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That meant I had to call Marina on the burner phone. It was a one-shot deal, but now that I was with Frankie, I felt safer, like I could make that risk. Frankie was skilled in keeping his identity secret, in staying hidden. He had to because of his profession.
After using the bathroom, washing my hands, and then splashing some water on my face to wake up a little bit more, to not look so “rough around the edges,” I left the bathroom and turned the light off.
And there, sitting on the edge of the bed, was Frankie. My heart skipped a beat as I looked at him. His big body seemed to dwarf the king-sized mattress, but it was his stare he had leveled at me that had everything in me slowing to a stop then racing to the surface. It was like my blood was running a marathon, each cell seeing which could get ahead of the next, which could be the fastest.
I didn’t know how long I stood there, or how long we just stared at each other, but it seemed like an eternity. Yet it also seemed like it hadn’t been enough time.
“It really is you,” he said so softly I knew he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. His brows pulled down low as if in deep thought. I saw the way he raked his eyes over me curiously. “You’re the same, but you’re all different.” He looked into my eyes. “The hair, the eye coloring.” He paused a moment before stating, “And you’re thinner.”
I cleared my throat and looked down at myself. My face felt like it was on fire. I certainly wasn’t the same Nadja. Hell, I wasn’t even Nadja anymore.
“Nadja?”
I waited a heartbeat before I responded. “It’s not Nadja anymore.” He furrowed his brows even more. “It’s Rachel Clayton.”
I didn’t know how much time passed before he finally responded, but it felt like an eternity.
“Rachel Clayton?”
I nodded slowly. “There’s a lot to catch you up on.”
“I guess so.”
We stared into each other’s eyes before I forced myself to move toward him. I sat on the edge of the bed, this massive space between us. I was afraid to get any closer, this weird tension like another person standing right in the middle.
I’d tell him everything that happened during these last years, and I’d start with me agreeing to leave Frankie and go back to Russia.
All so I could make sure Frankie didn’t get caught in the crosshairs of my father and the bratva’s wrath.
18
Frankie
Gone was the innocent girl I’d once known all those years ago.
The woman who sat beside me wasn’t Nadja. She was new, equal parts survival and strength. She was afraid, but she was strong.
She was a warrior.
She may call herself Rachel now, a new identity to hide from someone who may or may not be looking for her. I wanted to fucking kill anyone who thought they could touch her, who made her have to go to this trouble of staying hidden… of having to survive in the worst possible way.
Rachel.
No, she’d never be that girl to me. She’d always be my Nadja.
And as I looked into her eyes—ones that were currently blue because of the contacts she wore—as I took in the strands of her shoulder-length dark-blonde hair—locks that were no longer raven-black and falling down her back—I knew it didn’t matter what she looked like or what she called herself.
This was still the girl I was madly in love with. And if we never saw each other again, she’d be the only woman I’d ever want. I’d die knowing I felt that one perfect emotion in my otherwise fucked up life.
She’d just finished telling me about what happened in the last five years.
Her father forcing her to go to Russia.
Her agreeing, because if not, he would’ve killed me.
I wanted to tell her I would have died a happy man because she would’ve been with me. It would have been a small sacrifice for the time we shared.
Her almost marriage to Maximillian.
I gritted my teeth in possessiveness at that thought.
She is mine.
Then there was the massacre and her father’s death.
I listened silently as she told me that she cried herself to sleep wanting to come back to me, that she wanted to call me, to tell me everything, to run back into my arms.
I wanted that too, baby.
I silently listened, although I wanted to pull her in close, to hold her, tell myself this was real, that she was here. I wanted to tell her I wanted the same things, that there would never be anyone else for me but her.
I yearned for her for so long… so much. And the time away from her hadn’t dimmed that. In fact, it had grown. I’d become even more obsessed, determined to find answers, to find her. But it looked like she found me.
