“Thank you for rescuing Taylor.” He backs up effortlessly, remaining frustratingly in the way, slowing me down. “And you went far further, getting out all her friends. We won’t forget this. I appreciate it, and while I’ll reimburse your expenses, I owe you.”
“No need for money.” It was worth it for Taylor. I’m not looking at him, just trying to get past. “I have to?—”
“No,” he cuts me off, side-stepping with me, preventing me from moving.
“I have a—” I hold up the phone like it’s a talisman. It’s an excuse, and a poor one, because Greenwich plucks it from my hand effortlessly.
“I’ll give it to her.” He gives me a severe nod. “You’ve done more than enough.”
“She won’t know about—” Something. There has to be a logical reason behind my bone-deep need to see her.
“We’re her family. I’ll make sure she has everything she needs.” Greenwich has the tone of firm patience of a father.
There’s a beat of silence as I watch Taylor get into the car with her sisters. She turns at the last moment, looking over her shoulder. Our eyes meeting for a second and fire runs down my veins.
She’s mine.
Then the door closes.
“I’ll call by tomorrow.” It’s a long time without her, but surely I can manage.
“Don’t.”
The abruptness of Greenwich’s word finally gains my attention, and I notice he’s six inches in front of me, with his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m going to check on all the women,” I reply, aiming for matter-of-fact. “I rescued them, they’re my responsibility.”
“Not Taylor. You know she’s safe with us.”
“Of course, but?—”
We never find out what idiotic thing I was going to say I could do better than her sisters and her future brother-in-laws, because Greenwich shakes his head and interjects.
“You’re Volk.”
It’s a blow to my chest. I begin to deny that I’m not anymore, that Volk is very literally in the past for me.
“Taylor has suffered years of abuse from your Volk Bratva brothers?—”
“Former brothers.” I hate that he uses the Russian word for mafia men, even though it’s the correct term. It makes me feel like I’m really related to Volk by blood, although I’m not. And that I’ll never be able to step away from who I was.
But that part is true. It’s the reason I’ve never covered up the Volk Bratva wolf tattoo. A reminder of all the bleak things I’ve done to end up here.
“She has her life back, and doesn’t need reminders of all she’s been through. She’ll be far better off without seeing you at all.”
Suddenlyfeelingfor the first time in decades, possibly ever, and discovering that the one person I have to be near will be damaged by my presence, is deeply ironic.
I want to howl with sheer pain as the truth of it rips my heart to shreds.
I stay quiet.
“She’s been through enough,” Greenwich adds.
My jaw clenches, but I manage a firm nod.
This is the price of all the morally dubious things I’ve done in my life. I don’t deserve to be near an angel like Taylor, even if not being near her might bleed all the humanity I’ve just discovered out of me, drip by drip, from a cut that I already know will never heal.
Taylor. Zhizn moya. My life.
