“The last place Nikolai’s enemies would think to look,” I grunt through the brutal whacks of K’s fists.
Her nails drag down my back when I peel her off me to place her into Eight’s car. “No, Trey,prosmi.”
It fucking guts me when her tears dampen my beard when I lean across her body to latch her seatbelt into place. The only reason I continue with my mission is because I’d rather my beard absorb the saltiness of her tears than be tinged with her blood.
After yanking on the seat belt hard enough to convince it it’s been through an accident, I press my mouth to K’s. For the first time in almost nine months, her lips fail to part at the request of my lashing tongue. She’s angry. Rightfully so. I told her she’d never have to leave my side if she didn’t want to. I’m not upholding my promise. But what she doesn’t realize is that I have to break one promise to keep another, and it comes before any promises I’ve made: to keep her safe no matter what.
I suck in a hearty whiff of her hair before pressing my lips to the shell of her ear. “Go into the dark, Duchess. I’ll bring you back out when it’s safe.”
In an instant, she stiffens like a plank. She’s not tiptoeing into the blackness she once thought was her safety net, she’s being unwillingly swamped by it. I tugged on her seat belt too forcefully for it to loosen its grip when she attempts to follow my departure from Eight’s car, then I leave her utterly defenseless to the nightmares of her past when I slam Eight’s car door shut a mere second after he slides in behind the steering wheel.
She’s still with me when Eight commences driving away, but I lose her to the dark long before her eyes are ripped from my visual. She’s gone, wholly and without constraint, once again lost to a miserably bleak existence, and I’m one teeny tiny step behind her.
I stole my duchesses crown to hand it to another woman. If that doesn’t expose how badly I’m being snowballed by my past, nothing will.
Eight
Kristina
Nine months ago, Trey pulled me out of the blackness. He made me feel safe and protected, cared for and cherished.
Now, I’m not feeling any of those things.
I feel alone, hollow, and empty.
So very, very empty.
It’s an emptiness that grows to a point it may never be filled when Eight pulls his car down a long and windy road. The nightmare of my life began long before I arrived here, but this place made them ten times worse. I was beaten here. Starved and left for dead. I had my back whipped, my dignity stolen, and my self-worth squashed to within an inch of recognition.
This compound doesn’t feature in my nightmares. Itismy nightmare, and the last place I’d ever feel safe.
As Eight’s car comes to a stop at the front of a set of stairs I raced up in fear for my life twelve months ago, his dilated-with-worry eyes stray to mine. “No one will think to look for you here, K. You’ll be safe here.”
Safe from who?I want to ask him.
My nightmares?
The demons of my past?
Me.
I’m not safe here.
Not mentally, anyway.
This place makes me so sad, I forget what happiness feels like. That’s more damaging than any amount of torture could be, and it has me emerging into the dark as Trey suggested mere minutes ago.
The light makes things look easy.
The dark proves you have to work for everything you want.
I think they’re both as evil as the other.
Nine
Trey
Istop seeking Eight’s taillights in the dark when Nero calls my name. When he’s awarded the attention of my hooded-gaze, he nudges his head in the direction the sleeping quarters are. “She’s here.” While striving to ignore the burn of K’s nails down my back, I follow his climb up the stairwell. “The courier said she’s pretty incoherent. I was going to call in a physician but wanted to get your thoughts first. Usually, Dok handled this type of stuff.” His comment gives credit to my decision to send K away. Dok was the first causality positively identified by the FBI. He died on the operating table after enduring three bullet wounds to the chest.
