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I’m tempted to go in after them and just sit down there. Forever. Or at least until Clara forgives me for what I’ve put her through.
Which—let’s be honest—will probably be forever.
My eyes sting, but I let them water up and blur my sight. I’ve been blind to everything around me up until now; what’s a little more visual impairment?
I ordered my men to take Oleg’s troops to our next most vulnerable warehouse instead of the cells here at the compound. I wanted them far away from us.
She doesn’t want Oleg touching Willow through her?
Well, I don’t want Oleg touching Willow throughme.
After all, as he reminded me, it’s his blood flowing through my veins.
Hisblood.
Zakrevskyblood.
After all these years denying our connection, burying away any sort of likeness to the monster of my childhood… I did more than just grow to resemble him.
Ibecamehim.
I grab the table and throw it into the pool. Then the other chair, just so there’ll be a matching set.
If I ever get my hands on Oleg, I’ll tie him to that fucking chair and watch him drown. And then I’ll join him. End the line with me. Tolya’s safer in prison, anyway. Far, far away from any possibility of repeating our shit, or worse.
It’s several more minutes of drinking and throwing shit before I feel better enough to start walking back to the main courtyard. I need to check on Clara, but I don’t want to scare her any more than I already have.
Clara’s lights are on. The window curtains are shut, but I should still see her silhouette through the golden glow.
Weirdly, I don’t. So I test the doorknob, find it unlocked, and slip inside.
All the lights are on. The overhead, the bedside, the end table… the little hall leading to the bathroom… the bathroom…
And the shower. Come to think of it, it feels strangely damp in here.
Something in my gut says I need to go check on her. The worst possible scenario flashes through my head and I all but run to the door and yank it open.
Hot steam rolls out in a thick cloud. I can’t see through it for the longest moment; when I do, I’m shocked by the sight.
The medicine cabinet is a disaster, its hinges twisted and torn and mangled. Mirror shards cover the floor in every direction.
And sitting on the shower floor, beet red and sobbing, is Clara.
“Shit!” I fumble for the shower lever, but it’s burning hot. All the towels are soaking wet and in a pile by the toilet. I’m not thinking straight, so I do the next most logical thing and yank my shirt off so I can use it as an oven mitt against the metal.
The water shuts off, but Clara doesn’t seem to notice. She’s curled up in one corner, knees hugged to her chest, her long wet hair clinging to her face.
“Come on,” I mutter to myself more than her as I crouch down. “Let’s get you dry.”
I start to scoop her up, but as soon as my skin touches hers, Clara suddenly shrieks and twists in my arms. She claws at my faceand kicks wildly, so hard that I have to set her back down on the shower floor.
“Get off! Get off!” she screams at the top of her lungs, something between words and bloodcurdling shrieking. “Get off!”
Another shriek, another lurch against me, and then she resigns to slapping my chest over and over until she whips back around to try and turn the shower on again.
“Get off! Get him off! I need to get him off!”
It doesn’t take much to realize who she’s talking about.
