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I’ll chalk it up to the alcohol.
Not the feeling in my gut that I deserve it.
“No. It doesn’t.” I set the bottle down hard on the counter. “Clara fucking lied on the stand. She stole Tolya’s life. She has to pay for what she did.”
“Really?” Bambi flicks the screen back on and slides the tablet under my nose once more. “As ifthat—” She points at the pictures. “—wasn’t payment enough?”
I shove the tablet away before I’m the one hurling it into the pool. “Nothing changes.”
“Shedid.” I look at Bambi again. She leans toward me. “She grew up, Demyen. She was a little girl on that stand. Scared, alone, with no one who would believe her even if she did tell the truth. She was a little girl, and then she grew up.”
“Still—”
“You were a kid, too.”
That stops me.
“You were a teenager, whatever, but you were still a kid. And you were just as scared as she was. Scared of losing your brother,and scared of losing your last line of defense against a world you never wanted to be a part of in the first place.”
It’s the liquor talking.I tell myself that so her words don’t land as hard as they feel.
“The difference between you and her? She grew up. She left that courtroom and she grew up. Did you?”
36
DEMYEN
I don’t know what time it is. I don’t even know if the moon is still up. All I know is that the bottle of vodka is empty and the sound of it shattering against the adobe column makes me feel a little better.
Sort of.
Bambi left a while ago. I’ve been nursing my pride with my father’s favorite vodka alone in the darkened outdoor bar, debating on whether I should jump in the pool or just throw up in the cacti and call it a night.
Instead, I slide off the barstool and stumble down the pathway toward the main courtyard. It takes some effort—my vision is blurry as fuck—but I manage to navigate my way to my room.
Except… it’s not my room, I realize when I walk in.
I trip over a stuffed hippo in a tutu and almost immediately fall on top of a dresser low enough to damage my chances of ever having my own children—which I narrowly avoid by grabbingfor the overhanging net holding even more stuffed animals, all of which promptly fall on top of me.
Fucking hell.Why am I wasting capable men guarding this place? The kid’s got it booby-trapped.
By the time I manage to drop onto the beanbag chair next to the hammock, I’m sobering up just from the adrenaline of almost dying. I have to check my feet just to make sure those landmines they call “building blocks” aren’t deeply embedded into my soles.
I’m not sure if I want to teach Willow how to clean up her room, or have her teach my men how to string up tripwire.
I settle into the fluffy beanbag chair and watch the way Willow nestles into Clara’s arms between soft little snores. Mother and daughter bear such a strong resemblance to each other. I’m struck by how much Willow reminds me of the little girl in the photos on Bambi’s tablet.
So much that I’m almost terrified the same injuries are on her skin, too.
What’s left of my sober brain reminds me that Willow is safe and sound. Uninjured, no bruises, and far away from the monster who dared to threaten her.
Thanks to you.
I bat that thought away. I’m not the good guy. I’m nowhere remotely close to being anyone’s hero.
Still… the more I watch them sleep, the more I feel a sense of pride welling up in my chest.
Yes. Pride. Only pride. Nothing else.
