“Just six years before she died, hmm?” He arched a brow at me. “Why the fuck would you even want to marry me?”
“To spare myself from a marriage to my father’s Sovietnik. You must have crossed paths with him at some point over the years. Can you blame me for resorting to blackmail?”
“So, I’m sloppy seconds?”
I shuddered with disgust. “You think I’d let that old pervert put his paws on me? I’d die first, and I will... I won’t marry him.”
His forehead puckered—he hadn’t expected that answer. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I’ll kill myself before I let my father control me to that extent. And his hold on me is nothing to what a husband’s would be.”
Just the thought of Abramovicz’s sweaty form heaving on top of me made my skin crawl. But what was worse? Being his wife. Having to obey him. Having to appease him. It was either that or face the prospect of daily beatings, which ultimately resulted in my death anyway.
“You ran away before. Why not run away again?”
His question, and lack of concession, had me demanding, “And how do you know I’ve run away before? What the hell are you even doing here? You’re not exactly dressed for a ride.”
His top lip twitched. “I came to see you.”
That had me frowning. “Why? We’ve never met before... have we?”
He shook his head. “We haven’t.”
“So why would you come to meet me?”
He ignored my question. “Why won’t you run away again?”
My frown deepened. “Because Father won’t allow that. Not again. His intention is to see this through.” I tipped up my chin as I faced facts—my end was near unless I managed to convince Brennan to save me. “He’ll kill me if he catches me running, and I’d prefer to control how swiftly I die, thank you very much.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” he rasped, before he surprised me by storming toward me.
It was second nature to back off, to acquiesce, and I stumbled against the stall door, jumping when Terry neighed and nuzzled his nose into my back. Brennan didn’t even cast him a look, didn’t stop until I was pinned against the wall and one forearm was pressed either side of my head so he was looming over me.
Maybe I was a product of my environment—I’d seen the caked on foundation Mama wore from time to time. Or maybe I was as pathetic as I feared... but the way he looked at me, his gaze raking over my features, seeming to expose every single flaw, every single nuance, God help me, it was, I recognized with some sorrow, the most intimate gesture of my life.
Nyx had had me in positions that would make the people who wrote the Kama Sutra feel faint, but he’d never looked at me. Sure, his eyes had been on me, but he hadn’t seen the real Cammie.
He’d just seen a pussy.
A walking sex doll.
Brennan, well, he didn’t see that. He saw something else. Something I couldn’t put a name on.
He was so close that his silk suit brushed against me, his heat permeating the fabric so it burned me with its own brand too. He smelled like fire and sin and a whole host of other things I was pretty sure cosmetic companies didn’t pack into their aftershave, but my visceral response to him was unnerving.
The man had fucked my mother.
He’d been one of the catalysts behind her brutal death.
And yet, he’d brought her joy. A kind of happiness that three daughters couldn’t inspire in a woman—I’d read that in her diaries.
With that in mind, I rasped, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m wondering if you know what kind of man I am, and if you’re prepared for the repercussions of threatening me.”
Anger flashed in my eyes. “I know exactly what kind of man you are.” I could feel my lips curling into a sneer. “I’m just hoping you’re worthy of the faith Mama had in you.”
He tensed at that, and because I was so close to him, it transmitted itself to me, which, in turn, triggered a wave of emotions in me.