“I’m British,” I said to him that night, speaking for the first time in years.
Nikolai smiled a grin that revealed he had once been as broken as me. “Bloodlines mean nothing when kingdoms are merely conquered provinces.”
When confusion bombarded me, I received help from the last person I expected.
“He means princes don’t necessarily wear crowns,” Nero said, unconcerned about the sharp, rusty blade piercing a vein in his neck. “And darkness is a realm that needs more than one leader.”
With uncertainty higher than my wish to die in that instance, I lowered my shank before collapsing to the ground, my exhaustion too apparent to ignore for a second longer. I had hit rock bottom that day as I did last night, yet K still rolls the orange she’s been holding the past hour my way, hopeful I’ll prove it isn’t tainted with drugs so she can eat it.
Even after ensuring Dok dressed her wounds without touching her in a way that could be deemed unacceptable, and sitting by her bedside for hours on end to ensure her slip into a deep, dark void for the second time wasn’t interrupted, I don’t deserve her trust. I hurt her even knowing she’s been hurt in unimaginable ways.
That makes me a fucking monster.
That makes me unworthy of her faith.
But more than anything, it makes me want to protect her even more. Not just from additional harm but me as well.
Knowing K will never eat until the food she’s consuming is proven safe, I bend down to gather up the orange. When I bite into the tangy, bitter fruit without bothering to peel it, K’s eyes drop to watch the bob of my Adam’s apple. Once the clump of citrus is sitting in my stomach, she returns her eyes to my face, soundlessly begging for me to return her orange.
I should roll it across the floor like it isn’t dirty, pretend I don’t care she’s eating food too acidic for her shrunken stomach to handle, but for some fucked-up reason, I can’t. Just like I couldn’t walk away last night, I can’t this morning, either. I’m drawn to her. I just have no clue why. For years, I’ve cared about no one but myself.
Panic floods K’s impressive eyes when I spin on my heels and walk out of the room. I’m clutching her orange in my hand, hopeful the gall I saw in her eyes in less than a nanosecond is as strong as I’m anticipating. If she wants to eat, she’ll have to bring out her strengths again because only someone strong enough to leave the darkness unaccompanied deserves a second chance.
I learned that the hard way three years ago when I followed Nikolai out of the dungeon I’d been held captive in for three years. He wasn’t giving me a free pass. I worked for everything I’ve achieved. It wasn’t fucking easy, but glory doesn’t come to those too scared to fight for victory.
“Let them wander freely. They’re not prisoners here,” I say to Rory who’s manning the corridor with an AK-47 in one hand and a packet of cigarettes in the other. “Just remember, no one is to make a move until Nikolai says so.”
I wait for him to lift his chin in confirmation before heading for the kitchen at the back of Clarks. When I enter the industrial-size space, my jaw gains an involuntary tick. Instead of flour coating the wooden chopping blocks the cooks prepare food on, cocaine is.
“Get that shit out of here.” Rick’s wide eyes lift to mine for the quickest second before he scoops the coke into his hands like its worthless and hightails it out of the kitchen. The three girls he’s hoping to get doped up enough they’ll forget he’s a bottom-dweller quickly chase him down.
* * *
I’ve only just cleared away the mess that will have K being more distrusting of her food than she already is when a second body joins me in the fragrant-smelling space. Regretfully, it isn’t who I’m hoping. It’s Logan instead of K. He’s looking smug like the drugs he encouraged me to binge on last night didn’t fuck with his head as well as they did mine.
I’m still as high as a fucking kite.
I shouldn’t be surprised. The Popovs only sell the good shit.
“How you feeling this morning, T-Man? You were pretty shit-faced last night.”
Logan musses my hair like he’s not in my shit-book for the stunt he pulled last night. I’m not talking about the blow. If I weren’t down with getting high, I wouldn’t have dabbled in my drug of choice. I’m talking about his overfriendliness with K. I warned him earlier she was off-limits, yet he still acted like a man who’s never had his dick sucked last night when she was placed on his radar. He was so up in K’s business, I could smell his aftershave on her face before I threw her over my shoulder. Why do you think I was so desperate to get her clean? I hate that she smelled like him. It fucked with my head more than the drugs I use to forget.
A note for future reference, just because you’re taller than someone doesn’t mean you’re tougher than them. They’ll put you on your ass as I do Logan five seconds after his fingers leave my hair. “What the fuck, man? I was just saying hello.”
After working his ribs over good enough he’ll feel me for a week, I pin him to the industrial-size fridge by his throat, then get up in his face like he did K’s last night. “You messed with my head, Logan. I don’t fucking like it. Do it again, and I’ll have Leroy pummel your ass… and I don’t mean with his fists. He’s been dying to stretch your puckered hole for years, and I’m about in the right frame of mind to let him.”
My taunt is delivered with the menace I was aiming for. Regretfully, it isn’t just Logan quivering in his boots. So is the woman who built the courage to walk through a compound full of murders just for the hope of eating a half-chewed orange for breakfast.
“K…”
She rockets out of the kitchen as fast as her quivering legs will take her, aware my threat was more honest than a scare tactic.
After imprinting the fridge with Logan’s body, I take off after K. I reach her just as she enters the corridor leading to the dormitory the other women are in. I hate that she woke up there this morning, but considering she snuck out of my room in the middle of the night, there wasn’t much I could do about it. She didn’t tell me she was too scared to remain sleeping in my room. I could see the fear in her eyes when I found her in the dormitory after my frantic search this morning. It maimed me as much as the whimpers she releases when she’s sleeping.
Confusion draws my brows together when K takes a right halfway down the corridor instead of left. My shock is pushed aside for worry when the sound of glass shattering booms out of the bathroom she entered two seconds later.
When she returns to the corridor, clutching a shard of glass so tightly blood drips from her hand, I hold mine out in front of my body. Her eyes are murderous, and she doesn’t just have me in her sights. She waves her shiv around as if it’s a knife, threatening anyone stupid enough not to feel the fight to live beaming out of her.
