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All this time, I’ve been working and existing in a space with this man. A wolf in sheep’s clothing if there ever was one. How did I not see it?
“It’ll be worse if you fight,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt you. Lie down and let me make it nice for you.”
Maybe he has a point. Right now, this hurts. Everything is pain. Breathing, fighting, screaming, living.
Maybe the real act of self-preservation would be to let this happen and save myself the physical pain.
My body is so tired that it doesn’t take much to convince me to slump down on the counter. I’ve never been so drained.
“Atta girl,” he whispers.
Steven undoes the button of my jeans and tugs the stiff denim down my hips.
I float out of myself, my mind separating from my body. I watch this sick scene from above.
This is happening. Then it will be over.
This will happen, and then I can leave.
I just have to survive until I can leave.
I’m resigned to this fate. Anything to make it through and get back to Yuliana.
I see my daughter’s little face in my mind. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I squeeze my eyes closed. No—no crying. I’ll never let him see me cry.
My eyes are still closed as Steven’s hand slips between my thighs. My world shatters in a deafening thrum of blood in my veins.
Wait, no—
That ear-splitting sound is real.
I open my eyes as a sudden breeze rolls through the kitchen. That doesn’t make any sense, but it’s there. It lifts my hair and sends pieces of shattered glass skittering across the countertop and the floor. It sounds like a discordant wind chime.
The glass wall to my right is shattered into a billion jagged shards. I can’t make sense of the chaos until a figure steps into the opening, broad and tall and golden.
Maybe I won’t survive this, after all.
Maybe I’m already dead.
Because that’s Kirill Zaitsev stepping through the broken windowpane, fury etched into the handsome lines of his face.
I decide this is a fine way to go.
15
KIRILL
This is how the world will sound when it one day cracks in two.
Like shattering glass and hellfire raining down on all the violent motherfuckers who deserve it.
They both turn to look at me when I burst through the window. Shards slice my skin, peppers theirs, and blood speckles the whole scene like red dew, but I don’t give a fuck.
I want more of it.
Steven is in disbelief. His face is flushed and there is a bruise forming around his right eye, which I suspect Rayne gave him in the pantry.
Good girl.
