One
Kristina
Nine months ago, Achim Novak killed me. He siphoned my will to live with cruel, vindictive words full of hate and maliciousness.
Only hours later, Trey Corbyn revived me in the same manner. He breathed life back into my veins by draining the black, hate-filled blood the darkness filled my heart with.
I thought the dark was my safety net, that it would keep me safe during my bleakest days. Over the past nine months, I slowly learned that isn’t the case. It sheltered me from the horrid things happening to me against my wishes, but it stopped me from using the fighting strength Trey swears he’s seen in me since day one.
He sees something in me no one else ever has. He thinks I’m special, where in reality, I was once just a young girl from Czechia who dared to dream for a better life. There have been a handful of times Trey’s attention has made me want to tiptoe back into the dark. It wasn’t anything he said or did. When he isn’t fulfilling his role in Nikolai’s crew, he’s charming in his own barbaric way. It’s believing I don’t deserve his attention that is my biggest struggle.
My family were treated as lesser valued members of society for longer than I’ve been born. We were devalued because our blood was neither royal nor tainted with evil.
Now I feel as if it has a touch of both. Trey’s blood is royal in a way he doesn’t need to balance a jeweled crown on his head to hold his chin high. His family’s legacy, although not as well-known as it once was, is still respected across the globe, and the reverence it demands ensures I’ll forever be safe.
Even now, while sitting in the passenger seat of Trey’s car as it’s being loaded with a body, I feel safe and protected. Lester hurt me. Not as bad as Vladimir, Achim, or Rory, but he still died because of it. As did Achim.
Achim’s head was returned to the United States minus his body so he’d be denied a proper burial. Most of the Czech Republic’s population are atheist, therefore funerals are more based on a person’s accomplishments than their religious beliefs. The Novak’s had their own strong spiritual beliefs. To them, all the horrible things Achim did in his life would be excused during proceedings. They’d confess his sins on his behalf, which would give him a free pass to heaven.
Neither Trey nor Nikolai would ever let that happen. They wanted him to rot in hell along with Vladimir. Although his head is stored in below-freezing temperatures, I’m confident his soul is experiencing a starkly different set of circumstances.
I stop smirking like a vindictive witch when the crank of a door breaks through the silence that forever shrouds me, or should I say, used to shroud me. Although my English is still developing, I’m not close to being mute.
Trey jerks his chin up about something Eight says before he slides behind the steering wheel of his Shelby. Fond memories flash before my eyes when he says, “I need to make a quick stop at Jim’s before heading to the restaurant Nikolai’s party is being held at. Since you’re ready to go, you can travel with Eight if you want?” His smile when I grunt sends blood rushing through all extremities of my body. “Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Duchess. I was just asking.”
After signaling for Eight to go, Trey kicks over the engine of his beloved car. Although I’ve been sitting in his passenger seat for the past forty minutes, I wait for him to request for me to put my seatbelt on before I do. I love that even though I’m no longer battered, bruised, and on the verge of death by starvation, he still doesn’t want me to get hurt. It’s one of the things I love about him.
Yes, you heard me right. I love Trey Corbyn. I may have commenced falling for him before I knew his true identity, but unearthing who he really is hasn’t weakened the intensity in the slightest.
There’s nothing more beautiful in the world than a broken man doing everything in his power to fix a broken woman. He could have ended up more scarred than he is, but alas, a shattered heart will forever beat louder than an untouched one.
“K…” Trey pushes out in a gravelly tone when I unclick my seatbelt a few miles out of Vegas. “We’re already running late without adding in a detour to Jim’s. I won’t have time to make sure your thighs are drenched before filling you with my seed, so don’t fucking tempt me.”
Ignoring the way his tone both worries and excites me, I continue with my mission. The scent of a rain-soaked ground is lingering in my nostrils, my dress is still damp to touch, and the blood of a man who hurt me is dotting the sleeves of Trey’s shirt. This is inevitable.
Only months ago, the catastrophic range of emotions pumping into me would have caused me to shut down. I would have blanked out long before I took the time to work out why they arrived out of nowhere. Now I hold on for the ride, knowing that every exchange we participate in adds fusions to the cracks nowhere near as unsightly as they once were.
Like a cat wanting attention from its owner, I rub my cheek along Trey’s beard, breathing heavier when the thud of his pulse in his ears reaches mine.
I couldn’t feel love before him.
I couldn’t feel freedom.
I also couldn’t hear my heart thump in any place, much less my ears.
Now I hear its beats as loudly as I do Trey’s.
I should hate how unstable he makes me, how dependent, however, each beautiful pump of his heart triples mine. It beeps in my chest, my ears, and in a region of my body I swore would never be fixed.
Within weeks, the horror I felt when touched was replaced with fascination. I was mesmerized that a big brooding man who towers over me even when sitting could be so gentle. He took his time with me, showing me how even events I once hated could be enjoyable if the right person was doing it.
I won’t lie. There were days I cried when the guilt of enjoying what he was doing to me become too much to bear. There were times I thought I got everything I deserved because only someone wickedly immoral could experience pleasure after being so brutally hurt. Then, there are days like today, where my hunger is so rampant, even if the nightmares of my past want to surface, they wouldn’t be strong enough to stop me taking what I want.
Trey says I’m a fighter. What he doesn’t realize is my biggest battle is fighting my addiction to him. I feel alive when I’m beneath him—cherished and unbroken. It’s a strange but highly welcomed feeling I crave as much as my stomach once begged for food.
“Please,” I whisper in Trey’s ear in Czech, knowing out of all the words in the world, he’ll understand that one the most. I’ve used it on him many times when he refused to touch me until I begged him to.
With his hand gripping my nape to hold my mouth hostage to his, Trey pulls his car down a deserted side street. His hold thrills me more than it scares me. He’s not holding me roughly because he wants to hurt me, it’s because he can’t kiss me like I’ve never been kissed if he wasn’t being him while doing it.
