My knees feel weak, and I stumble forward. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
He’s giving me what I want, but why do I hate this? But I can’t think of this, because I have to find out about Calina.
“You have to go,” he says. “You must.”
The next half hour passes in a blur. Demyan tells me to dress, and brings me to his driver. I barely say a word to him, because I don’t even know where to begin. And how could I ever explain that somehow I don’t want to go? I can’t say that because I know this must be some sort of psychological game my mind is playing on me. It would be foolish to want to stay with the man who held me captive.
But this is Demyan, and I don’t care what anyone says, he meant those vows.
He did he did he did.
“Go far away,” he says, and my heart aches. My throat is tight, and my eyes burn. There’s a tingling in my nose. I’m going to cry. I’m going to fucking cry.
He doesn’t even look at me as he goes on. “For your own good. You must. Please.”
“We can work this out together. Both of us.” I tell him, pleading.
But his face has hardened. His eyes are icy blue, cold and distant, when he says, “No. There is us. I will never forgive myself for what I’ve done. You must go.”
I cling to him. This was what I wanted, so why does it feel so wrong?
“Demyan, no,” I plead, but his impassive face makes my chest ache.
“You lied to me. You have betrayed the trust we forged. Leave,” he says, his voice hardening. “This will be your only chance.”
The lump in my throat threaten to choke me, tears burning in my eyes I refuse to shed.
He drops a purse of money on the car seat.
“Forgive me, kisa.” He goes to leave but then seems to think better of it. He pulls me to him, grasping either side of my face. He kisses my forehead so firmly, my throat tightens.
This is a farewell kiss. So much spoken in that kiss he can’t voice. I hold onto his arms so tightly, not wanting him to release me, but I know he will. I know he can’t let himself hold onto me, he’s too proud. That now he knows he has no claim on me, he has to let me go, because he might be the head of the most ruthless crime ring in all of Russia, but the man has a moral code he lives by.
When he pulls my arms off of him and pushes me toward the car, I stifle a sob. I don’t want to leave him. I want to make this better again.
But I have to find Calina. I have to get her help. I need to make this right.
Then he helps me into the car and buckles me in and I let him do it. I’m numb. Focused. He shuts the door and the driver begins to leave. I clutch the door handle in a moment of denial.
“Go,” he orders. “Your sister’s debt is forgiven. But I have no claim on you. Take the money and find a new home.” He must sense hesitation on my part because a shadow crosses his features. “Go.”
I turn from him, tears streaming down my face. I swipe at them angrily.
Numb. Broken. Angry. Shaking.
I need to go to Calina. I need to find her. I won’t go anywhere unless I know she’s alive or dead.
So I’m no longer his. Perhaps I never was.
He doesn’t feel the way I do. There is no love in this. I was a mere plaything he’s now discarding.
Fine. My purpose is clear.
I will find my sister.
I release the door handle and turn frontward, taking a shuddering breath.
“Take me to Amaranov,” I tell the driver.
“Amaranov?” he repeats.
“Amaranov.”Chapter 19I let her go. I let the beautiful, passionate, headstrong woman I love go. My chest feels heavy, my throat too hot. I can hardly think straight. I need answers she can’t give me.
How will I ever forgive myself for what I’ve done?
I punished her.
I fucked her.
I held her captive and she was an innocent.
I allow myself to pace while I mull over what I have to do next. I ignore the way my skin feels too tight, the way blood pounds in my ears while I face what I’ve done.
But I don’t have the luxury of time. I need to find out what’s happening with my men.
I call Maksym. “Where are you?” I ask. “What have you found out?”
“We are at Amaranov’s,” he says in a hushed whisper. “He doesn’t know we are here. We have his son.”
His son. The man who orchestrated the lie. The connection to my wife.
My wife.
“Put him on the phone,” I say. I want to talk to the man who knows her.