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Special eyes.
Pant.
I’ve seen those same, special eyes.
Pant.
So many times.
Pant.
Dear God, those are my eyes.
“Yes, you see it now,” he says, nodding encouragingly.
Then there’s the angle of his nose, his chin, his…his…
As realization dawns on me, I shake my head harshly. “No, no, no.”
“Yes,” he replies smoothly.
But it couldn’t be. She’d never…
“You’re my uncle?”
His face falls. “I’m Belarusian. Of course I’m not your uncle.”
A gust of power hits me full force. I see flashes of arms and legs intertwined on a bed. I gag, the images too real, too wrong, but either way, the truth blooms in the pit of my stomach.
And yet, I can’t help but deny it. “No, she’d never do that. Never. She loves my father. She may be awful, but her one redeeming quality is that she loves him.”
He arches one mocking brow. “She does.”
I’m burning up inside but my skin feels frozen, like someone dumped ice water on a raging fire. I clench my thighs with cold, clammy hands. “What the fuck?”
“This was before him.”
“They were married before I was born,” I rasp, as I try but fail to wrap my head around this new information. I keep talking as if I’m having a normal conversation, but my head’s buzzing like I’ve been drugged.
He settles deeper into the seat, probably because he’s comfortable now that he has my full attention. “They may have been married, but she was here alone for quite some time. She petitioned for him to join her, but she’d arrived in America first.”
His Russian accent is lighter and more refined than his numbskull bodyguards.
“I know the story,” I snap at him.
No one—especially not this stranger—is going to recite my parents’ love story and marriage to me, their daughter. Especially this…this…Russian thug. Because I don’t care how much his suit costs, I know a thug when I see one. I grew up among them. Hell, if I’d been born a boy, I’d have been the worst of them.
“Then who the fuck are you? And don’t even try to lie and tell me you’re myrealfather.”
He huffed out a laugh. The sound of it is husky and oddly familiar.Eww.My school blouse feels like a hair shirt, scraping over every inch of skin it touches. I cannot, absolutely cannot, be related to this guy, laugh or no laugh. “I knew you’d be quick. Like your mother.” He pauses. “Like me.”
I curl my lip. “Never compare the two of us. We are nothing alike.”
There’s a darkness that clings to this man, and it’s more than the regular darkness that surrounds any of the made men I know. If I can see it, how could my mother not? Damn her and her idiocy. What the hell had she done, getting mixed up with a man like him. He looks like a snake, a rodent, a sniveling hyena. She must have been temporarily insane to fall for him in any capacity.
“I don’t have to tell you anything, do I? You already know the truth.”
“Fuck you, you low-life prick.”
