, and tell us what happened.All of it.I’m not leaving this room until the doctor says you’ll be okay.”
I flexed my hands, threw back the whiskey, and assessed the three men. The chances of me getting out of my office withoutdivulging my nightmares was zero. Not even a single percent. Zero.
“I’d rather not—”
“Tough shit,” Jonathan barked, watching me with a heavy glare that did nothing to hide his concern. Shit, I was really fucked up if Jonathan was worried. He usually just grunted that I was an idiot and told me to torture someone until I felt better.
I blew out a breath, staring into my empty glass, and said, “I was fine until those bastards blew up our reception. I turned around and found her gone and I—”
It was hard to get the words out. I clenched my jaw.
“You…?” Dad prompted.
Dr. Korte tutted. “Let the man speak.”
I gave an experimental tug at the cuffs. “I could use another drink.”
“I’ll get you one when you finish that thought,” Dad offered.
“Bribery,” I muttered.
“Incentive,” he countered.
“I thought I’d find her dead. If Finch got to her before me—the shit he’s done to people, to women especially…”
“Like what?” Dr. Korte pressed, his voice mild and neutral.
I shot him a look that told him that tone wouldn’t work on me, but I answered his question. “He’s a rapist and a killer. He’s made a shit load of money from trafficking, and the girlfriends he loses interest in usually find their way into slavery, too. I’ve lost count of the amount of women he’s responsible for being abused and brutalised. If he got hold of Vasya, especially after she married me instead of him… he’d break her.” I squeezed the glass, my knuckles white. “And leave her in pieces for me to find.”
Dad got up and poured me another drink without a word, his hand falling on my shoulder, bruising in its grip.
“Like Adina and Willow,” he said quietly, his low volume doing nothing to hide the roughness of his voice.
“I keep seeing them,” I admitted, only for him to hear. The words burned on the way out. My skin tightened over my skull. “But Vasya’s there with them, murdered and—”
I cut off the graphic details. He knew what had happened to his wife and daughter, and he didn’t need the vivid reminder.
“How am I supposed to look her in the eye?” I asked, scrubbing a rough hand over my face. “Every time I look at her, I see her fucking corpse. And I locked her up. She must think I’m a controlling bastard.”
“She knows something’s wrong. Talk to her.”
The advice was hard to swallow. How could I talk to her when I couldn’t bear to look at her—out of fear of seeing her dead but also guilt? The guilt spiked through my lungs, through my heart, making it hard to breathe, to move, to function at all.
“That’s good advice,” Dr. Korte said, watching me closer than I’d have liked.
“I’ll talk to her,” I sighed, taking a drink and barely feeling the burn. “Am I free to go now?”
The doctor raised a grey eyebrow. “You haven’t begun to discuss what led to what happened today. Why don’t you walk me through it? Start at your wedding reception.”
I groaned, letting my eyes fall shut, but I opened them swiftly at the images of blood and gore behind my eyelids. “Fine,” I relented, and began to talk.
If it would get rid of the nightmare visions stalking me, I’d talk about it.
CHAPTER 22
VASILISA
Iturned the key over in my hand, my teeth worrying at my bottom lip.
