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Chapter 12
“There she is…” Laughing, he lets the blow glance off him and leans in, forcing me farther into the corner. “What a shame you’ve dropped your grateful, jail-sprung act so soon. It was almost convincing—”
“And you?” I counter. “You should be with the love of your life, shouldn’t you?”
God, I hate how nasty I sound. So damn bitter.
“Though,” I choke out as my throat tightens, “maybe you wanted to tie up loose ends first? Don’t worry. I can take a hint.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“What you said,” I insist. “According to you…I shouldn’t have come back at all.”
“What are you—” His eyes narrow and widen in quick succession. Then he laughs. “Oh, Little Rose. The next time you want to overhear my evil musings, maybe you shouldn’t fucking pass out before you hear the whole thing? I don’t think you should have come back because…”
“What?” I snarl.
“Because—” He grabs my wrist, yanking me against his chest. “Because I don’t think I’ll be inclined to let you go.”
My heart stops. Muttered in such heated tones, the promise should be terrifying. And it is. So many nuances lurk in those words. Things a man like him could never say out loud.
And it’s like the exhaustion and pain hit me all at once. I go limp. My arms are the only limbs I have control over and I throw them both around his neck.
“I’ve got you.” He catches me, pinning me against the wall for support. “But if you’re trying to choke me, it isn’t working.”
I’m too exhausted to form a comeback.
I break instead. Tears flood my eyes, and I sob like I never have in my entire life. So many years of pain and torment bleed from me. I can’t slow the onslaught. My body trembles in the aftermath, and only now can I finally admit it. I’ve never been so terrified. So desperate.
I’ve never fought so damn hard before.
When my sobs finally subside, his fingers creep into my hair, and I finally register his voice murmured insistently into my ear.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Let it out. Tell me what happened.”
Between gasping pants, I manage to convey everything. The escape. Robert. Everything. But as the words leave my mouth, one thing remains clear: a nagging suspicion I’ve had since the second I crawled into the damn vent.
“It feels too easy,” I admit as I draw back and swipe my hand across my face. “Too…clean.”
“Hmm.” Mischa strokes his chin, his gaze turned inward. “Like he let you go?”
“No.” All I need to do is picture Robert to be sure of that. The man I know would never relinquish his toys, not even for leverage. “More like…”
“What?” His thumb grazes my chin, coaxing an answer from it. I shiver at the contact. Only he could master gentle and demanding in one gesture.
“More like someone planned it?”
But even that sounds too fantastical. The truth could be simpler: Living with Mischa has made me just as paranoid. No wonder he can’t help but doubt me. In his world, everyone is an enemy or a potential foe.
Or a weakness waiting to be exploited.
“Anna,” I rasp, turning my attention to the view beyond the window. A faint reflection taunts me regardless: his expression, suddenly guarded. “How is she?”
The softness that seeps into his mouth shouldn’t make my chest ache. It shouldn’t make me instantly scramble several steps away from him. His humanity—as rare as it is—shouldn’t send a lance through my heart every bit as alarming as Robert’s rage.
“She’s…” He looks at the floor. Seconds pass and he can’t seem to find a word to describe it: how a woman might feel after years of captivity, only to be miraculously found alive. “I thought she was dead.”
Darkness creeps into his expression and just like that, he’s hardened Mischa once more.
