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I’m positive he’d do the same for me.
The two Russian men push past us without acknowledging our presence, but then the one who looks like a colder, vicious version of Kirill stops. He looks at me and takes hold of my chin, angling my face so he can examine me.
Nataniele makes a sound in the back of his throat, and the man lets go.
“Lovely,” he murmurs. “Would make a good bride.”
The man next to him says something in Russian, and they both walk off, chuckling low and deep.
The interaction deeply unnerves me, but I try not to show it. In fact, we remain silent until they’re out of sight, and then Nataniele looks to Kirill.
“You okay, son?”
Kirill lifts his chin. “Da. Thank you for asking, sir.”
“Of course.”
He glances around at the rest of us, and his gaze lingers on me. “Your mother is going to want to know you’re home and safe. She’s been extremely worried about you. I hope you have no further plans for a similar excursion.”
“No, sir,” I mutter.
I grind my teeth against the urge to tell him to fuck off and take my mother with him, but I know acting like a brat isn’t going to help. I want to find out if whoever Nataniele sent to do the cleanup at the professor’s apartment also reported back that they didn’t find a body. I want to know if Nataniele relayed this information to my mother, and she just let me carry on believing I’d murdered a man.
I have so many questions, but now is not the time. We need to focus on Kirill. He’s hurt, and he needs to know he’s not alone.
My stomach twists with guilt at the fact I’d run without telling any of them. Then I immediately pull myself up short again. I remember what they did at the wedding, how they humiliated me. They might try to make out that they were only revealing my mother and Nataniele for the people they were, but ultimately, they did it to hurt me—to make both me and my mother leave.
They hadn’t wanted me here, and that still hurts like fuck.
No matter what they say, using their pretty words and hot caresses and intense kisses, I will serve myself well to remember that.
Even though I know the truth—or at least I hope I do now—I’m no closer to being free. While it’s a relief to know I’m not going to be arrested and spend years in prison, now I know that Paxton is out there somewhere, and I’m fearful I might pay with my life instead.
Chapter 12
Mackenzie
Leaving the other two standing in the corridor, I hurry to Kirill.
“Are you okay?”
I remember seeing him during the fight he’d had with one of the other men at the college—the dark-haired guy I think is called Louis Laurant. I hadn’t been able to watch him get hurt then, and Kirill had come out the winner.
Now he appears defeated.
“Mack.”
He draws me into his arms and holds me tight. I don’t think I’ve ever been hugged like this before, as though I’m a life raft that’s saving him from drowning. He buries his face in the spot where my shoulder meets my neck and presses his lips to my skin. It’s as though he’s folded himself into me, and such a big man has suddenly become smaller. I hold the back of his head, my fingers lacing through his soft blond hair. I want to absorb his pain, to take it from him and make it my own. Why do I feel this way, even after what they did? I hate myself a little for it.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he says. “You shouldn’t have felt you needed to run.”
I force myself to let him go and step back.
I harden my heart and glance between him and Dom. “It looks like you’ve both been punished for me.”
Kirill nods. “You’re right, we both deserved this. We fucked up, big time, Mack. I know it’s not as easy as just forgiving us, but that’s what we want.”
I care about them. Shit. Maybe even more than care. I’d rather be hurt myself than see any of them suffer, no matter how much they deserve it.
