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Anya. Cristiano. My premature birth. Daria and Polina. My childhood. The darkness, the blood, and the gnawing emptiness that never went away.
Never once interrupting me, even though I could tell when she wanted to, Abi gave me her patience, her grace, her sweetness. A few times, her head popped up off my chest to look at me, her eyes filled with sadness and anger for what Daria had put me through.
I told her about Samara and shooting her in Budapest. She propped her head on her hand and glowered at me during that part. But still, she stayed quiet, letting me talk.
And then I told her about the first time I saw her. How something flipped on inside me, unlocking all the emotions I’d always craved experiencing. I’d been overwhelmed and instantly obsessed.
When I told her how I’d killed her previous history professor, Miller, her fingers stopped their soothing strokes around the bruise on my chest. I explained how I took his place, and she sucked in a ragged breath. Not wanting to keep a single piece of truth from her, I even told her about killing Lynch for trying to make Abi doubt me. And the stupid baseball player who harassed her during class.
Abi’s chest lifted and fell with each rapid breath she took, her skin flushing, eyes glittering. I’d corrupted her with my insanity, and I could see a hint of instability lurking just below the surface. It made my sweet girl that much more perfect.
My cock was rock hard, the tip already dripping with precome. If I touched her, I wouldn’t tell her the rest. Clenching my hands into fists so I wouldn’t reach for her, I continued.
My father’s sickness. Playing mind games with him. Stopping because it no longer felt right. Daria having Cristiano drugged and his episode that nearly got him killed. Samara’s accident, my fear that Daria had been the one to harm my sister. Taking Samara from the hospital while Abi sat in my car. All the mayhem that followed our arrival in New York. Every last detail up to waking up in the hospital days after being shot to find Samara standing over me with a pout.
“I apologize for shooting you,” she’d mumbled, not sounding sorry at all. But I’d still found myself smiling. “Truce?”
My throat was raw from so much talking when I was finally done telling her how I’d ensured Sixx was safe from the cartel. Abi stayed quiet for a few moments until she was sure I was finished.
“I have questions,” she said.
Capturing her hand, I lifted it to my lips. “Ask whatever you need.”
“I hate Daria, she was a monster. I’m glad she’s dead. And Polina was just as bad, if not worse, because she allowed her partner to continually hurt you and did nothing.” She traced her fingertips over my top lip. “Is she really dead? Because if she’s not, I would like to punch her in the face a few times.”
A surprised laugh escaped me. She was a fierce little thing. So goddamn protective of those she loved, wanting to hurt those who had hurt me. “After being in Anya’s care for so long, I don’t imagine she is still breathing.”
She considered that for a moment, then asked hopefully, “But if she’s not dead, can I hit her?”
“I will make a few calls, zhizn moya,” I promised.
“Did you sleep in my bed Friday night after dealing with Ali’s teacher?”
Cupping the back of her head, I pulled her back down beside me. “I didn’t sleep.”
“But you were there?”
“For about an hour,” I admitted, combing my fingers through her hair. “Samara texted me with confirmation of your pregnancy. I couldn’t stay away.”
“Then you should have stayed!” With an angry huff, she rolled onto her back. “You knew I was grieving, thinking you were dead. After all the other crap going on with my sister, I’d just found out I was pregnant. I was scared and alone.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
vaughn
Regret twisted my stomach. “I wanted to be there when you woke up. Fuck, Abi. Every minute away from you was pure agony. But you needed me to—”
“No,” she snapped, turning on her side and stabbing her finger into my chest angrily. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to do that. I’m thankful you helped Ali and Sixx—of course I am. But there was plenty of time for you to wait for me to be coherent enough to have a conversation. It’s been days, and don’t you tell me you spent all the time dealing with asshole cartel idiots. You obviously had enough time to put up your spy cameras around my parents’ house, so you had plenty of chances to talk to me.”
Tears filled her eyes, but she rolled away from me before the first one fell, getting to her feet. “There was no need for you to leave me in limbo with a broken heart and freaking out that I was going to be a single mother.”
“I’m sorry,” I rasped, a wave of fear crashing into me.
Standing beside the bed, she crossed her arms over her chest, one hip cocked to the side as she glared down at me, her cheeks damp with tears. “When did you file that marriage license? Don’t even try to deny it was you.”
Sitting up, I swung my legs off the side of the bed, reaching for her, but she took two steps back. She didn’t want me to touch her. Fuck. My skin began to feel too tight. The noise in my head came back, louder than ever.
“I filed it as soon as I had access to a phone after I left the hospital. There is nothing I cannot do with an internet connection. I took your signature from your credit card file online and everything else I needed to make our marriage legal. Knowing you were my wife made it easier to think straight. I needed to mark you.”
