“I’m not scared of you, Rico,” I splutter out, allowing my heart to overrule my head.
“You should be, Kitten.” He's so quiet; if I didn’t see his lips move, I wouldn’t have known he’d spoken.
A stretch of silence crosses between us. I wouldn't say it's awkward, more necessary. The flight over this side of the country was only five hours long, but it feels like five months have passed. So many life-altering decisions have been made during our trip. But my biggest worry is that the most imperative one wasn't made by me. It was madeforme.
“What will happen to Timothy’s family?”
Rico’s dark eyes stare directly into mine. “Nothing. As far as his family is concerned, Timothy will just vanish without a trace.”
My eyes burn as a new batch of tears well into my eyes. My tears are not for Timothy; they are for his wife and children who will be left wondering what happened to him. For some people, that can be more upsetting than learning the ill fate of their loved ones. When a life is lost, you never forget, but you get to grieve and to try and move on. But not knowing what happened, you can’t get closure. You spend your entire life scanning strangers’ faces wondering if one day you will spot them in the crowd; or every time the phone rings, you ponder if it will be the call you've been waiting for the past ten years. The people who are left wondering what happened have no chance of closure, and no chance of healing.
I lock my eyes with his. “What about the victims’ families?” I ask, incapable of reining in my desire to lessen their grief.
Rico’s heavy brows stitch. He looks angry… or perhaps even stumped by my question.
“What about them?” His tone is knee-shaking low.
“Don’t they deserve to know justice was served?”
Rico’s lips set into a firm, straight line before he shakes his head.
“Why not? They deserve to know. They have the right to know.” My voice gets louder and angrier with every sentence I speak. I can see his anger brewing in his dark eyes, but it doesn't dampen my pleas the slightest. "Someone they loved was killed! They have suffered enough; they shouldn't have to live their life wondering if they are walking amongst a killer. Give them peace, Rico. Give them closure."
“That's not the way it works in this industry, Kitten. It's not my job to—”
“Why? Because the mob doesn’t have a heart? They don’t understand compassion?!”
“No, they don’t!” His loud voice vibrates my heart right out of my chest. “They’ll slit your throat without a second thought and dump you in an acid bath before sitting down to enjoy a meal. Their stomachs won’t twist. Their hearts won’t feel pain. They will feel nothing. That's the type of men you're dealing with, Kitten, and believing any differently will only get you killed.”
His chest is heaving up and down so violently, it competes with mine with every breath he takes.
“If you want any chance of coming out of this alive, Blaire, you need to learn your place. Women are seen, not heard; your body is a valuable commodity, not your mind, and you're to never voice your opinion unless it's asked. And even then, your replies should echo your male counterpart.”
He stares into my eyes, ensuring I'm aware the words he's speaking are nothing but gospel.
Satisfied I've absorbed his warning, he rolls out of bed and puts on his suit jacket. I remain still, muted by shock. In a matter of seconds, the man who spent hours comforting me has been replaced by a cold-hearted, emotionless stranger. His eyes are bleak, his jaw clenched, and the stern mask he wears when surrounded by his crew has slipped back into place.
After fastening the button on his suit jacket, he nudges his head to the washroom. “Tidy yourself up before meeting me in the hangar,” he instructs, his words clipped.
Not waiting for me to reply, he paces to the door. Just before he exits, he cranks his neck back to peer at me. When his gaze zooms in on the moisture forming in my eyes, his stern mask slips for the slightest second, exposing a flare of emotion I was certain he didn't hold: fear.
“I’m trying to protect you, Blaire. Please don’t make it harder on me.”
Chapter 11
After splashing cold water onto my face and using a wet napkin to remove the mascara stains tracking down my cheeks, I roll my shoulders, lift my head high, and walk out of the bathroom. My brisk strides falter when I sense a presence in the room. Unlike the weird buzzing sensation that fills me when Rico is close by, this isn’t a rush of excitement. It's pure fear.
With my heart dropped from my ribcage, I spin on my feet. Glacier blue eyes on a ruggedly handsome face reflect back at me. The unnamed man who confronted me last week has his backside propped on my suitcase and his eyes rapt on me.
“One little bag for a week worth of packing.” His voice is gritty and colored with a slight Russian accent.
Pushing off my suitcase, he paces towards me. He walks with a swagger and an air of authority, but his commanding aura isn't as refined as Rico's. Wearing a pair of ripped jeans rising from black military boots and a buttoned-up dark navy shirt, his clothing showcases his body in eye-catching detail that even the evilness beaming from his eyes can’t detract from. The mysterious blue-eyed stranger is a similar size to Rico, but I feel dwarfed by his height when he stands next to me.
Not speaking, he surrounds me like a shark circling his prey. His eyes drink in every detail of my face before dropping to absorb my body. Mere seconds pass, but it feels like hours. You’d think my first thought would be to dart towards the open door mere feet in front of me, but I'm frozen in place, incapable of thinking, let alone fleeing.
I balk when the mysterious stranger leans in to sniff my hair. It isn't just a quick, dignified whiff. He takes his time, soaking in every strand of my wavy blonde hair.
“Rico has always had an eye for quality.” His warm breath fans my sweat-beaded neck. Pacing to stand in front of me, he locks his icy gaze with me. “He knows what you haven’t even worked out yet. That’s why he married you before fucking you.”
