She shuddered.
“I’m going to look around.”
“Wait. Let me come—,”
“No.” He shouted, then grimaced, softening his tone. “Not until I know it’s safe,” he added. “Stay. I mean it, Mila. Just…sit there.”
She wasn’t sure she could move, anyway. With the impediment of her ankle, and knees that had turned to jelly, she was trembling from head to toe.
“I can’t believe it,” she mumbled, as Leonidas strode away from her, towards the kitchen, first.
Leonidas could.He kicked himself for not having foreseen this possibility, after she’d told him about her stalker. His brain wasn’t working properly. His father’s death had thrown him for a loop, and then he’d arrived here and all his senses had been sent haywire by the beautiful, alluring, all-consuming, completely forbidden Mila.
But she’d told him all he needed to know—someone had been stalking her, had followed her around the world for more than a year. Why wouldn’t they have followed her here too? He hadn’t even checked the doors and windows before they’d left.
A cursory inspection revealed the kitchen was empty. He moved to the bathroom next, looking behind the shower curtain, and into the cupboard.
No more ‘love notes’ were written.
Her bed was unmade—he had no way of knowing if that was how she’d left it. He looked around—no vandalism, but it was very untidy. Mila would need to check, to see if anything had changed since that morning, to identify if anything was missing.
He took a minute, standing in the middle of the room, looking around, hands on hips, tension tightened around his core.
“You have survivor guilt.”
Leonidas stared at the psychologist, clearly unimpressed. “No shit.”
Dr Chung didn’t blink. “Your twin sister died. You feel responsible, but you weren’t. It wasn’t your job to save her, and it’s not your job to save the world. You will never feel at peace unless you learn to let this go.”
Acid filled Leonidas’ mouth. He’d been twenty two when he’d gone to see a professional. Years of nightmares over Valentina’s death, heavy drinking, poor life choices, had made him realise that he was wildly off track, but ultimately, it was Benji who pushed him, Benji who made him see what he stood to lose, and who he was hurting most. If he hadn’t done something, he would have destroyed himself—and his family in the process. He hadn’t been willing to put them through that again. Their brother Dimitrios’ downward spiral was hard enough to watch; Leonidas had known he couldn’t add to it.
The shrink had been right.
He felt guilt. He always would. And yes, he wanted to save the world. A God complex was hard to shake. Right now, it exploded through him and he knew that he would move heaven and earth to save Mila. Not because she was Benji’s cousin, and not because he’d been fantasizing about sleeping with her, but because she was innocent, being hunted, targeted, attacked, and it wasn’t fair. Leonidas had put up with a gutful of life’s injustice. Mila deserved so much better.
With resolution firming in his mind, he strode into the living room, to find her sitting just where he’d left her, haunted eyes stuck to the wall, the word ‘slut’ glaring angrily back at her.
She was trembling, but he offered no comfort. For now, he had to keep his mind crystal clear, to focus on the steps that had to be taken. His plan relied on a level-head; emotion had no place here, least of all sympathy.
“Come,” he said, gruffly. “You need to take a look in your room before we go.”
She looked around for her crutches. They were across the lounge. He retrieved them, handing them to Mila without looking at her for more than a brief glance, because to look was to want to touch, especially now, when he knew his touch and kisses could wipe that awful horror from her eyes.
“What’s in my room?” She whispered.
“Nothing. I need you to tell me if anything’s changed in there, if anything’s missing.”
She nodded, so brave, but oh so fragile too.
“Where are we going?” She asked a moment later, the words hollow, tinged with strain.
“Somewhere secret. Somewhere safe.”
* * *
Leonidas pulledhimself out of the situation mentally, setting aside the way he and Mila had been kissing half an hour earlier. Instead, he focused on action. Action he could do.
Settling Mila in the kitchen with a cup of tea, wrapped in a blanket, he pulled out his satellite phone, thanking God he’d remembered to bring it given Benji’s dampening tower, and dialed his friend’s number. He stepped outside as the ringtone sounded, so he could speak in privacy, while still keeping his eyes on Mila.