"Baby, I need you to look at me."
He knew. He knew what he did to her when she looked into his eyes. She moistened her lips, shook her head and pushed off the counter. "I have to go take a shower, and then I'll fix us some dinner. I've got chicken and fresh veggies."
"I want to come home."
His voice was so soft, so compelling she felt it move over her bare skin and trail like fingers down her spine. She shivered with wanting him. With needing him. She nodded because she had to acknowledge him. "I don't know if I can get past everything that happened," she admitted, still without looking at him. "You think you can come into my home and start up where we left off, but it doesn't work that way."
"You can forgive me." He said it with complete confidence. "You're soft inside, Blythe. You can't help who you are. I'm a dick. I know that. I'm scary. I know that too. I'm rough, and I know I'm asking a lot from you. A hell of a lot. Taking on my brothers and sisters. The club. The fact that I'm not always a nice guy and that will never change. The three girls. I know what I'm asking of you, but I also know you, baby, and you're that woman. The one I need more than I need air."
She tried not to like what he thought about her. Sincerity rang in his voice, and she didn't want to hear it because she knew he was right. She was that person, but she didn't want to be. "You've been gone a long time. You're obviously not the same person you were five years ago and neither am I." In a way she felt like she was fighting for her life. Her sanity. He'd been her world and then he was gone. She couldn't do that again. Not after what happened. She couldn't.
"Blythe. I want to come home. It's time. It's way past time. I need to come home. Let me come home, baby. I swear if you do, I'll spend the rest of my life loving you better than anyone else ever could."
She had no idea how he got from where he'd been standing with his hip against the counter to where she was thinking she was so safe from him, but he was there, a big man moving so fast, so quietly, she barely registered that he'd changed positions. His hands were gentle when he lifted her face, forcing her eyes to meet his.
His eyes. Slate gray. Burning silver. Molten mercury. So beautiful all the time, no matter his mood. He took her breath. Her will.
She took a deep breath, gulped some badly needed air and nodded and then shook her head, showing her confusion. "Give me some time to get to know you. I need to understand why you made the choices you made."
"Fair enough. That's all I'm asking for, a chance."
That wasn't true and both knew it. He wanted to come home. Home was Blythe. He'd made that clear. He'd always made that clear to her. In those fantasy months before he was gone, when her world was astonishing and perfect--perfect even if they disagreed. She didn't care as long as they were together.
"You're asking for more than a chance," she challenged.
"You're right." He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs sliding over her cheeks in a slow caress. "I am. I have to. I need you to save me. To save all of us."
She stepped back, rejecting his plea. "Don't. Don't say things like that to me. It isn't fair, and you know it isn't."
He let his hands drop to his sides. "Did you think I would fight fair? You matter more than anything else in my life. You. I'm not about to fight fair to get you back. Just because it isn't fair to tell you doesn't mean it isn't true. We do need you to save us. I need you. Without you, I have no anchor. I'm not really alive. I need you to bridge the space that I can't. The one between me and everyone else."
"Stop. Just don't talk anymore. I'm going to take a shower. Please, please give me a few minutes alone."
She had to get away from him, from his soft, insistent voice that rang with such truth. She did believe him, that was the trouble. Still, he'd chosen his work. He'd left for five long, terrible years. She couldn't just let herself love him all over again. It would kill her if he left her again. She'd come to rely on herself, on her sisters. She had made a life for herself and it had been very difficult.
"I'll start dinner," he agreed and went to the sink to wash his hands. "Go grab a shower. Take up some more water with you."
She'd almost forgotten. She was careful to always stay hydrated with all the running she did, but his presence threw her into some chaotic state where she couldn't think of anything else. She filled her glass a third time and hurried upstairs.
Her house felt different with him in it. She felt different. It was the way he looked at her, as if he could devour her any minute. As if he was so hungry for her and thought she was beautiful, even when she'd just come in from running. When she'd been with him before, she thought about him every single minute of the day. It had taken five long years to learn to control her mind so every moment wasn't taken up with worry, with anger, with wondering where he was and what he was doing. Now he was back.
She stepped under the spray of hot water and let it pour over her head and down her back. It felt good on her aching body. She closed her eyes and tried to think about her life again without Viktor. He already was in her head. In her heart. No one else could ever touch her body. But he was different. Very, very different. He didn't want to think so, but he was. Or maybe the man she'd known had been an illusion and didn't exist at all.
She took her time, shampooing her hair and soaping her body with her favorite gel in order to give herself a respite from all the emotions. She told herself she just needed time and closure to get over him, but she knew she never really would. But a biker? Really? Her? That brought her up short. Was she really contemplating taking him back?
Of course she was. But how? She didn't believe in trying to change a man. She didn't want him to change her. You loved a person for who they were, not what you wanted them to become.
The smell of chicken grilling made her very aware she was hungry when she stepped out of the shower to towel off. He'd always done that, cooked meals when she was busy, or late getting home. He didn't mind helping out with housework either. She'd always been a little shocked by that; now that she'd seen him in his more real persona, she was even more so.
