Page 34 of Marked By His Touch
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “There was someone there,” I say hesitantly. “His name is Nikolai. Nikolai Romanov.”
Zara’s eyes flicker momentarily, and she inhales sharply.
Alexander tilts his head. “Who?”
“Zara?” I ask, noticing her trying to slip away to avoid the conversation. “You know him?”
“He—big boss Russia. No, no messing with him,” she says, her Russian accent becoming stronger, the words clipped and firm.
Alexander looks like he’s about to explode. His eyes are lasers, ready to burn me to the ground. I’ve never seen him this angry before.
“This is the last time you run off like that!” he growls. “If I have to chain you to this house, dammit, Ava, I will!”
“Alexander!” I say, my voice rising. “I need your help. We need to help those women, take down Nikolai, Veles—somehow—”
I’m done being a ragdoll, aslatka,whatever that means.
He grabs my arm, but his grip is gentle. “You will do no such thing!” he says.
I know he’d never hurt me. But that doesn’t mean he can control me.
I loosen myself from his grip, pushing him away. “I’m not Michelle, and you can’t keep me in a glass bubble. It wasn’t your fault she was murdered! You have to let me be me.” The words spill from my lips, raw and unfiltered. The pain of the past slamsinto him like a physical blow. But I can’t take it back. I’m so angry and frustrated.
“It’s not just for them, Alexander. It’s for you and me— We can’t live on the run forever— This is not a life.”
Alexander stands for a moment in silence. He doesn’t say a word. Then, he walks off briskly, his shoulders slumped. The training room suddenly feels cold and empty—the light wooden floors, the ceiling-to-floor mirror, the shelves lined with an array of weapons, their metallic glint sharp in my eye.
I feel gutted. My heart aches for him, for his pain, for his hurt. And for myself. For my stupidity, for my recklessness, for my desperation to help. For bringing up Michelle. I wish I could take it back. But I can't.
I don’t even notice that Zara has left.
I sit on the floor, the cold wood biting into my skin, and let the tears flow. Bitter, salty tears for the danger I put myself in, tears for Alexander, his hurt, and my stupidity. Tears for Michelle and for my parents.
I am a mess—a tangled mess of fear, anger, and love that isn’t going away.
After a while, Zara comes back. Two other women follow her, their eyes reflecting a world that’s seen too much darkness. Zara’s presence is like a whirlwind, and she has this determined look in her eyes like she’s ready to kick down doors.
She lays a hand on my shoulder. Her eyes meet mine, a silent understanding passing between us. She wipes a tear from my cheek, her thumb brushing against my skin. Then she squats beside me, pointing to the girls next to her.
“We fight with you,” Zara says, her voice sharp, her gaze burning with an intense fire. “Nikolai hurt many of our friends. We take the big fight to him.”
I’m taken aback. Are they willing to fight? To risk their lives?
But I understand them. This is not just about the women; it’s about justice. It’s about a free Port Haven, a world where they can live without fear.
I nod, my tears still flowing. There’s a war brewing for our souls, and we will fight it.
Chapter 10
The Safer Safehouse
This safe houseis a gilded cage, like a prison of good intentions—but a prison nonetheless. Alexander hasn’t let me leave since that night, and his concern is like a suffocating blanket that wraps around me, tightening with every passing hour.
I’ve been training, pushing myself to the limit, my muscles screaming in pain at every practice. For the past few weeks, the girls—Zara, Lena, Tatiana, Anna, and a handful of others—have become my family, a band of warriors fighting for the same cause. We’re a team.
Alexander has become a ghost in the house. I’ve moved into the same room as him. He sleeps beside me, but there’s a chasm yawning between us, a chasm that’s as deep as the ocean and cold as the Arctic. He’s quiet at breakfast, his eyes fixed on some distant horizon. He disappears for hours, and I don’t know where he goes or what he’s fighting. He’s drowning in his demons, and his silence, his detachment, is a slow poison.
I haven’t told him what we’re training for. He’ll never let me go.
