There’s no greater gift than the one I’m given when she nods, accepting my assistance.
Careful not to touch the scrape marks marring her beautiful skin, I band my arms around her body and pull her to my bare chest. She whimpers into my neck as she clutches onto me for dear life. Her nails digging into the scarred skin of my back is a cruel reminder of the world I forced her into when I failed to give her up a second time.
I knew who Blaire was from the moment she tumbled into my lap hours after I’d returned from Russia. Blaire’s beautiful golden hair, angelic face, and seductive body are features any man would have a hard time forgetting. But it was her light green eyes peering up at me that unveiled her. It was the same pair of eyes that blessed my dreams every night for the past ten years; and the same pair of eyes that weathered me through my darkest storms.
When she walked away from me that night in Vegas, slightly stumbling, I tried to let her go, but just like my desire to protect her ten years earlier, something greater had me pushing away from the poker table and walking towards her.
One sideways glance was all it took. She recognized me too. Although, three weeks ago, she handled the discovery of my real identity in a much calmer fashion. It was only when I discovered she’d been drugged did the reasoning behind her serene approach make sense.
We sat in a VIP booth in Omnia Nightclub for nearly three hours talking. I told her everything, disclosing things I’ve never shared with anyone. The murder of my mother. How I killed a man to protect my sister. Every bad thing I’d done in my life was laid out for her to see. In all honesty, half of my confession was to ease the burden I’d been carrying on my shoulders the past twenty-four years, but the other half, the bigger half, was because I was trying to scare her. I wanted to show her the man she was staring at in awe was nothing but a monster. But the more I shared, the greater her wonderment grew.
She wasn’t the only one entranced. I was addicted to her. She was my light in a world full of blackness.
She's my light in a world full of blackness.
As I walk through the Popov compound with a quivering Blaire in my arms, the usually robust atmosphere is smothered with despair. The elderly women who transitioned from whores to maids stare at me with concern, while a snick of fear sets into the eyes of the men wary on what my reaction will be.
When I enter the foyer, my stern gaze connects with Erik who is exiting the den. His pupils widen as his eyes drift between Blaire and me.
“The servants’ quarters,” I inform his questioning eyes. Erik nods when I continue, “Make sure he pays his penance or I'll return and do it myself.”
Chapter 26
Blaire
My eyelids slowly flutter open when the smell of fresh-cut flowers lingers through my nostrils. The silkiness of high-thread count sheets caresses the weary muscles of my naked body when I pull my arms out of the comforter and have a leisured stretch.
When my tongue delves out to replenish my parched lips, a pinch of pain throbs in the corner of my mouth. My brows stitch in confusion when the tangy flavor of copper engulfs my taste buds. I jackknife into a half-seated position as memories of my attack two nights ago trickle back into my mind. The events after the attack are nearly as hazy as my recollection of my Vegas trip three weeks ago, but there are portions I remember as clear as day. The way Rico carried me through the residence to an Escalade parked at the front of the stairs of the Popov residence; how he held my hair out of my face when my haunted memories became too much for me to bear, and how he wiped away every tear that fell from my eyes with nothing but remorse reflecting from his beautifully tormented gaze.
He guided me through my darkest days—when the blackness tried to swallow my life whole. Now I need to do the same thing for him.
I've awoken in an empty room, but I don't need to feel Rico's presence to know he is close by. I can sense him. Gathering the bed sheets around my body, I pace through the large residence. As my feet pad down the long corridor with floor to ceiling windows, my eyes absorb the spectacular views I was too shocked to appreciate when we first arrived at this penthouse two nights ago. The dazzling view of the Las Vegas strip stretches as far as the eye can see. It looks so beautiful from this vantage point, concealing the cesspool of crime and inhumanity that occurs there every minute of every day.
Although I’m still shocked from both the aftereffects of my attack and discovering that Rico once again saved my life, I feel the calmest I’ve ever felt. My heart has always known he was a good man, and now that my mind wholeheartedly agrees with it, the tiresome mind versus heart battle I’ve been enduring the past three weeks has vanished, leaving me free to pursue a relationship with Rico without fear of repercussion. It's an invigorating feeling.
I walk past a ten-seater wooden dining table located next to a small but functional kitchen. The furnishings show this apartment is owned by a man with substantial wealth, but it still has a homely feel to it with a small range of potted greens, and hand selected artwork accenting the opulent decor.
With the rawness of my throat, I'm tempted to stop by the kitchen for a refreshing glass of water. I continue walking past the double-door fridge without a break in my stride. My desire to find Rico is more fervent than the requests of my thirst.
My brisk pace only slows when I reach a high-glossed door on my left. Even though the door is closed, my intuition is telling me to stop. Trusting my gut, I place my hand on the door handle and push down. My perception of Rico's presence is proven dead on point when the deep timbre of his voice sounds through my ears the instant the door cracks open.
Mimicking the time I interrupted him in the private jet, he's sitting behind a wooden desk with a cell phone attached to his ear. His tone is clipped and authoritative. . . until he notices me leaning in the doorjamb.
“Kitten.”
The urge to cry overwhelms me from the pain displayed in his one simple word. He shuts down his phone, shoves his chair away from his desk, then stands. I push off the doorjamb and race towards him. He catches me in his arms as the first lot of wetness splashes my cheeks.
“Shh, Kitten. You’re okay. No one will ever hurt you,” he promises, reciting the words he said to me on repeat the last forty-eight hours.
He tightens his grip around my shoulders, adding more of his spicy scent to the bedsheets curled around my shaking body. I push into him harder, needing more direct contact, wanting the warmth of his body to take away the shakes impeding mine. My thigh muscles bunch when he tucks his hands under the grooves of my knees, and he hoists me off the ground. He moves to a double seated sofa in the corner of the room and sits down. The cotton material of his shirt catches my tears his thumbs miss. He holds me close into his chest and confirms his promise over and over again.
Once my tears have settled to a slight trickle, I lift my head off my chest and peer into his remorseful eyes.
“What happened to Katie?” My voice is croaky but full of hope. I've barely been lucid the past two days as Rico guided me through my shock, so I've only just realized he could have answers to questions I've been asking the last ten years.
Panic squeezes my heart when Rico shakes his head. “I don’t know, Kitten. She was still in the van when it shot out of the alleyway shortly after you.” He cups my jaw and stares into my eyes. “Just like you, I’ve been looking for her every day. I’ll find her for you, Blaire. I’ll never give up.”
Call it blind faith, hysteria, or instalove, but I know what he's saying is true. My heart knows it, and so does my mind. Just like me, Rico won’t give up until he discovers what happened to Katie.