Slowly, with some reluctance, she made her way down the stairs to the kitchen. He was at the stove, grilling two chicken breasts and quite a few vegetables. The food smelled delicious. Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten much in the last few days. She'd been traveling and then, after meeting Darby and hearing what happened to her and her younger sister, she hadn't felt much like eating.
She opened cupboards and took down her dishes. Instantly the memory of buying them with him came into her mind. It had been a beautiful day. They'd held hands, laughed and shopped for hours. They hadn't needed to--she had kitchenware--but he told her to give it all to Goodwill and they'd buy what they both liked together. She'd loved that he'd thought to donate her nice set and yet cared enough about building a life with her to want to shop for such mundane things as dishes. Now she knew it was because he would be leaving and he'd wanted her to have those memories.
Her hands shook a little as she set the table, careful to place him across from her.
"Babe, what is this pink stuff that should be salt?" Viktor held up the salt shaker.
The look on his face made her laugh in spite of her uneasiness. "It has minerals in it. It's real salt, not processed."
"Does it taste like salt?" He sounded skeptical.
"Yes. You know salt isn't good for you." The moment it slipped out she wished she could take it back. It was a long-standing argument between them and instantly threw her back to being easy and comfortable with him.
"It is. It's a necessary mineral. We all need salt." He grinned at her as he brought the pan with the chicken breasts over to the table and put them on their plates.
He'd said that in response to her reprimand every single time. She knew exactly what would come next.
"Salt controls the way nerves and muscles work, so you need it when you run. It helps control fluid balance." He sounded like a professor giving a lecture.
"Humans eat way too much salt,"
she said in her snippiest voice, unable to stop herself from entering into their favorite argument. They had it every time they cooked together, which had been nightly.
"So what you're telling me is this pink stuff has less salt in it because they added other minerals to it." He put the pan back on the stove, and picked up the one with vegetables.
She watched him divide them between the two plates. "They don't have to add the minerals in, it occurs naturally." She slipped into the chair facing away from the window, knowing he always faced the door or windows. It was habit when he was around to accommodate that in him.
He made a face as he put the salt shaker on the table. "Tell me more about the girls. Did Darby talk much about her parents?"
The knots unraveled a little bit in her belly. She was grateful he wanted to talk about Darby and her sisters instead of them. She wasn't quite ready yet for that conversation. "I think they both had bad drug habits, Viktor. She didn't talk much about them, but I got the impression she'd mothered her two sisters almost from the time they were born. She hasn't had it easy." She raised suspicious eyes to his face. "Did you know? About her parents?"
He shook his head. "We had to get in and out of there fast. Every time we go after one of the Swords' houses and take back the girls they have trained or were training, I'm risking the lives of my brothers and sisters. We've been hitting the Swords' whorehouses pretty hard over the last few years. I worried that someone would connect the strikes against them with some of my brothers joining the club."
"I couldn't help but be sympathetic with her. It reminded me of my childhood, although I didn't have siblings."
"You would have watched over them. You're protective and responsible. You look after others before you do yourself." He reached for the salt shaker.
"Didn't you use salt when you cooked?" She gave him the evil eye.
He snickered. "Baby, you still can't look mean, even when you try. You'll have to improve if we're taking on three girls."
She stopped chewing and sighed. Chewed, swallowed and shook her head. "We don't know if that's going to happen."
"It's going to happen."
"Why do you say that?"
"Three reasons." He shook salt onto his chicken until she reached across the table and took the shaker out of his hand.
"Tell me, I'm all ears."
"First, you love me. That right there gives me a huge advantage in this fight. Second, you're going to tell me what I need to do and I'll do it. Anything at all. You name it, and I'll make it right. Third, I love you with everything I am. I want to make you happy. I'll devote every minute I have to making that happen."
She shook her head, a small smile stealing up out of nowhere. "You think you'll spend every minute making me happy. What you'll really do is make me crazy. You'll come home and inform me there are ten children that need a home and they're on their way, can I fix dinner for them."
He laughed. "More likely my brothers will be begging for food, and I'll have you feeding them most nights. But I can grill, and so can they. Until we get our clubhouse and their homes built, we'll make certain they're fed."
"You're crazy if you think they're all going to be here."
"They'll be here." He was absolutely confident.
She realized that was one of the things she loved most about him--the way he had utter faith in her. "I need to know things," she said in a low tone, not looking at him.
"I know you do. You're the only one I'd ever tell them to. When I tell you about me, I'm telling you about my brothers and sisters. No one has the right to hear their stories but the person they want to tell."
She was silent a moment, trying to understand. Whatever had happened to Viktor had happened with the men and women he called family. He was asking, without voicing the words, that she not tell anyone else, even her sisters and his blood brothers.
He put down his fork and looked at her. "After, when you know everything, you might be ashamed of me. Of being with me. That's what I'm risking. Having you look at me with shame."
Her heart clenched. It was going to be bad. Worse than she'd anticipated. She raised her chin. "Have more faith in me than that."
