“She was hurt under his watch, Roman. How is this not his fault?”
He peers at me with pleading eyes, imploring for me to calm down. “I’m not saying his conscious is clear, but there’s more to this than either of us know, so jumping to conclusions won’t help anyone.” He shifts on his feet to face me. The worry on his face is the same it was when he unshackled me from my torture chamber thirteen years ago. “You’ve only just met this girl, Nikolai. Are you sure the benefits will exceed the repercussions?”
“Yes,” I answer without pause for thought, speaking truthfully for the first time in years.
I can’t explain my immediate desire to protect Justine any more than I can deny it. She riveted me from the moment I saw her, and the more I unearth about her, the more captive I become. Her scars, the fight in her eyes, and the way she should be scared but isn’t are as appealing as her angelic face and cock-thickening body.
When I look at her, I remember a young, naïve teen who tried to do the right thing and was chastised for it in the most unimaginable way. We’ve endured the same torment, she just chose good over evil. I picked whichever team guaranteed I’d live.
For years, I believed that was siding with the devil.
Now, I’m not so sure.
My life isn’t any better than Justine’s.
I just pretend it is.
Unease highlights my tone when I say, “I need more information. Times. Dates. If Dimitri’s fascination is still current.”
Roman nods, acknowledging he understands my request without me needing to spell it out for him. I need to know if Justine is in debt to the Petretti’s.
“I’ll do that while you catch up on some sleep.”
I shoot Roman a wry look. Sleep is the last thing on my mind.
He tries to act unaffected by my scorn. He’d have a better chance of me believing him if his Adam’s apple weren’t bobbing up and down in rapid concession. “You either sleep while the devil is appeased or later when he’s walking the gallows. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather the former.”
He has a point—regrettably.
Upon seeing the agreeance in my eyes, he tosses my dismantled ankle bracelet into my chest before making his way to the living room. I stop him before he gets two steps away from me. “Make sure Justine is aware she either stays in the kitchen or her room until I wake, and ensure the men know those domains are off-limits.” Roman smiles like the hard-ass warden he is, more than eager to hand out my rulings. “Ensure they understand the order is coming directly from me. I don’t want them messing with Justine. If they mess with her, they mess with me.”
I trust my men, but there’s a churning in my gut that won’t quit—even more so after what Roman exposed. If the Petretti’s consider Justine their property, my fight just took on an entirely new meaning.
Doesn’t mean I’ll back down, though. Good soldiers fight for the system. Bad soldiers fight for themselves.
Can you guess which team I belong in?
Chapter Twelve
My teeth grind into the rod of wood Roman shoved in my mouth to muffle my screams. The pain ripping through my body has me on the verge of collapse. I want to die. I want the blackness to takeover, but more than anything, I want to showhimthat he didn’t win.
He can beat me.
He can order my demise.
But he willneverbe rid of me.
I will haunt him when he is awake.
I will haunt him when he is asleep.
And I will haunt him in the hell I plan to bury him in.
Vladimir Popov may have created me, but I will end him.
As the devil within in me rises from the ashes, I lock my eyes with Roman. “Keep going.”
He looks torn, certain I’m one bolt away from passing out. The doctor setting my shattered ankle isn’t qualified, his barely a few years older than me, but when proper medical aide comes with consequences, you must lower your standards.
