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I laugh along with Vic, amused by their banter, but I clutch the book to my chest, already looking forward to starting it. It’s a bit silly, but I do really like the gift. And the intent behind it.
Malice got me these books because he wants to help me heal, and he thought it might help.
I still hate that a part of me feels broken, like I’ve lost some part of myself that I was finally starting to embrace, but I’m starting to realize that as intense as sex with the guys has always been, they love me for so much more than that. I’m finally coming to accept that I can count on them to be there for me no matter what, and that nothing could make them abandon me.
This gesture from Malice is so out of character for him, and I wonder if he chose the books at random or picked out ones he remembered his mother reading. Either way, it shows another side of him that I haven’t seen yet, and I like that too.
“Malice,” I murmur, getting his attention again. He stops beating up on Ransom with a pillow immediately and comes over to me.
“Yeah, Solnyshka?”
“Thank you. Really.” I lean up and give him a little kiss at the corner of his mouth.
It’s light enough that it doesn’t make me feel jittery inside, but judging from the way Malice smiles, it’s enough. He catches my hand with his, stroking his thumb over my knuckles. I can feel the callous on the pad of his thumb, just a little rough, and it helps settle me even more.
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs. “I just… wanted to do something.”
“You did. Even before this, I mean. You saved me.”
“I know, but—”
He breaks off, frustration clouding his features. I can see in his eyes all the things he wants to say. That I should never have been taken in the first place. That all of this should never have happened.
I squeeze his hand, and he sighs, drawing me closer so I can rest my forehead on his chest. We stay like that for a few minutes, just taking comfort in each other.
“Ty zasluzhivaesh' schastlivogo konca, Solnyshka,” he murmurs in Russian. “Ya dam tebe ego ili umru, pytajas'.”
I let the unfamiliar words wash over me, the sound of my nickname mixed in with them. I’m tempted to ask him what he just said, but I don’t really need to. I can feel the emotions through the words, and there’s something comforting about hearing him speak Russian to me.
We pull back after another moment, and Malice gives me a little smile. Just a quirk of his lips. But it’s good enough.
“We should get some sleep,” Vic says, glancing from his brothers to me. “It’s been a long day, and we have a lot to do to get ready for the next stage of our plan.”
Ransom yawns, tossing the pillow Malice was hitting him with back on the bed. “Yeah, good call. I’m wiped.”
Now that he mentions it, I’m also pretty tired. I smother a yawn and then move away from Malice to change out of the dress. At first, I start to head toward the bathroom to do it, but then I hesitate. Biting my lip, I plant my feet, remaining right where I am.
I pull the zipper down and shimmy out of the dress, making the gold material shimmer under the overhead light. I can feel the men all watching me, their eyes lingering on my tattooed, scar-marked skin as I bare it. I don’t even have a bra on, just a pair of panties, and being this bare in front of them makes heat dance down my spine.
For the first time in a long time, there’s no rush of nausea after it.
Part of it is because I know I can trust them to not touch me when I don’t want them to, and part is something I can’t quite define. Maybe it was confronting my grandmother tonight and telling her and the Copelands that Troy is dead. Maybe that made it feel more real to me—the fact that he’s truly gone. Or maybe it’s because I reclaimed a little bit of my power tonight.
Either way, I’ll take the progress.
I pull an oversized shirt over my head and go get comfortable in one of the beds while the guys change and use the bathroom and do their nightly routines.
Ransom slides into bed with me, wiggling around to make himself comfortable. I pick up the book from the nightstand and crack it open, ready to dive into it.
I’m a few pages in when I feel the mattress dip a bit. I look up to see Ransom peering over my shoulder, trying to get a peek.
“Skip ahead to the good bits,” he murmurs, waggling his eyebrows.
“The good bits?”
“You know, when the hero rips his shirt open or something. That’s what they always do, right?”
I give him a deadpan look, and he laughs, reaching over to try to take the book and find the ‘good parts’ himself.