"I do." He picked up his fork. "After dinner, I'll tell you everything you want to know, but not while we're eating. Where are you on the paperwork for Darby? Did you explain things to her?"
"I asked her if she would want to live with us. I told her about the farm and Airiana's children. How they were on one of the ships. She'd heard about the ships. They threatened the girls. I told her about the farm and the premise, how my sisters were not birth sisters but sisters of the heart, and we'd gotten together because we'd all attended group counseling for survivors. I told her each of us had someone in our family murdered and we felt responsible. She asked what had happened to me, and I told her. Everything. She deserved to know if she was going to make a decision about her and her sisters."
She looked up at him because she couldn't stop herself. This time the painful memory was shared by another person. By him. Viktor. She saw the grief etched deep into his face and knew it was very real for him, just as it was for her. Somehow in sharing, it helped. She found herself sending him a small, sad smile and reaching out to touch the back of his hand.
"Darby seemed to relax a little more around me. She thought I looked too nice, a do-gooder who would never understand what happened to them or that there would be issues for the rest of their lives. I told her I'm still working through mine."
"So she wants to come here."
His voice was very gruff and she could feel his emotions, so deep, the grief carved inside him, that first cut halfway through his bone. She knew it would stay there, because it was the same for her.
Blythe nodded. "She said she'd feel safe with you. I told her it was very safe on the farm. I didn't want her to get her hopes up that you'd be here."
"I'll be here."
"Viktor . . ." she cautioned.
"Blythe."
She put down her fork and glared at him. "You aren't making this easy. We're supposed to be talking about these children. They're going to be traumatized, even the youngest. She's been in four foster homes already. She may not have been taken by the Swords, but she's been away from her sisters for months. She gets in fights because she wants her family back."
"Then we'll give it to her. You can get them counselors or whatever you think best, but seriously, Blythe, you're what's best for them." He chewed and swallowed the last of his chicken. "I knew the moment I saw Darby that she needed you. I didn't want to go there because we had so many things to work out, but I couldn't let go of that thought. I didn't say a thing to her, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. The moment I saw you in the street with the cowardly lunkhead, I knew we had to track her down."
"He's not a cowardly lunkhead." She glared at him.
"Yes he is."
"Anyone would be afraid of you and the mob of badass bikers you had behind you. He called the sheriff."
"Walking away he called the sheriff. He didn't stop to see if you were all right. He left you seven messages, but he didn't apologize for being a fu-- A coward."
"You listened to my messages?"
"You left your phone here. I've warned you about that before. You're off running, you need that cell to call 911 in an emergency. Women are attacked on running trails, or parks or on the highway or wherever you've been running."
She sighed. "Cell phone service can be spotty around here."
"You can still call 911."
"Why am I talking to you about this?" She threw her hands up into the air in complete exasperation. "The point is, you can't be listening to my messages. They're private."
"Not when they're from another man. You're married. You can listen to all my messages, whether they're from a woman or a man."
"I forgot how bossy you were," she said, infuriated. Because he always had been bossy. She understood a little better now. If he had all those "brothers and sisters" and he lived in the
biker world, it stood to reason that he would be bossy. "I don't like anyone listening to my private messages."
"You never minded before," he pointed out.
That brought her up short. She hadn't minded before. Sometimes she'd ask him to listen to her messages and tell her who called and for what reason. She hadn't thought a thing about it.
"That was when we were together and I trusted you. We aren't and I don't." Abruptly she stood up and carried her plate to the sink to rinse it off. "Let's do this if we're going to. I'm not promising you anything."
He rinsed his plate as well and then opened her refrigerator to take out a beer. She didn't stock beer as a rule, so she knew he'd brought it with him.
"You want one?"
She shook her head and got a glass of water. She rarely drank anymore unless it was with her sisters. She found if she drank, she got depressed, and she couldn't take chances with depression.
"It isn't going to be a pretty story, baby," he warned.
"I realize that." And she did. Whatever had happened to put that blank, emotionless, ice-cold look in Reaper's eyes had to be horrible. She knew Viktor's brothers had all been through hell, but she had a terrible feeling that she was about to hear something worse than hell.
She curled up in one of the wide armchairs opposite from him. He hadn't sat on the love seat or couch. He'd always wanted to be as close to her as possible, but this time he'd deliberately sat first, choosing one of the armchairs. That filled her with trepidation instantly. It was out of character for him.
"This isn't going to be easy telling you. I wrote it down in the letter I left for you, but even then, I was careful, didn't say much, just enough so I'd hoped you'd understand."
She nodded because he looked at her expectantly. She hadn't gotten the letter. Her mother must have and most likely burned it. That would be just like Sharon. She had never wanted Blythe to be with anyone, let alone a man like Viktor who protected her from her mother's ugly outbursts.
"You know Sorbacov had my parents murdered. I was ten. Ilya was an infant, barely a year. Sorbacov knew my father was very respected and Sorbacov feared him, and that made him hate my father. The schools were already established. I was taken to one run by the worst criminal population he could find in Russia. He claimed it was another one of his experiments, but it was far more than that."