“If I had listened to him, he wouldn’t have needed to step in.” A hue stains her cheeks. This one is more in anger than lust. “I thought Dimitri saw me… the real me, but all he saw was a pretty doll for his display cabinet.”
My knuckles pop when I clench my fists. Dimitri is on the other side of the country, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to beat the living fucking shit out of him. He hurt Justine, in more ways than one, yet she’s the one who got punished.
How the fuck is that okay?
By the time I’ve settled my anger enough I can talk, I’m too late. Justine is asleep. The gentle rise and fall of her chest ensures I can’t be mistaken, let alone her faint snores. Watching her sleep settles something deep within me. She truly looks like an angel when she lets go of the weight on her shoulders. The shadows beneath her eyes aren’t as dark, and the groove between her brows isn’t as deep.
She’s peaceful.
Safe.
Protected.
More protected than she was when she got these.
The figure eight pattern I trace over the bite-like scar she usually keeps hidden shouldn’t be enough to wake her, but I forgot about the sexual tension that forever crackles between us. It could wake the dead.
Justine stares straight at me, her eyes vacant and sad as she once again places the needs of others above herself. It’s a known trait of any survivor. “You have to help him, Nikolai. Maddox doesn’t deserve the life sentence he was served any more than you deserve the one you were issued at birth.” I’m not surprised she sees through the shield others can’t. I just wish it was occurring after I had reclaimed my throne. “If he could just serve his time at Harborview, my guilt wouldn’t be so intense. He wouldn’t be free, but at least he’d be safe.”
I stiffen when she burrows her head into my chest to hide the wetness streaming down her face. Tears are still new for me. I honestly don’t know how to respond to them. For years, I thought they were a sign of weakness and manipulation, but that wasn’t what reflected out of Justine’s eyes before she buried her head between my pecs.
She’s not crying because she’s weak.
She’s crying because she’s been strong for too long.
The heartache heard in her sobs brings back the unfamiliar stab of protection I felt when watching the video of her assault. It has me wanting to cocoon her from the world, to protect her how her brothers endeavored to when she was young.
I never relied on anyone; even your shadow leaves you when things get dark, but you can trust me when I say I’ll stop at nothing to ensure the people responsible for Justine’s pain feel her pain.
If a devil can’t bend the rules of heaven for an angel to live her life in peace, he’ll raise hell instead. My body wears the medals from the last time I stepped into the fire for another. This time the honor will be bestowed on the area where my heart once thumped.
Chapter Seventeen
The thump of my head compliments to only a few hours of sleep is forgotten when I feel the heat of Justine’s eyes scouring my body. She starts her assessment at my face before counting the bumps in my spine. When she reaches my naked backside that’s barely covered by the bedsheet, she intakes a sharp breath. I could have kept on my boxing shorts when I returned to her room after a two-hour long impromptu meeting with Roman and Trey, but since she was opened and exposed last night, I wanted to be just as raw.
When her eyes finally return to my face, my lips tug into a cocky grin. For a woman pushed to the brink yesterday, she looks remarkably comfortable in her own skin. Her cheeks are rosy, and her lips are plump. Even her bloodshot eyes are full of life.
“Morning, Justine,” I greet her in Russian, my voice groggy from just waking up.
My brows furrow when she asks, “It is morning?” She twists her lips before glancing at her closed bedroom door. “That’s why it's so quiet. Everyone is passed out.”
I stare at her in shock, equally impressed and confused. Impressed that she understood what I said, but confused as to why she has no recollection of me climbing into her bed at four o’clock this morning. She watched me strip naked with hungry, guilt-free eyes before rolling over so I could spoon her like a motherfucking soft cock, so why is she acting as if she can’t remember anything?
Air whistles between her teeth when I brush away the curls covering her bump. “Sorry,” I apologize in Russian, hating that I hurt her but desperate to unearth the reason for her lack of memories. “Dok assures it's a superficial bump from your fall. There are no internal injuries.” Although now I’m not so sure. The lump is the same size it was yesterday, but its coloring is more angry.
In quicker than I can snap my fingers, Justine’s memories flood back in. “Sergei.”
Her eyes rocket to mine when I snarl, “Sergei should be grateful he's still breathing. If you hadn’t fainted, he wouldn’t be so lucky.”
I steal her chance to add to one of Roman’s many pleas for clemency last night by swinging my legs off the bed and standing to my feet. Just like earlier this morning, she doesn’t attempt to hide her ogle of my ass. Her stare is as hungry as the rumblings of my stomach, although neither of them have an association with food.
Once my jeans are slipped up and over my ass, I pivot around to face Justine. Sergei’s stay of execution is the last thing on my mind when I see the lust burning in her eyes. The thin sheet can’t hide the curve of her knees, and her chest is rising and falling in rhythm to mine.
“Do you look at all your clients like you do me, Justine?” My words are surly, heated by both lust and jealousy.
The jealousy half of my statement fades away when Justine shakes her head. “Good. My hit list just halved.”
I can only say half as there are still many men on her list. The top three names I know very well.
