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“That doesn’t make it not fucked up.”
“I suppose your parents had a perfect relationship?”
I didn’t have an answer, so I shrugged, and we sat silently for a while.
“Did Ivan happen to give you a timeline on this panic room excursion?” I asked, wishing I had brought my notepad in with me.
Olga sighed and fumbled with something under the seat.
“What have you got there?”
She pulled out a shiny stack of papers and held them out to me. “Magazines. You read this one,” she said, passing me one about interior design.
“Thanks.” I flipped it open to look at a New England beach house, trying to picture a life where Henry hadn’t lost my inheritance to the Chernov bratva, and Kirill had never gone to his father. Instead, we’d both graduated, moved to a small New England town, and lived a quiet, peacefully wonderful life.
I stared at the pictures until the images blurred.
* * *
I’d knownsomething was very wrong with Kirill as soon as he’d walked into the panic room—if having to hide in a panic room wasn’t a big enough clue. I was becoming numb to shock. Seeing his eyes clouded with anxiety, anger, and fear made my heart race.
After he sent me to bed, I’d lain there thinking about him, my mind several rooms over. What had happened? Why was he shutting me out? After the closeness of yesterday, his distance stung.
The bedroom door opened after about an hour. I should have been asleep. He no doubt thought I was. I lay still as his silhouette appeared in the doorway, my heart echoing through my body, beating faster and faster.
He entered the room in slow, measured steps, and I swore I could feel the tangled emotions rolling off him. He set down a glass on the bedside table, and his hands went to his shirt. I’d seen his body a few times, but never like I wanted to. His body was a testament to ink and suffering, and I longed to trace every scar and find out the story of every tattoo, but he never let me linger.
He pulled his shirt off, scattering buttons when his clumsy fingers failed to open them. He swayed gently, and I knew he was drunk. I opened my eyes and stared at his body, seeing the stars on his shoulders, denoting a rank in the bratva, and an orthodox church on his chest, with four onion-shaped domes. Then there was the skull on his neck, usually covered with a buttoned-up collar. His arms were nearly full sleeves. A ray of moonlight fell on his sternum, and that’s when I saw it—a scrolling word written across his heart.
Molly’s
It was hard to make out with so much other art clustered around it, but as soon as I did, I stopped breathing.
“Trouble sleeping?” Kirill asked, shoving his pants and boxers down.
I gave up the pretense of being asleep and nodded. “You too?” I tried to keep my eyes from his cock, springing up his belly, hard as ever.
“Always,” he muttered.
I pushed myself up and knelt on the bed. The emotion between us was softer than usual. Everything inside me was reacting to the sight of my name tattooed across his heart. He reached out and cupped my face, running his thumbs across my cheekbones. His touch was tender, more than it had ever been.
“I still can’t believe I found you. I wake up every morning thinking it’s a dream. I’m never sadder than in those moments,” he whispered.
My heart leaped to my mouth. “Kirill—”
“Don’t. Don’t say anything to remind me of what I am or what I’ve done to you. Weeks ago, Henry told me you tried to run away and find me five times, and he dragged you back every time. He told me you never stopped looking for me.” His voice grew ragged, and he pulled a hard breath into his lungs. “He told me, and I hurt you anyway.”
“You haven’t hurt me.”
“I will. It’s what I do,” he said darkly.
I shifted closer. The barrier between who we’d been and the people we were now was growing thinner by the second. “It wasn’t always. You always protected me and took care of me. You still are. You’re not a bad person, Kirill.”
He laughed bitterly. “Oh, Molly, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you know why I thought I hated you so much?” His voice was tortured. His face was in shadow, and I couldn’t make out his expression, so I focused on my name inked on his heart.
I shook my head silently.
He took a shuddering breath. “What I did for you didn’t destroy me, but it cost me you. It made me a man who can never have you. Who will never be good enough for you.”
